But we had been unable to move as rapidly as we had wished. the streets, even at that hour, were crowded. We could sense that there was a holiday atmosphere. 'What is it?' I had asked Inge.
'I do not know,' she had said.
We heard the driver cursing and shouting at the crowds, but we could make little progress.
Indeed, other wagons, we gathered, merchant wagons and those of peasants, too, were blocked in the streets. Foot by foot we moved toward the Street of the Field Gate, and then, at last, came that street.
In the wagons, with the canvas tied down, chained, we listened to the crowds. By this time it was full daylight outside, and much light filtered through the wagon canvas. We could see one another quite clearly.
The girls were excited.
'What is it?' I asked.
'I do not know,' said Inge angrily.
I cursed the canvas.
We heard music in the distance, trumpets, drums and cymbals. We looked at one another, scarcely able to restrain ourselves.
'Move to one side and stop, said a voice outside, one who spoke with authority. Our wagon pulled over to one side of the broad avenue, Ko-ro-ba's Street of the Field gate.
We felt crowds surge about the wagon. The music was coming closer.
There was much shouting.
'It is the catch of Marlenus!' cried a man.
My heart leapt.
I turned about, kneeling, twisting the ankle chain, and dug with my fingers under the edge of the rain canvas.
The drums, the cymbals, the trumpets, were now quite close.
I lifted up an edge of the canvas and peeped through.
A hunt master, astride a monstrous tharlarion, holding a wand, tufted with panther hair, preceded the retinue. He wore over his head, half covering his face, a hood formed of the skin of the head of a forest panther. About his neck there were twined necklaces of claws. Across his back there was strapped a quiver of arrows. A bow, unstrung, was fastened at his saddle. He was dressed in skins, mostly those of sleen and forest panthers.
Behind him came musicians, with their trumpets, and cymbals and drums. They, too, wore skins, and the heads of forest panthers. Then, on carts, drawn by small, horned tharlarion, there came cages, and poles of trophies. In certain of the cages, of heavy, peeled branches lashed together, there snarled and hissed forest sleen, in others there raged the dreadful tawny, barred panthers of the northern forests. From the poles there hung the skins and heads of many beasts, mostly panthers and sleen. In one cage, restlessly lifting its swaying head, there coiled a great, banded hith, Gor's most feared serpentine constrictor. It was native only to certain areas of the forest. Marlenus' hunting must have ranged widely. Here and there, among the wagons, leashed, clad in short woolen skirts, heavy bands of iron hammered about their throats, under the guard of huntsmen, cowled in the heads of forest panthers, walked male slaves, male outlaws captured by Marlenus and his hunters in the forest. They had long, shaggy black hair. Some carried heavy baskets of fruits and nuts on their shoulders, or strings of gourds; others bore wicker hampers of flowers, or carried brightly plumaged forest birds; tied by string to their wrists.
The other girls, too, watched excitedly, all of them coming to my side of the wagon, wedging among us, lifting up the rain canvas, peeping out.
'Aren't the male slaves exciting,' said one of the girls.
'Shameless!' I scorned her.
'Perhaps you will be hooded and mated with one,' she hissed back.
I struck her. I was angry. It had not occurred to me, but what she said was true. If it should please my master, I could, of course, be mated, as easily as a bosk or a domestic sleen.
'Look at the huntsmen!' breathed Lana, her eyes bright, her lips parted. Just at that moment one of the cowled huntsmen, a large, swarthy fellow, looked our way and saw us peeping out. He grinned.
'I wish such a man would hunt me,' said Lana.
'I, too,' said the Lady Rena, excited.
I was startled that she had spoken so. Then I recalled that she, too, was only a female slave. The Lady Rena of Lydius, like the rest of us, was only a naked girl, a slave, chained in a wagon, destined for the touch of a master. I rejoiced that I did not have their weaknesses.
I peeped again through the tiny opening between the canvas and the wooded side of the wagon.
More carts were going by, and more huntsmen and slaves. How proud and fine seemed the huntsmen, with their animals and slaves. How grandly they walked. How fearful they appeared, in skins, cowled in the heads of forest panthers, with their hunting spears. They did not bear burdens. They led or drove those that did, inferior, collared, skirted men, slaves. How straight walked the huntsmen, how broad their backs, how straight their gaze and high their head, how large their hands, how keen their gaze! There were masters! They had made slaves even of men! What would a mere woman be in their hands?
