Hunters of Gor

15 Hunting is Done in the Forest

Ilene, I a scrap of yellow pleasure silk, a barefoot slave girl, terrified, fled through the bushes, breaking branches, head twisting, hair sometimes caught, breathing heavily, eyes wide, legs and body scratched and cut. She stumbled. She rose again, gasping. Her hands were outstretched, trying to force away the branches that impeded her progress, striking at her face and eyes. She stumbled again, and rose again. Then, gasping, crying our with fear, stumbling, pushing her way through lashing branches, she continued her flight.

Two panther girls were swift on her trail, running easily. They were superb athletes, far superior to the inept, clumsy Earth girl who, terrified, fled before them.

Ilene would soon be taken. She was easy prey. The panther girls ran easily, loops of binding fiber loose in their hands.

Ilene, stumbling, fled on. She would soon be taken.

Panther girls enjoy the capture of escaped female slaves in the forests. They despise them, and hunt them like the animals they are. They find it pleasant and delicious sport to take them. They are so helpless and weak.

Ilene fell, breathing heavily. The sound of pursuit was close behind her. Wild eyed, she leaped up and stumbled on again.

It would not be pleasant for Ilene, should she fall to them.

Panther girls hold slave girls in great contempt, and treat them with great cruelty. Slave girls, many of whom have been forced to yield themselves totally to a man, are an object of hatred to panther girls. They represent what the panther girl most fears and hates, her sex. Many slave girls, particularly if broken to the collar, find men extremely attractive, and are eager to serve intimately those they find most pleasing. Panther girls, whose life is predicated on the hatred of men, are not likely to look leniently on such women. The slave girl, of course, is given no choice but to be feminine, to be a female. Strangely this is not regarded as relevant by panther girls. That a girl may have fought to the last moment with the last ounce of her strength to avoid being conquered is of not interest to the panther girl. That she has been conquered is all that counts to them. That her owner had given her no choice but to yield totally is not considered. The panther girl understands only when it is she herself who has been captured and taught her womanhood, only when it is she herself who finds herself in the strong arms of a man who, with or without her consent, makes her wholly feminine, who forces her to yield to him, who is her conqueror.

In my camp I had read the body and the expressions of Ilene. Though in the paga tavern she had been much used, and doubtless well, I could see that she had never, totally, yielded herself to a man. As I touched her, I had noted a subtle stiffness about her belly and shoulders, not uncommon in an Earth girl. I suspected that the beautiful slave had not been long on Gor. She had not yet been fully conquered.

This, however, would not be of interest to her swift pursuers. To them she was only quarry, helpless, inexperienced, clumsy, despicable quarry. She could not conceal her trail. She ran poorly. She would soon be taken. She could not give them much sport. Soon she would be helpless in their binding fiber. Ilene fell again, breathing heavily.

She, a girl from Earth, was no match for the women of Gor. I found myself not too pleased with the women of Earth. They seemed so inept and helpless. They seemed natural prey to Goreans. Gorean men, familiar with the second knowledge, regard the women of Earth as natural slaves. Perhaps this is true. Surely, when they own them, they treat them as such.

Ilene, helplessly, tried to rise.

Swiftly, lightly, the panther girls sprang into the tiny clearing not five yards from her. The binding fiber, in snare loops, was loose in their hands. Ilene was on her hands and knees. She was in the grass. She wore only the bit of pleasure silk. She was breathing heavily, gasping. She looked at the panther girls.

One of the panther girls, elated, strode to her and tied a length of binding fiber about her throat, tightly. She then backed away from her.

Ilene was on her hand and knees, looking at them, the binding fiber tied on her throat, its free end in the grasp of one of her captors.

“We have caught you, Slave,” said one of the girls.

They laughed.

I dropped down behind them.

With two quick blows I stunned them. I tore away their halters, improvising gags. Then, with binding fiber from their own pouches, I tied their hands behind their backs. Their weapons and accouterments I threw to one dies.

