The paga slaves and Ilene brought their work slaves back to the coffle. “Stand there to be chained!” said Ilene.
“Yes, Mistress,” they said. Ilene laughed.
I fastened them again in the coffle, and moved the coffle forward, so that its last girl now stood where the first of the unconscious girls, lying on the grass, might now be conveniently shackled to her.
Vinca came toward the line. She was leading, by the arm, a stumbling, half-conscious panther girl.
“Where am I? Who are you?” the girl was asking.
“You are at your camp,” said Vinca. “And I am Vinca.”
“Where are you taking me?” asked the girl.
“To be enslaved,” said Vinca.
“Lie here,” said Vinca.
The girl lay on the grass, tried to get up, and then fell unconscious. “Remove their clothing,” I told Vinca and her girls. Their clothing, weapons, pouches, everything was removed from the panther girls. It was thrown to one side and burned. It is customary on Gor to strip a woman before shackling her. Why I do not know.
I then, Harl ring by Harl ring, ankle by ankle, began to fasten the girls in the slave coffle. There were not, however, enough Harl rings. With a long length of slave chain, however, and several sets of slave bracelets I completed the coffle. I snapped one bracelet on the left wrist of the last girl and snapped its matching bracelet through one of the heavy links in the slave chain. The remaining girls, eleven of them, I had placed on their stomachs, head toward the chain and their left arms extended, their wrists lying over the chain. Then, snapping one bracelet through a convenient link of the chain, I fastened them in the coffle. One of the girls began to stir, moaning. Another twisted, uttering a tiny noise.
I took the uninscribed slave collars and, girl by girl, collared them. When I cam to Rissia our eyes met. Then she dropped her head. I thrust her hair to one side. I collared her. Then I smoothed her hair over the collar. She was lovely. Her ankle was already locked in a Harl ring. Then I cut the binding fiber with which I had fastened her hands and feet.
When I came to one girl she opened her eyes and looked at me, lost in her stupor, not comprehending. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am putting you in a slave collar,” I told her.
“No,” she said, “weakly, and then put her head to one side, and was again unconscious.
I surveyed the entire line.
Mira had done her work superbly. She had then, apparently, fled with the others. It was possible they had not understood her part in the treachery. Perhaps she had not known the wine was drugged? Perhaps it had not been the wine, but other food with which someone had tampered?
I looked at the slaves. They were a splendid lot.
I had had, before the morning, twenty-five girls, captured, in the coffle. That had left, by my count, not including Hura, seventy-nine panther girls. “It is an excellent catch,” said Vinca, looking down the long line. It was indeed.
Fifty-eight new slaves lay at the chain.
Mira had done her work well. We had taken them as easily as flowers. Hura had had, by my count, one hundred and four girls. She now retained twenty-one, including Mira. The remaining eighty-four could be accounted for by reference to the jewels fastened on the slave chain of Bosk, a merchant of Port Kar.
Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros, by my count, when the march had begun had had one hundred and twenty-five men. I had reduced that number, over several days, to fifty-six. Sarus himself, yesterday morning, had slain one. He now had fifty-five men.
I expected that he would soon begin to abandon slaves. I expected he would fear to slay them.
Doubtless his main concern would be to reach the sea, for his rendezvous with the Rhoda and the Tesephone. If necessary he might abandon all slaves with the exception of Marlenus of Ar.
I looked down the trail. It was time I visited, once more, the caravan of Sarus of Tyros.
“No! No! No! No!” I heard.
I looked back. One of the panther girls was on her feet, wild, hysterically trying to force the slave bracelet from her left wrist. The chain was moved, the bodies of other girls, still unconscious, like inanimate, beautiful weights, their left wrist imprisoned by the bracelet and chain, jerked to and fro. Instantly Vinca was on the girl with her switch, striking. “Kneel as a pleasure slave, head down, and be silent!” she cried.
“Yes, Mistress,” wept the girl. “Yes, Mistress!”
I saw other girls beginning to move about, to show signs of restlessness. Some had been disturbed by the crying of the hysterical panther girl, which had doubtless seemed to hem far off, and something having little to do with them. Other girls, shielded their eyes with their arms from the overhead sun, pouring down on them.
Another girl then began to scream and Vinca, too, was on her in an instant. Almost immediately she had her kneeling as a pleasure slave, with her head to the ground. Her hair was spread on the grass. She was shuddering, but silent. “The slaves have slept long enough,” I told Vinca. “Bring water and awaken them.” “Yes, Master,” said Vinca.
