Hunters of Gor

14 I Give Evidence of my Displeasure

It was night.

I stood on a strong branch, against the trunk of a tree, some forty feet above the ground.

I could survey the entire clearing.

This afternoon I had come to the camp of Marlenus. Its gate had swung in the wind. Its pilings, forming its stockade, had been broken in various places, and burned in others. There were sharpened logs about, fallen, some blackened by fire. The tents had been struck, and were gone. In some places there was burned canvas, indicating that the enemy had fired them from within. There was no sign of the gate’s having been splintered or broken.

Bending over I found a string of cheap beads, formed from the shell of the bosk sorp, broken. It might have been torn from the neck of a panther girl in a struggle.

I studied the footprints, where they were clear. About some of the fires there was the remains of a feast, and empty bottles. The bottles had been of Marlenus’ own stock, brought from Ar. I knew he did not, when outside of Ar, drink strange wines.

Some birds flew over the ruins of the camp. Some flew down to peck at crumbs. Marlenus for once in his life, had miscalculated.

It was not too difficult to conjecture what had happened. Marlenus was soon to withdraw from the forest. There would have been a feast. To this feast, as honored guests, would have been invited the panther girls of Hura’s band. The men of Marlenus, celebrating the success of their expedition and the glory of their Ubar, would have been, in the manner of warriors, much in their cups. At the height of the feast some dozen or so panther girls would have overpowered the guards at the gate, presumably drunken, and open the gate. Then, at a given signal, the panther girls within, abetted by the men of Tyros without, would have, with clubs and ropes, and the butts of their spears, sprung to the attack. By treachery within and force from without the camp would have been swept. Beyond the palisade several bodies had been dragged. Already some of them had been mauled by sleen and other predators. I had examined the bodies. The men of Ar had given a good account of themselves. Yes, altogether there were not more than forty fallen, including some who had apparently been wounded, and whose throats had been cut. Twenty-five of the fallen wore the yellow of Tyros. The attack had apparently taken the camp by complete surprise, and had been devastating and successful.

I had not found the body of Marlenus among the fallen. I thus conjectured that the great Ubar, as well as some eighty-five of his men, had fallen captive. Nine of my men had been with Marlenus. I did not find them among the dead. I assumed they, too, had been captured. Rim, earlier, had returned to my camp. He had been captured there, when the camp had fallen, and, according to the report of one of the paga slaves, had been taken into the forest. I thus conjectured, with Rim, and Marlenus, that Sarus of Tyros, leader of the enemy, held some ninety-six men. He would, also hold, of course, several female slaves, and her women, taken from the camp of Marlenus; and the girls of Marlenus, taken too, from his camp.

I supposed that the men of Tyros, those who had been engaged in the attack, now numbered somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and twenty-five. I left the camp in the afternoon. There was little more to be gained there. As I left I heard a sleen scratching among the bodies beyond the palisade. The men of Tyros, I was sure, would be eager to march their captives through the forests north of Laura and Lydius to the exchange point where they would meet, by prearranged rendezvous, the Rhoda and the Tesephone.

It would take time for the men of Tyros to march their captives, in slave chains, through the forest.

When they reached the exchange point it was doubtless their intention to embark their captives and carry them slaves to Tyros. Doubtless, too, near one of the exchange points, they would attempt to locate and seize, or purchase, Talena, the former daughter of Marlenus of Ar.

It would be a great triumph in Tyros, to bring the great Marlenus, naked, in the chains of a slave, branded, before their council. Doubtless they would first bring him so through the streets, between jeering throngs, chained to the back of a tharlarion wagon, white-silk maidens of Tyros dancing beside him, casting love blossoms upon him. Marlenus would doubtless make great holiday in Tyros. But men in slave chains cannot move rapidly, even under the whip.

I expected that the men of Tyros would be eager to hurry their captives to the sea.

But first, I expected, panther girls would choose to exact their dues. This night, I conjectured, was reserved for the cruel rites of the panther girls.

I had returned to where I had left the four paga slaves, bound.