They lay on their stomachs.

“Stay as you are,” I told them. “And spread your legs widely,” I told them. They did so.

“More widely,” I said.

They did so. They could then spread them no more widely. It is very difficult for a captive to rise from this position. Also, psychologically, it induces a feeling of helplessness.

I then went to Ilene, who was now standing. Frightened, and I removed the binding fiber from her throat.

“You were excellent bait,” I told her.

I then took the binding fiber and, looping it several times about the throat of each captive, tied them together by the neck. The fiber which separated them was about eight feet in length, enough to serve as a double leash.

With the fiber I pulled them to their feet. I regarded them, my fist on the leash.

“You have been caught, Slaves,” I told them.

They regarded me with fury.

“Take the slaves to our camp,” I told Ilene.’

‘Yes, Master,” she said. She led them away.

I looked at the two panther girls, being led away. They were the first of our catches.

The men of Tyros, I knew, familiar with islands and the sweeps of gleaming Thassa, were inexperienced in the forest. The panther girls were their guides, their hunters, their scouts, their shields.

If I could make it so that the panther girls feared to leave the camp, and, in the marches, would insist on remaining near the long slave chain, putatively protected by their numbers, the men of Tyros would be, for many practical purposes, deprived of the services of their otherwise dangerously effective allies. Most importantly, I supposed, they would lose the services of their huntresses and guards. If the panther girls were in their camps, or near the slave chain in the march, it would be much simpler for me both to approach and withdraw. If the men of Tyros knew, as they would, that I might come and go as I pleased, this would have an unsettling effect upon them. Too, it should produce dissension between the men of Tyros and their allies, the lovely panther girls of the northern forests.

That day I took nine more panther girls. Five I took with the aid of Ilene. We had good fortune, for the camp had not moved. The men of Tyros, and Hura and Mira, wished to find and destroy the assailant who had struck down the man of Tyros the preceding evening. Their searches and sweeps were widely flung. Five of their parties had failed to return. They were now in my camp, slaves. That night I hunted and felled a tabuk, which kill I brought back to my camp, that my prisoners and the paga slaves, now the keepers of my prisoners, might feed. We could not, of course, risk a fire. I cut pieces of meat from the animal, and gave them to the paga slaves, to thrust into the mouths of the panther girls. If a girl would stop chewing, her gag would be replaced. I examined them. There were eleven of them. They were tied in a line, on their knees. The ankles of each were crossed and tied. One long length of binding fiber, captured from a panther girl, served to tie all their ankles. It had ends free only at the first and last girl. Two other long lengths, similarly captured from fair prisoners, served to lash the crossed wrists of each, bound behind their backs, and their throats. Again, free ends occurred, heavily knotted, only at the last and first girl. It is thus, almost impossible for the interior girls to free themselves, and the first and last girls are tied with exquisite effectiveness.

I left my paga slaves, Ilene included, free. I was their master. They feared the panther girls. The forest itself was their prison.

When it grew late I let the prisoners lie, gagged, on their sides. I kept them tied as they had been.

By sundown of the next day I had added only four to their number.

The camp had not moved, but it was clear to me that the panther girls were now alarmed, and that their ventures from the camp were more conservative and timid. I had heard angry shouts from the men of Tyros, telling them to hunt the forests. There had been, too, angry responses by the panther girls. Not many girls went into the forest, and those that did, did not normally go far. One group, leg by a proud blond girl, scorning the others, did range far. There were four of them. They were brave. They were in my coffle, bound, by nightfall. As the moons were high in the Gorean night of the second day I regarded the prisoners.

“They are slaves,” I said to my paga girls. “Strip them.”

It was done.

I gestured to two of the paga slaves, the first girl, dark-haired, and the second, the blond.

“Put on the skins of panther girls,” I told them.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

They drew on the skins. I looked at the redhead, the paga slave.

“You, too, if you wish,” I said, “may clothe yourself.”

Pleased, she did so.