I detested them. I detested them!
'Ute,' said Inge, 'how would you like such a master?'
'I am a slave,' said Ute. 'I would try to serve him well.'
'Ah, Ute,' breathed Inge. 'You have never forgotten your leather worker, who sold you.'
Ute looked down.
'What of you, El-in-or?' taunted Inge, though she was of the scribes. 'I detest them,' I told her.
'You would serve such a one well,' Inge informed me. 'He would see to that.' I did not answer her.
Inge was now looking again, out of the tiny opening between the canvas and the wood. 'I want to be owned,' she said. 'I want to be owned.'
'You are of the scribes,' I whispered to her.
She looked at me. 'I am a slave girl,' she said. 'And so, too,' she added, not pleasantly, 'are you.' She looked at me. 'Slave,' she said.
I struck at her, but she caught my hair and pulled my head down to the canvas. I could not reach her hair, nor could I disengage her fists from mine. I was helpless, and held painfully. 'Who is the most slave in the wagon?' challenged Inge.
I wept, trying to pull her hands from my hair.
'Who is the most slave in the wagon?' repeated Inge, angrily. She gave my hair a vicious yank, twisting my head on the canvas. I lay twisted among the other girls, chained. Inge knelt. 'Who is the most slave in the wagon?' repeated Inge again, again yanking my hair, twisting it.
'El-in-or,' I whispered. 'El-in-or!'
'Let us all hear who is most slave in this wagon,' said Inge.
'El-in-or!' I cried out, in pain, weeping. 'El-in-or!'
When Inge released me, I scrambled back from her. I had no desire to fight her. I looked at her. There was triumph in her eyes. Every muscle in her body seemed vital and alive. I sensed then, knew then, that she had been waiting a long time for such an encounter. She had wanted a pretext to fight me. I now knew I could no longer bully Inge.
'Let us fight!' she challenged.
'No,' I said. 'No.' I shook my head.
I had thought myself stronger than Inge. I now realized that I was not. I had, as I thought I could with impunity, struck at her. Then, suddenly, cruelly, decisively, she had bested me. I looked at her. The shining eyes, the vital body, her eagerness to fight. I lowered my eyes, my head. Inge's days of being bullied by me were now at an end. Suddenly I was afraid of her. I had thought myself able to beat her, if I might choose, but now I knew that she, if she chose, could beat me. I had been clearly bested, and I sensed that I could be again, if she wished. I was now frightened of Inge. I hoped that she would not bully me. Almost immediately I sensed the shift of power in the wagon, among the girls. I no longer ranked as high as I had, and Inge ranked higher. I sensed that Inge was regarded with new respect, suddenly, and I, who had often been the bully, the aggressor, would henceforth be regarded with little or no respect. That made me angry.
Then we heard more music from outside, as more musicians, near the end of the retinue, approached. A girl from the other side of the wagon squeezed between Ute and I. 'Get back,' I snapped at her.
'Be quiet,' she said.
'Look!' cried Ute.
There was, outside, the snap of a whip.
There was a great shout from the crowd.
I pressed closer to the opening, looking out. More carts of sleen and panthers, with huntsmen and slaves, were passing.
Then I heard the snap of the whip again.
The crowd gave another shout.
'Look!' cried Inge.
And then we saw it.
A cart was passing, flanked by huntsmen and slaves, bearing their burdens of gourds, flowers, nuts and fruits. On the cart, horizontally, parallel to the axles, there was a high pole, lashed together at the point of their crossings. It was a trophy pole, with its stanchions, peeled, formed of straight branches, like the other trophy poles, from which had hung the skins of slain animal. Only standing below this pole, alone on the cart, her skins knotted about her neck, her wrists bound behind her back, her hair fastened over the pole, holding her in place, was a beautiful panther girl, stripped, her weapons, broken, lying at her feet. I recognized her as one of the girl's of Verna's band.
I cried out with pleasure.
It was the first of five carts. On each, similarly, wrists bound behind her back, stripped, her hair bound cruelly over a trophy pole, stood a panther girl, each more beautiful than the last.
I heard the blare of the trumpets, the clash of the cymbals, the pounding of the drums. The men shouted. Women cursed, and screamed their hatred of the panther