I had tied them in a secluded place, in pairs, standing back to back. Each pair was bound in the same fashion. Two girls, stood, back to back, under a branch which was over their head. The left wrist of the front girl was crossed, over the branch, with the right wrist of the back girl, and their two wrists were then tied together, over the branch. Then, of course, the right wrist of the front girl was crossed over the branch with the left wrist of the back girl, and was similarly fastened. The left ankle of the front girl was then tied to the right ankle of the back girl, and the right ankle of the front girl was lashed to the left ankle of the back girl. The other pair, of course, was fastened identically. From the slave silk of two of them, torn into strips for strap and wadding. I had improvised gags. I did not wish them to make outcry. I looked upon Ilene. She was beautiful. I removed her gag, and kissed her. She looked at me, startled. I had no time to use her. I thrust the wadding again in her mouth, and fastened it tightly in place with the slave silk.

“You gags will remain fixed,” I told them.

I had them put them again in throat coffle, as before, their wrists bound behind their backs.

Again, not speaking I strode from them. Again they followed, swiftly. Their gags, for the time being, would remain fixed. We were now in the vicinity of the enemy. The slaves would be silent.

I returned to the camp of Marlenus, and easily picked up the trail of the men of Tyros and the panther girls of Hura’s band, and the trail, too, of the wretches, chained, they drove between them.

It was night I stood on a strong branch, against the trunk of a tree, some forty feet above the ground.

I could survey the entire clearing.

It was the clearing that would be used at Hura’s circle of conquest. It was also the night camp of the men of Tyros.

There were several large campfires in the clearing. Among them, staked out, were the men of Marlenus. A man of Tyros had a hide drum and, at one side of the clearing, was pounding out a monotonous, repetitive preparatory rhythm. Panther girls, proud in their skins and gold, with their light spears, strode about. I could see, too, the yellow of the men of Tyros. The reflections of the firelight, intermingled with the intense, soft black shadows, illuminated the trunks of the surrounding trees, and their lower leaves and branches. I saw, within the circle, at one point, long-legged Hura and blond Mira, standing together, conversing. I could have felled them with arrows. I did not do so. I had other plans for them.

At one side of the clearing I saw Sarus, Captain of the Rhoda, leader of the men of Tyros. He lifted his yellow helmet from his head and wiped his brow. The night was hot.

There are various warrior strategies. One is to first slay the leader. Another is to reduce him to helplessness and impotency before his men. I elected the second.

I saw two men of Tyros bringing forth a brazier, filled with glowing coals. They carried it by means of two metal bars thrust through it, the bars held by gloves. From the brazier there protruded the handle of a slave iron. From the shadows then was dragged forth, chained, a large man, strong, struggling. He was thrown to his back on the grass, between four stakes. He was beaten back, when he tried to rise, with the butts of spears. His foot manacles were unsnapped and his two ankles were bound, widely apart, to two of the stakes. When his wrist manacles were removed it took four men to press him back. Then his left wrist was bound to one stake, and then his right wrist to another. His wrists and ankles had been tied widely, painfully, apart. He struggled, but was helpless.

Marlenus of Ar had been staked out.

The tempo of the man with the drum increased. I could see the shadows of tents beyond the clearing.

Individuals, panther girls and men of Tyros, not, idly, some still eating food from the supper fires, entered the conquest circle.

The brazier, fierce with heat, stood not two yards from Marlenus of Ar. Its coals were poked and stirred with one of the metal bars. Then one of the men of Tyros lifted the iron, glowing redly, from the fire. Its marking surface, its termination, soft and red in the night, was in the form of a large, block letter in Gorean script, the initial of Karjirus, a common Gorean expression for a male slave. A female’s brand is smaller, and much more graceful, usually being the initial, in cursive script, of Kajira, the most common Gorean expression for a female slave. Some cities, Treve, for example, have their own brands. The Wagon Peoples, too, each have an individual brand for their female slaves. The Tuchuk brand, tiny and fine, is the paired bosk horns. Tana, the paga slave in Lydius, wore it. The brand of the Kataii is that of a bow, facing to the left; the brand of the Kassars is that of the three-weighted bola; the brand of the Paravaci is a symbolic representation of a bosk head, a semicircle resting on an inverted isosceles triangle. Another common expression for a female slave, incidentally, the initial of which, in cursive script, is sometimes used to mark a girl, is Sa-for-a, which means, literally, Chain Daughter.