“Master?’ asked Ilene.

“No,” I told her.

She looked at me.

“You are only prey, and bait,” I told her.

She put down her head. “Yes, Master,” she said. When I was finished with her I would have her sold in Port Kar.

I regarded the other girls, the Gorean girls. “You make lovely panther girls,” I said.

They even stood as panther girls. The effect of raiment is extraordinary. Their heads were high. They looked upon me boldly.

One of the stripped panther girls, furious, struggled in her bonds. She was outraged to see a paga slave clad in the skins of panther girls. The dark-haired girl, the paga slave, in the skins of panther girls, leapt to her and seized her by the hair. She shook her hair violently, and then threw her back. Then she turned to Ilene. “Bring me a switch,” she said, imperiously. Ilene, in her silk, commanded, fled and brought her a switch. I had cut it earlier in the day, but had not used it. If any of the prisoners had been insubordinate, or difficult in any way, the paga slaves had been instructed to use it on them. The switch was stout and supple. The dark-haired girl stood over the panther girl, the switch upraised. “Do you, naked slave, have any objection?’ she asked the panther girl. The panther girl, shaking her head negatively, eyes frightened, shrank back in the coffle. The paga slaves, with the exception of Ilene, who perhaps feared the switch might be used on her, laughed.

I went to the three paga slaves clad in the skins of panther girls. Without speaking I tore the skins at their left thighs to the waist, revealing their brands.

“Do not forget you are slave girls,” I told them.

“Yes, Master,” they said.

I threw the switch to the red-haired girl. “Keep order in the camp,” I said. I turned to Ilene, and pointed to the red-haired girl. “She is now first girl in the camp,” I said. “Until my return you are to her as her slave.” “Yes, Master,” said Ilene.

“Come here,” said the red-haired girl.

Ilene went and stood before her.

“To your knees, Slave,” said the red-haired girl.

Ilene fell to her knees.

“Kiss my feet, Slave,” said the red-haired girl “Yes, Mistress,” whispered Ilene and, fearfully, did so.

“You two,” I told the other two paga slaves, the dark-haired girl and the blond one, “come with me.” I strode toward the perimeter of the camp. At its perimeter I turned. I looked back at the red-haired girl, Ilene, in her yellow silk, was still kneeling at her feet. “Keep order in the camp,” I told the red-haired girl.

She slapped the switch into the palm of her left hand. “I will,” she said. In their camp the men of Tyros doubtless felt secure. It was my wish to convince them that this was not the case.

I might have entered the camp, but I did not chose to do so. I would, merely, deprive it of its guards. In the morning they would awaken and discover that they had been unguarded.

I expected then that they would move their camp. They would then understand that the camp afforded them no protection. On the march, however, they would discover, to their dismay, that there was even less protection.

Strung out in the march, perhaps eventually without points and scouts, they would prove easy game.

There were six panther girls guarding the camp. I would locate them, individually, and then rendezvous with my two accompanying slaves.

The paga slaves, in the skins of panther girls, in the darkness, would approach one of the guards.

They would be halted.

“We are returning,” they would say.

Then, quietly, from the rear, my hand would close over the mouth of the guard. She would be thrown down, gagged, and bound hand and foot. I would then locate another guard, and repeat the same stategem. Interestingly, only two of the guards were immediately suspicious. The initial response of the other four girls, until they had seem the approaching women were not of their band, was on of intense relief. They almost ran to their arms. It had not occurred to them that these women might not be of their own band. To the best of their knowledge they were the only panther girls in the area. Indeed, their information was not incorrect. It was only that, in the darkness, they mistook paga slaves in the skins of panthers for their sisters of the forest, at least returning to the band. Their mistake, natural though it was, was a costly one. In my camp, bound in my coffle, they could contemplate it at their leisure. The two girls who were more suspicious fared no better. They, too, were distracted by the approaching women. They, too, were unaware of my presence, completely unaware, until my hand closed over their mouth and they felt themselves, helplessly, being dragged backward into the brush.

