I stood there, watching, moving as little as possible.
I could not understand why the smaller animal did not make away. I thought it no match for the larger beast. Then, sick, I thought I understood. Even a small sleen, I knew, will defend its food dish in the face of a larger animal. There are many animals, even animals commonly loyal, and friendly, between whom and their food it would be unwise, even dangerous, to place oneself. One does not attempt to remove a haunch of tarsk from even a pet sleen, once it has been given to him. It is then his. Few animals will surrender their food to another. Nature has apparently not favored that behavior.
I suspected the smaller animal, though it was certainly large enough, and fearsome enough, had been with me since yesterday, when I had fled the camp of Genserich. If it had kept itself with me, as a subtle, lengthy, softly treading, breathing shadow, always nearby, there must have been a reason. The likely reason then became disturbingly clear to me. The panther, the sleen, the larl, seldom feed daily. Indeed, they may go days between meals. The smaller beast, I suspected, for some reason, was saving me. It had not yet been ready to feed.
Suddenly the larger beast, as though some spring in that great body had been released, charged, scrambling, through the center of the circle, and I was buffeted, spinning, to the side, for it struck me in its passage, I felt its ribs, and it hurled itself on the smaller beast which was rolled to its back, and then, in a moment, they were rolling about, biting, and tearing at one another. I could scarcely follow their movements, so rapid they were, so swift and fierce was the tumult of their engagement.
Then I saw the larger beast rear up from that loose, spattering tangle of fur and blood, its jaws on the throat of the smaller beast, and, itself rent, torn, and bloody, its flanks and shoulders red with the furrows of claw marks, it lifted the smaller body half from the ground, and shook it, and shook it, long after it was without life, repeatedly, meaninglessly, in the pointless, spasmodic frenzy of the kill. It then lay down, its scarlet-flowing jaws still clenched on the throat of the smaller beast, whose body now lay across its paws. It was breathing heavily. An ear was half torn away. I could see bone at the side of its face. It was looking toward me. I did not know if it saw me or not.
I was lying on my belly, where I had fallen, near the center of that circle whose periphery had been recently trodden by two dangerous beasts.
I felt my hands pulled behind me and I heard the click of slave bracelets. Then a leash collar was buckled about my throat.
“Kill it, please, kill it, Master,” I begged.
“No,” he said.
“It is dangerous!” I said.
“It is not dangerous now,” he said. “Perhaps later it will be dangerous.”
I recognized the voice.
“You are fortunate you were not eaten,” he said. “I might not have arrived in time.”
“I think I was followed since yesterday,” I said.
“Quite possibly,” he said. “A panther not driven by hunger will often linger in the vicinity of prey, or follow it, at a convenient distance.”
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“I speculated you would regard your escape from the camp as successfully accomplished, not irrationally, and would then, too soon perhaps, return to the river. I thus kept to the shoreline. To be sure, some fortune was involved. I feared, naturally enough, you might be tracked by panthers, or sleen, and thus, when I heard a particular roar, a typical roar of warning, of territorial claimancy, I conjectured a territorial intrusion might have occurred, either deliberately or inadvertently. In any case, I decided to investigate.”
“Did you see it all?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“But you did not intervene.”
“It was not necessary,” he said. He then stood up, and stepped back. “You are in the presence of a free man,” he observed.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
I then struggled to my knees, and knelt before him, looking up at him, a Gorean master, my hands braceleted behind me, his leash collar buckled about my throat, the leash itself, twice looped, in his hand.
“Perhaps you thought you had escaped,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“Did you escape?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Why did you run away?” he asked.
“I beg not to speak,” I said.
“Very well,” he said.
“Thank you, Master!” I whispered.
“On your feet, kajira,” said he.
I rose to my feet, and stood before him, head down.
“Are you a slave?” he asked.
“Yes, Master, I am a slave,” I said.
“You understand that, fully?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said. Had I not known this, since puberty?
“You have been displeasing,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.
His hand reached to the disrobing loop at my left shoulder.
“Oh, yes, Master!” I said. “Please, Master!”
“You have been displeasing,” he said.
“Master?” I said.
“You will be lashed,” he said.
“No, Master!” I said. “Please, no, Master!”
I leaned back against the tree, and listened to the crackle of the small fire, in the tiny camp on the way back to Shipcamp.
I idly reached for the leash, and tugged twice, which activated the metal ring on the leash collar, lifting and dropping it twice, signaling the slave that she should approach, which she did, on all fours.
“Please me,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, bending over me.
Later she lay beside me, her head at my thigh.
I had seen fit to deny her clothing.
“Keep me,” she whispered.
“You are a camp slave,” I reminded her, “at Shipcamp, and are the property of Pani masters.”
“Will Master return me to Shipcamp?” she asked.
“A caught slave,” I said, “is to be returned to her masters.”
“I am afraid,” she said.
“As well you might be,” I said.
“What will they do with me?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I do not want to die,” she said.
“I do not think they will kill you,” I said. “They bought a large number of women and, I think, not primarily for the use of mariners and mercenaries, but for sale, or use as trade goods, somewhere, where I am not sure, presumably wherever the great ship makes its eventual landfall, doubtless one of the farther islands, for who would dare venture beyond them?”
“I heard,” she whispered, “they seek the World’s End.”
“That would seem madness,” I said. “No ship has ventured much beyond the farther islands and returned.”
“There is a man called Tersites,” she said, “a master shipwright, he is supposedly determined.”
“I think he is mad,” I said.
“It is said he thinks of the World’s End,” she said.
“I think that may be to dismay strangers, perhaps to obscure an actual destination. In any event, there are many rumors. Who knows what courses might be plotted in the privacy of a secret chartroom?”
“Perhaps the ship has departed,” she said.
“That is possible,” I said, uneasily.