The man with the leather glove thrust the iron back in the fire. It was not yet hot enough to well mark a slave. White heat is preferred.

Marlenus struggled futilely. He was theirs to brand. Men went about the circle, checking the bonds of the men of Marlenus, staked out. Here and there they tightened straps, and cords and binding fibers. Then they were satisfied. The moons, the three white, dominating moons of Gor, were now rearing over the tree tops.

I waited, crouching now on the branch. I studied the men and women below in the camp. How many were there? How did they seem? Which seemed most alert? Who did I suppose might be the most dangerous? At what height hung the hilt of the swords in the sheaths slung over the left shoulder? Which girls walked with their heads the highest, which carried their spears well?

I looked at the moons. They now stood well over the trees.

I crouched on the branch. I was patient. The blood in me that I felt then was not that of the merchant. It was an older blood, one almost forgotten, the blood of the warrior, the blood of the huntsman.

My girls, the four paga slaves, I had left behind me, more than a pasang from this place, tied, gagged, in a slave star. I would not need them tonight. Before fastening them in the slave star I had, on their bellies, watered them at a small stream. I had then found a suitable, thick-trunked tree. I sat them about the tree, their backs to it, and fastened them in the star, the left wrist of the first girl bound to the right wrist of the next, and so about the tree, until the star was closed by binding the left wrist to the fourth girl to the last untethered wrist, the right wrist of the first girl. I then crossed their ankles, and bound their ankles together, each girl individually. With a rock I struck down a forest urt. With bits of the raw flesh I fed them, thrusting pieces in their mouth. Ilene was sickened, repulsed, but, upon my command, swallowed her feeding. She was not a Gorean girl. She was only a weak girl of Earth, taken as slave to this barbaric planet.

“Are you not, too, of Earth?” she asked.

“Yes,” I told her.

“I am not as these other girls,” she said. “I am of Earth. Be merciful to me. Give me special privileges.” “To me,” I said, “you are only another slave.” “Please!” she wept.

“Feed,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said. The slave then fed.

I, crouching down on the grass, with my two hands and teeth, finished the remainder of the animal.

The girls’ gags and waddings, formed from the slave silk of the garments of two of them, I had set out on the grass to dry.

It had grown dark.

I must soon be to the clearing.

I reinserted the gags in the mouths of the fair captives.

“I am of Earth,” said Ilene, piteously.

“You are a Gorean slave girl,” I told her. I then thrust the large wadding into her mouth, and tied it tightly in place. Her eyes, over the gag, regarded me with horror. She knew then that she could be to me only what she would be to any other Gorean male, a slave. I looked into her eyes. They were those of a Gorean slave girl.

I was not pleased with Ilene. She had not been completely open with me. It was for that reason that she would be sold in Port Kar.

I walked about the girls and checked the knots of the slave star. They were secured, perfectly.

They looked at me, over their gags. If panthers came upon them in the night, or sleen, their cried would not serve to alert my enemies.

I was not much pleased with them. They had aided in the betrayal of my camp. Without them it would not have been possible. I recalled how they had, on the beach, laughed and jested with the men of Tyros. Now they, who had served the men of Tyros, were bound as the helpless slaves of one of Port Kar, one to whom, in the betrayal of his camp, they had done great injury.

I smiled, looking at them, and they shuddered. They had served the men of Tyros. They would serve one of Port Kar even better. I would see to that.

I was displeased particularly with the one called Ilene. She had not been completely open with me. I would have special use for her.

As it grew dark I cut and dragged torn brush about the girls, to form a makeshift defensive perimeter.

I saw gratitude in their eyes.