When we were finished we collected the guards. We unbound their ankles and tied them together by the neck. We then herded them to our camp. Before I retired I saw them stripped and added to the coffle.

There were now twenty-one prisoners, each of them a beauty. I was weary. “See that they rest well,” I said. “Do not permit them to struggle.” “I will,” said the red-haired girl, with her switch. She strode among the panther girls. They lay very still, not daring to move a muscle, fearing her. I looked up at the moons, and fell asleep.

The next morning, early, the camp of the men of Tyros had been broken. They were gone.

But, with the long slave chain they held, they would move with great slowness. I returned to my camp. It, too, had now served its purpose.

The men of Tyros, in their flight, had abandoned much baggage, their own, and baggage taken from the camp of Marlenus. They were interested in moving as swiftly as they might. It would not, however, be swiftly enough.

Some of what they had abandoned I thought I might be able to use.

In my camp I had the dark-haired girl and the blond unbind the ankles of the panther girls.

I then had the red-haired girl with the switch, order them to their feet. I would take my prisoners first to the site of the old camp, and then, by a parallel route, we would follow my enemies.

“Coffle them by the left ankle,” I told the dark-haired girl and the blond. They did so. The panther girls were now tied together by the neck and by the left ankle. Their hands were still bound behind their back.

“You many remove their gags,” I told the dark-haired girl. She did so, one by one. The girls threw back their heads, some with their eyes closed and drank the air.

I had seen, among the baggage abandoned at the old camp, a sack of slave hoods. I would use them, if necessary, on the prisoners. Normally, however, I did not expect to be within earshot of the enemy. Many slave hoods, and those at the site of the old camp were among these, combine the advantages of the blindfold and gag. They fit entirely over the girl’s head and buckle under the chin, about the neck. Some are of leather, others of canvas. Some lock.

We took the prisoners to a nearby stream and watered them. We then let them, with their teeth, pick fruit from low-hanging branches.

We then marched them to the site of the old camp. They would be my porters. I had Ilene gather fruit and nuts for me as we made our way through the forest. About the neck of the last panther gild in the coffle were slung seven quivers of arrows, which I had taken from various prisoners.

At the site of the old camp I had the red-haired girl order the panther girls to their backs.

From one of the abandoned crates, discarded now because of its weight and its putative lack of utility, I spilled a quantity of chains to the grass. They were Harl rings, named for the slaver Harl of Turia, who is reported to have first used them. They consist, I effect, of four portions. First, there is a metal ankle ring, which snaps about the girl’s ankle. Second, to the back of the ring, there is welded a closed loop. Third, to the front of the ring, fastened through another closed loop, is about a yard of chain. Fourth, this chain terminates in a locking device, which may then be snapped shut, if one wishes, through the welded, closed loop on the back of a second ankle ring. The Harl ring is a versatile piece of custodial hardware. It may be used to chain a girl to anything, the ankle ring closed on her ankle, and the locking device at say, about a tree, or stanchion, or the ankle of another girl, and then locked about its own chain, or through one of the links of its own chain. The chain, of course, may also be looped about, say, a tree, or a piller in a public building, and the locking device snapped into the welded ring on the back of the girl’s own ankle ring. This is called a closed Harl Loop. One of the most frequent uses of the Harl ring, of course, is to form a segment in a slave chain, which may then be of any length, adding or removing girls, as short or as long as the slaver wishes.

I looked at the panther girls lying on their backs, at the site of the old camp. “Remove the binding fiber from their left ankles,” I told the dark-haired girl. She did so.

“Extend your left legs,” I told the panther girls, “and bend and lift your right knee, heel to the ground.” They did so.

