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 stared 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.
“There is not much time,” said Mira. “Soon the moons will be at their full.” “Let it begin,” said another girl.
Verna looked down upon me. “You wished to take us as slaves,” she said, “it is you who have been taken slave.” I looked up at her in horror. I pulled at the thongs.
“Shave him,” she said.
I fought, but two girls held my head, and Mira, laughing, with a small bowl of lather and a shaving knife, shave the two-and-one-half-inch degradation stripe on my head, from the forehead to the back of my neck.
“You are now well marked,” said Verna, “as a man who has fallen to women.” I pulled helplessly at the thongs.
“Bring a whip,” said Verna.
Mira leaped to her feet.
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”
Mira returned with the whip, a five-strap Gorean slave whip.
“Beat him,” said Verna.
She beat me. My body, in the thongs, twisted and leaped under the lash. “It is enough,” said Verna.
I closed my eyes. I did not question Verna further. I did not wish to be again beaten.
Mira laughed, and folded the lash.
It had been a brief beating, lasting only a few seconds. She had been permitted to strike me only some eight or nine times. I was breathing heavily, in pain. They had not wished to injure me. Verna had only wished to administer a sharp. Not-soon-to-be-forgotten, lesson to her slave.
I had learned it. I pulled at the thongs, helplessly.
The girls now knelt about me, in a circle. They were silent. I looked up at the large, white, swift moons. There were three of them, a larger, and two smaller, looming, dominating.
The girls were breathing heavily. They had set aside their weapons. They knelt, their hands on their thighs, occasionally lifting their eyes to the moons. Their eyes began to blaze. They put back their heads. Their lips parted. Their hair fell behind their heads, their faces lifted to the rays of the moons. Then, together, they began to moan and sway from side to side. Then they lifted their arms and hands to the moons, still swaying from side to side, moaning. I pulled at the thongs that bound me. Then their moaning became more intense and the swaying swifter and more savage, and, crying out and whimpering, they began to claw at the moons.
Mira leaped to her feet and tore her skins to the waist exposing her breasts to the wild light of the flooding moons. She shrieked and tore at the moons with her fingernails. In an instant another girl, and then another, and another, had followed her example. Only Verna still knelt, her hands on her thighs, looking at the moons. Beneath the moons, helplessly, I sought to free myself. I could not do so.
Mira now, the others following, crying out, tore away the scraps of panther skin that had yet concealed their beauty. They now wore only their gold, and their ornaments. Now, moaning, crying out, the she-beasts of the forest, the panther girls, hands lifted, clawing, began to stamp and dance beneath the fierce brightness of the wild moons.
Then suddenly they stopped, but stood, still, their hands lifted to the moons. Verna threw back her head, her fists clenched on her thighs, and cried out, a wild scream, as though in agony.
She leaped to her feet and, looking at me, tore away her skins.
My blood leaped before her beauty.
But she had turned away and naked, her head back, had lifted her hands, too, clawing at the moons.
Then all of them, together, turned slowly to face me. They were breathing heavily. Their hair was disheveled, their eyes wild.
I lay before them, helpless.
Suddenly, as one, they seized up their light spears, and, swaying, spears lifted, began to circle me.
They were incredibly beautiful.
A spear darted toward me, but did not strike me. It was withdrawn.