“Do not be grateful to me, Slaves,” said I. “I am saving you for tomorrow, when, in the performance of my will, you will face dangers greater than those of sleen and panthers.” The gratitude in their eyes was transformed to fear.

I thrust the last bush, spreading and thick, of thorn brush into place. Then, not bidding them farewell, I turned and disappeared among the shadows and trees.

On the branch of the tree, high, in the darkness, crouching, I saw the man of Tyros, with his leather glove, reach to the handle of the slave iron, protruding from the brazier. By this time the moons were high. By this time the men of Tyros, and the panther girls, had all gathered about in the conquest circle. He lifted it up and there was a cry of pleasure. It was white with the ferocity of its heating. It was now ready to brand a slave.

Sarus, the leader of the men of Tyros, waved his men back now, except for the man with the iron. They took their places about the edges of the circle, sitting cross-legged. The panther girls of Hura’s band, more than a hundred of them, entered the circle. The moons were now near the height of the sky. At a sign from Hura the man from Tyros thrust the iron back into the brazier, to draw it forth again at her signal. The man with the hide drum then, for the first time was silent.

I looked down into the circle, with its fires, with its men staked out, with the men of Tyros sitting about its edges, with Marlenus helpless beside the brazier, the man from Tyros, with the leather glove, crouching beside it, with the panther girls, beautiful, numerous, lithe, in their skins and necklaces of claws and ornaments of gold.

There was a long silence, of some Ihn, and then, at a nod from Hura, who threw her long black hair back, and lifted her head to the moons, the drum began again its beat. Mira’s head was down, and shaking. Her right foot was stamping. The panther girls put down their heads. I saw their fists begin to clench and unclench. They stood, scarcely moving, but I could sense the movement of the drum in their blood.

The men of Tyros glanced to one another. It was few free men who had ever looked, unbound, on the rites of panther girls.

Hura’s eyes were on the moons. She lifted her hands, fingers like claws, and screamed her need.

The girls then, following her, began to dance.

I looked upon Marlenus. He struggled, but he could not, of course, free himself. It was he who had, long ago, banished me from the city of Ar, denying me bread, fire and salt.

It was he who had always been so successful. It was he upon whom luck and glory had shone.

I began to grow furious with Marlenus. He had been Ubar, the Ubar of Ubars. He had been fortunate, always fortunate. I had come to the forest to find Talena. I had not done so. I, and my men, had been outwitted by panther girls. We had fallen to them. We would have been raped and sold slave had not Marlenus, with almost casual insolence, rescued us.

Then he had invited us to his camp, and we had come, and dined upon his largesse!

In the game he had devastatingly beaten me.

I looked down to the circle.

It might have been a rite not of women, but of she-panthers! How starved must be the lonely, hating panther women of the forests, so gross is their hostility, so fierce their hatred, and yet need, of men. They twisted, screaming now, clawing at the moons. I would scarcely have guessed at the primitive hungers evident in each movement of those barbaric, feline bodies. They would be masters of men. Proud, magnificent creatures. And yet by biology, by their beauty, by their aroused inwardness, could not, in fact, own but only, in their true fulfillment, belong, be taken, be conquered. It was little wonder such proud, fine women hated men, to whom nature had destined them. Woman is the natural love prey of men. She is natural quarry. She is complete only when caught, only when brought to the joy of her capture and conquest. It was not strange that the proud, intelligent women of the forest, and elsewhere, chose war with men, rather than admit the meaning of his strength and swiftness, the meaning of their own weakness and beauty. Set a woman to run down a man and she cannot do so. Set a man to run down a woman and he will be successful. Nature has not destined her to escape him. It has destined her to be his capture and love.