She rose on her elbows. “Then you could keep me!” she said.
“I will sell you at the first opportunity,” I said.
“I do not think so,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I think Master is fond of Laura,” she said.
“Laura is a slave,” I reminded her.
“Even so,” she said.
She then lay beside me again. I felt her breath on my thigh. And then her lips.
“Laura loves Master,” she said.
“Laura is a liar,” I said.
“Slaves are not permitted to lie,” she said.
“I think I will sell you to a woman,” I said.
“Do not!” she said. “I am a man’s slave, and would be yours.”
“Do not fear,” I said. “I cannot sell you. I do not own you. You belong to Pani.”
“I see,” she said.
“Do you really think the Pani want us to sell, or trade?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
“Why?” she asked. “We are very different from their Pani women.”
“What does it matter?” I said. “It is always a pleasure to see pretty slaves on the auction block, regardless of their skin color, their hair and eye color, and such.”
“Perhaps we might have some value as exotic goods,” she said, “something unusual, or different.”
“Also,” I said, “I do not think there were many Pani women for sale in Brundisium.”
“I saw few in Tarncamp, or Shipcamp,” she said.
“I suppose,” I said, “that there are Pani kajirae, captures in war, and such, but the usual arrangement seems to be in virtue of contracts of some sort, which may be bought and sold, the woman accompanying the contract.”
“How is that different from the collar?” she asked.
“It seems to have something to do with prestige, or such. The status is putatively higher. One would expect such women to be treated with more esteem and deference than a common slave. One would not expect them to be collared, or publicly stripped, or such. Too, they are often highly trained, in music, singing, dancing, conversation, the serving of tea, the arranging of flowers, and such.”
“But they still go with the contract,” she said.
“That is my understanding,” I said.
“I saw two of them,” she said, “in Shipcamp. Both were beautiful.”
“So, too,” I said, “are most common slaves, let alone women purchased for the Pleasure Gardens of Ubars, high merchants, and such.”
“Am I beautiful?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Thank you, Master!” she said, softly, gratefully.
“You have improved in the collar,” I said. “It has that effect on a woman.”
“I think you like me,” she said.
“You do have a hot, active little belly,” I said.
“I think Master followed me north from Brundisium,” she said. “I think Master sought me in Shipcamp, and perhaps in Tarncamp. Master pursued me into the forest with Master Axel, and his beast. And when others returned to Shipcamp, Master did not do so. He followed me, and recaptured me.”
“I was well paid to come north,” I said. “I joined Axel for diversion, and a pleasant hunt. I later followed you because you had annoyed me in the camp of Genserich, and I decided to get my leash on you, and make you pay.”
“You have made me pay well, Master,” she whispered.
“You are attentive, and juice nicely,” I said.
“I love Master!” she suddenly wept.
“With what love?” I asked.
“With the deepest and most profound of loves,” she said, “the helpless, abject love of a slave!”
I took her by the hair, my hand tight in its rich, dark, glossy loveliness.
“Hurt me,” she said. “Show me that I am a slave, and that you own me.”
She winced.
I relaxed my grip. “But I do not own you,” I said.
“Buy me,” she begged.
“Only a slave begs to be purchased,” I said.
“I am a slave!” she said.
Ritual phrases are often required of a slave. One of the most common is, “Buy me, Master.” Sometimes along the side of a road, where a number of slaves, neck-chained, may be knelt for inspection and possible sale, the slave is expected to lift her head and, as she is examined, utter the phrase, “Buy me, Master.” This phrase is not that unusual on slave shelves, and such, as well.
“I remember,” she said, “the first time I saw Master.”
“And I you,” I said.
“I was free!” she said.
“No,” I said, “you were merely a slave, not yet collared.”
“No!” she said.
“Do you think I cannot recognize a slave when I see one?” I asked.
“I was free!” she said.
“As free as a woman such as you could be,” I said, “one not yet taken in hand by a man, and put to his feet, stripped and collared.”
“How you looked at me!” she said.
“The chain,” I said, “is made for women such as you.”
“Fully clothed,” she said, “I felt naked before you.”
“And so I perceived you,” I said, “as you might appear, exhibited on the block for the consideration of buyers.”
“I fled,” she said.
“You were well and carefully scouted,” he said, “as I explained to you in the camp of Genserich, in a number of venues, in a number of garmentures, and such.”
“And even, sedated, in my own bed, it seems,” she said, “stripped, variously positioned, photographed, measured in considerable detail, and such.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Were you involved in this?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But do not concern yourself. You awakened later, pleasantly enough, and knew nothing of what had taken place.”
“But it had taken place!” she said.
“Certainly,” I said.
“It seems we are carefully selected,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “but also with an eye to the future. What will she be like when she has learned her collar? What will she be like once she is the victim of the raging slave fires we will build in her belly? What will she be like once she has been trained to please men? What will she be like when she has suitably dieted and exercised?”
“I see,” she said.
“Your body, for example,” I said, “is more of a slave’s body now than it was on Earth.”
“I am pleased if Master is pleased,” she said, moving more against me, the she-tarsk, with the maddening softness of her.
“Your Gorean is coming along nicely,” I said.
“We must strive to learn the language of our masters,” she said.
“Why did you run away?” I asked.
“Please do not make me speak,” she said.
“Very well,” I said.
“I fear the men of Gor,” she said.
“But they stir your belly, and you suddenly become acutely aware, as you were not before, of your sex.”
“Yes,” she said. “It suddenly becomes meaningful. It suddenly seems the single most important thing about me, that I am not a male, but a female.”
“I understand,” I said.
“That is because there are men here,” she said.
“There are men on your former world,” I said.
“How is it,” she said, “that Gorean men are so different from those of my former world?”
“I do not think they are so different,” I said. “They are of the same species.”