“Then follow as before,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” said Vinca.
I then left the chain, and took up again the trail of the men of Tyros, and that of the girls of Hura, who were now of the number of twenty-one.
18 The Shore of Thassa
“The sea! The sea!” cried the man. “The sea!”
He stumbled forth from the thickets, and, behind them, the lofty trees of the forest.
He stood alone, high on the beach, his sandals on its pebbles, a lonely figure. He was unshaven. The tunic of Tyros, once a bright yellow, was now stained and tattered.
He had then stumbled down the beach, falling twice, until he came to the shallows and the sand, among driftwood, stones and damp weed, washed ashore in the morning tide. He stumbled into the water, and then fell to his knees, in some six inches of water. In the morning wind, and the fresh cut of the salt smell, the water flowed back from him, leaving him on the smooth wet sand. He pressed the palms of his hands into the sand and pressed his lips to the wet sand. Then, as the water moved again, in the stirrings of Thassa, the sea, in its broad swirling sweep touching the beach, he lifted his head and stood upright, the water about his ankles.
He turned to face the Sardar, thousands of pasangs away. He did not see me, among the darkness of the trees. He lifted his hands to the Sardar, to the Priest-Kings of Gor. Then he fell again to his knees in the water and, lifting it with his hands, hurled it upward about him, and I saw the sun flash on the droplets.
He was laughing, haggard. And then he turned about, and, slowly, step by step, marking the drier sand with his wet sandals, made his way again back up the beach.
“The sea!” he cried into the forest. “The sea!”
He was a brave man, Sarus of Tyros, Captain of the Rhoda. He had himself advanced, alone, before his men.
And it had been he who had first glimpsed Thassa. The days and the nights of their terrible dream, he surmised, were now behind him.
They had come through to the sea.
I had permitted them to do so.
I scanned the breadth of the western horizon. Beyond the breakers, and the white caps, there was only the calm placid lines of gleaming Thassa, its vastness untroubled, meeting the bright, hard blue sky in a lonely plane, as unbroken and simples as the mark of a geometer’s straight edge.
There were no sails, no distant particles of yellow canvas, bespeaking the ships of Tyros, that cluttered that incredible vast margin, the meeting place of the great elements of the sky and the sea.
The horizon was empty.
Somewhere men strained at oars. Somewhere, how far away I knew not, the strike of the hammer of the keuleustes governed the stroke of those great sweeping levers, the oars of the Rhoda, and doubtless, not more than fifty yards abeam, those, too, of the light galley, the Tesephone, she of Port Kar.
These two ships would have rendezvous with Sarus and his men.
Yet on the trackless beaches, lining the western edge of the great northern forests for hundreds of pasangs, below the bleakness of Torvaldsland, it would not be easy to make rendezvous. There would have to be, I knew, a signal. “The sea!” cried others, now stumbling from the forests.
Sarus stood to one side, worn.
His men, fifty-five men of Tyros, some falling, made their way down the beach, across the stones, to the edge of the water.
They had not thought, many of them, to again see the sea.
They had come through the forest.
I had permitted them to do so.
I, too, had a rendezvous with the Rhoda and the Tesephone.
The Rhoda had been instrumental in my affairs, in ways that had not pleased me. And in the hold of the Tesephone were numbers of my men, captured at the camp on the Laurius River, due to the treachery of a tavern keeper of Laura, by name, Hesius, and four paga slaves. I recalled the girls, with momentary irritation, red- haired Vinca, the two other girls, and the slim, light-skinned, dark0haired Earth girl, she of Denver, Colorado, to whom I had given the slave name, Ilene. U was not pleased with her. She had not been completely open with me. Too, she was a lovely weakling, petty, timid and selfish, fir only to be the slave of men of Gor. I would have her sold in Port Kar.
Now, sullen, angry, at the edge of the forest, I saw a slave chain of twenty-one men. There were fastened together by the neck, and the hands of each were manacles behind his back. the neck chains and wrist manacles, now, however, had been changed to lock chains, that they might be separated, rechained, and regrouped in a matter of seconds, depending on what contingencies were encountered by their masters.
Seventy-five men had been abandoned in the forest, still wearing the chains that had been hammered about their necks and wrists. Sarus had not had them slain. Doubtless he had feared the great bow. His earlier attempt to slay slaves had been unsuccessful. No one, after I had felled the first who had dared to lift his sword to such