I went to the last girl. I closed the heavy metal ankle ring about her ankle, snapping it shut, and extended its chain, with its locking device, to her right. I then took the second Harl ring and closed it about the ankle of the next girl. I then took the locking device at the termination of the first girl’s ankle ring and snapper it shut, through the closed, welded loop on the back of the second girl’s ankle ring. The two were now chained together. I then extended the chain on the second girl’s ankle ring to her right. I then locked the third girl’s ankle ring to her, and then snapped the locking device on the chain of the second through the welded, closed loop of the third girl’s ring on her. Three were now fastened together. “Please do not chain me,” begged the fourth girl. She knew the dangers, the helplessness, of wearing chains in the forest. I did not speak to her. I chained her. I proceeded, thus, girl to girl, through the fair prisoners. When I finished, I stood up. I looked at the girls, lying on their backs. They were now a slave chain.

“Stand,” I said.

With a rattle of chain, they stood. There were tears on the cheeks of several. “Remove the binder fiber from their throats,” I told the dark-haired girl, “and untie their hands.” She did so.

I went to her who was now the first girl in the chain, she who had been last to be chained. There was, seemingly left over, the yard of chain, coiled on the grass, attached to the front of her ankle ring. It may be used, of course, to fasten the entire chain about, or to, some suitable object, a pillar, a stanchion, a wagon wheel, a tree, a column in a market colonnade, a post in a bazaar, one of the heavy slave rings, set in the ground, usually found at the edges of a square in a Gorean city. But, that it not impeded the girl, I picked it up and, with the locking device through one of the links in the chain, fastened it about her left wrist. She could carry it that way until it was needed.

One key, incidentally, serves for an entire set of ankle rings and locking devices. The key had been in the crate with its set of Harl rings. I dropped the key in my pouch.

“You have chained us,” said one of the girls, a blond one, standing proud in her ankle ring, her feet widely apart. “Our safety is entirely in your hands.” “A single panther,” wept another, cringing, the ankle ring fastened to her left ankle, “could kill us all.” I did not respond to them. I walked about the chain.

“Posture!” cried the red-haired girl, with her switch. She struck two of the girls with stinging stripes.

Then the captive panther girls, fearing her, stood well. Their backs were straight, their heads were high. Their trim ankles were together. Their shoulders were back, their bellies flat and tight.

“You are of the warriors,” said the blond girl in the ankle ring looking straight ahead.

“I am of the merchants,” I told her.

“No merchant,” she said, “could have taken us as you did. You are of the warriors.” I shrugged. It was true I had once been of the warriors.

“Sit,” I told them. The girls sat down on the grass.

With the aid of the paga slaves, and Ilene, I sorted through, discarding here and saving there, the baggage abandoned at the campsite. There was much of some value, though mostly bulk goods. I found quantities of slave meal, which is mixed with water, and silks, and bowls, and collars. Not inscribed, and lengths of dried meat, stretched and salted; and coils of rope and chains. I have already mentioned the sack of slave hoods. Too, there was a small box of slave bracelets, all opening to the same key. The box, though small, was heavy, for slave bracelets, in quantity, are heavy. There was a large, rolled tarpaulin, which might probe useful. The girls could be slept under it at night. The edges could be pegged down. It would provide some protection from cold night rains, and some protection, though less, against panthers and sleen. Among the baggage, too, I found items which had been brought from Verna’s camp, which had been taken originally by Marlenus to his camp, and captured there by the men of Tyros and the band of Hura. Among these items I found the remaining bottles of drugged wine, those which we had not drunk, when we had fallen captive to Verna and her band, not seemingly so long ago. I smiled. Such an exotically vintaged wine might prove of value. These items, and many others from the baggage abandoned at the old camp, I sorted through. When I had decided what we would and would not take, I, and Ilene and the paga slaves divided up the burdens. Four girls, on their shoulders, would carry the heavy tarpaulin.

I was pleased with the amount of foodstuffs found left behind. It did not seem likely to me that it would have been poisoned, but, even if it were, I and the paga slaves would be in little danger from it. It would be fed first to the prisoners.

The fists of the chained panther girls, sitting chained on the grass, were clenched. They could not believe what they saw before them, boxes, and bundles, the rolled tarpaulin.