I smiled to myself at those who regarded the needs of women as inferior to those of men. The woman, I realized, looking down upon the panther girls, has an imperative, enormous need. It is as great as that of the male, I expected, perhaps greater, for she is less satiable, and the tissues of her womanhood are widely spread, and intricate and deep. Her entire body, is seems, is alive to feeling, and yielding and touching, is a need. Her beauty is she, and its meaning, from the turn of an ankle to the delicacy of her deft, sweet fingers, from the turn of a calf to her belly and the beauties of her breasts, to those of her shoulders and throat and the marvelousness of her head and hair, is a need. How tragic it is, I thought, that such incredible human beings should be so belittled, frustrated and abused. I do not refer to the cruelties of Gorean slavery, which celebrate women and, in their rude fashion, often uncompromisingly, force the helpless, total surrender she yearns in the heart of her to give, but the subtler, crueler slaveries of Earth, pretending to respect her and then, by education and acculturation, depriving her not only of status and independence, but of love.

The Gorean slave girl, if nothing else, is commonly no stranger to love. She is not permitted to be. She is at man’s beck and call and, accordingly, willingly or not, will be taught love. If necessary she will learn it under the whip, writhing in chains.

The Gorean slave girl, in my opinion, is the most desirable of women. What man, I wonder, fully aroused, does not wish to own his woman. What woman, I wonder, fully aroused, helpless, is not, in fact, in the arms of her lover, owned. The drum was now very heady, swift. The dance of the panther girls became more wild, more frenzied. Vicious, sinuous, clawing, lithe, these savage beauties, in their skins and gold, with their knives, their light spears, weapons darting, danced. They were terrible and beautiful, in the streaming, flooding light of the looming, primitive moons, their eyes blazing. The hair of all was unbound. Several had already, oblivious of the presence of the men of Tyros, torn away their skins to the waist, others completely. On some I could hear the movement of the necklaces of sleen teeth tied about their necks, the shivering and ringing of slender golden bangles on their tanned ankles. In their dance they danced among the staked-out bodies of the men of Marlenus, and about the great Ubar himself. Their weapons leapt at the bound men, but never did the blows fall.

The coals in the brazier formed a blazing cylinder in the firelit darkness of the circle. I could see, dark, the handle of the slave iron.

The dance would soon strike its climax. It could continue little longer. The women would go mad with their need to strike and rape.

Suddenly the drum stopped and Hura stopped, her body bent backward, her head back, her long black hair falling to the back of her knees.

She was breathing deeply, very deeply. Her body was covered with a sheen of sweat.

The girls not put down their weapons and crowded about the bound figure of Marlenus, looking at him, inching closer, breathing heavily, not speaking. “Brand him,” said Hura.

Marlenus had once denied me bread, and fire and salt. He had once banished me from Ar.

My hatred of Marlenus, and my envy of his glory and success, raged within me. He had made me seem a fool, and had devastatingly bested me in the game. I smiled.

I owed him nothing, except perhaps a vengeance for a thousand slights and diminishments, for a thousand unintended, subtle defeats at his hands. He would be branded, and taken to the coast as slave, for transportation to Tyros, island of his enemies. He would march in their triumph, branded, naked, chained to the back of a tharlarion wagon, amid blossoms cast by white-silk maidens dancing beside him. There would be jeering throngs. Then, with music and ceremony, he would be presented before them as he had marched, naked and in the chains of a slave, Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros in the forest, his captor, would them give him to the council. He would then be pronounced, by the council, slave of Tyros… he might then be given a name more fitting a slave then Marlenus. He would then be disposed of as they saw fit. It would be a fit end for Marlenus, Ubar of Ar.

I smiled.

“Brand him!” called Hura. “Brand him!”

Several panther girls, their skins torn away in the dance, held the thigh of Marlenus.

The man of Tyros, grinning, brought the iron forward, in an instant the white-hot marking surface would be pressed deeply into, and held in, for some seconds, the flesh of Marlenus of Ar.

But the iron did not make its strike. It fell to the grass, setting it afire. Hura cried out with rage. The panther girls looked up from where they knelt beside Marlenus. The man of Tyros was bent over, and then, slowly, very slowly, he straightened. He seemed puzzled. Then he turned slowly and fell to the grass. The steel-piled arrow, winged with the feathers of the vosk gull, had pierced his heart.

There was consternation below, screams, men of Tyros leaping to their feet, dirt being cast on fires.

I slipped from the branch on which I had stood, and disappeared in the night.