“We are panther girls!” cried the blond girl in the ankle ring. “We are not porters of a man!” it was she who was struck first with the switch by the red-haired girl, who leaped among them, striking and slashing with the supple lash.

The blond girl, weeping, seized up her burden, and stood straight in the coffle. She carried the box on her head, in the fashion of the Gorean woman. She balanced it with her right hand. She stood straight. She was, though in tears, very graceful.

I regarded the coffle. Each beauty carried her burden, we would, at least in the beginning, follow a parallel trail to that taken by my fleeing enemies. Later, if their flight became more precipitate and less rational, we might simply make their route ours. In this fashion the trail would be broken and clear and, if anything of value had been discarded in the flight, we might, if we wished, gather it up and, following, bring it with us.

I turned and strode toward the forest.

I heard the slap of the switch twice behind me, and cries of pain from panther girls.

“Hurry, Slaves!” called the red-haired girl.

Ilene walked beside me. She took quick steps. Her head came only to my shoulder. She looked up at me, and then looked down.

I regarded her sternly. Her hand lifted before her mouth. Fear showed suddenly in her eyes. Would I have the red-haired girl beat her? “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.

She fled back two paces, and put her head down, trembling. The Gorean slave girl does not dare walk beside a free man. She had forgotten. She had not been long on Gor.

I turned away from her, and continued on. I hear her sob, following me. She had not yet, even, fully, yielded to a man. I expected, however, that soon she would be ready to do so. I had sensed in her body, and her head. She was a pretty slave, the Earth girl. I expected some master would be much pleased with her.

Helplessly yielded, she would be exquisite.

She had not been completely open with me. I would have her sold in Port Kar. I continued on.

Behind me I could hear her quick, light steps, and, behind me, farther back, I could hear the chain of the slave coffle. I would hear the chain, and then a silence, and then the chain again. The left leg of each girl moved in unison, the lovely left ankle of each locked in the clasp of the ankle ring, lifting and carrying the chain that bound them.

I looked back. They were beautiful, the panther girls. They walked straight, and they bore their burdens well. They were a splendid set of slaves.

The red-haired girl walked beside them, with her switch.

I stood on the branch of a tree, concealed in foliage. The slave chain of the men of Tyros passed below me.

It was a long chain, containing ninety-six men. Each was double fastened, and the hands of each were manacled behind his back. Each was chained by the left ankle, and each too, by the throat. About the left ankle of each and the neck of each had been hammered a band of iron, each band with two welded rings. At two ends, then, of a given length of chain, links had been hammered shut again. In this fashion, rude but effective, was formed the long slave chain.

Marlenus was first on the chain, followed by his men. Then came Rim, who had been captured at the time of the raid on the Tesephone. Then came Arn, and the other eight men of mine who had been in the camp of Marlenus when it had been attacked.

Following the men came a coffle of twenty-four slave girls. They were tied together by the neck, by binding fiber. Their wrists were bound behind their body by slave bracelets.

Men of Tyros, and panther girls, flanked the lines of slaves.

Many supplies had been tied on the backs and shoulders of the male slaves. Apparently the men of Tyros, and the panther girls, feared to free their hands. I did not blame them in this matter, for the men they guarded were dangerous. Some burdens were carried even by the men of Tyros. Others, lighter burdens, were carried by certain of the panther girls.

Eight of the men of Tyros, with whips, struck the male slaves. Four panther girls, with switches, hurried the lovely, tethered, braceleted bondswomen. I looked down.

The slave girls now passed beneath me. Only Sheera had been stripped. I saw Cara and Tina, still in their white wool slave tunics, save that they were now dirtied and torn. To my surprise, also in a woolen slave tunic, in coffle, was Grenna, whom I had captured in the forest. She had stood high in the band of Hura. But they were keeping her slave. Panther girls have little patience for those of their number who fall slave. Grenna’s neck knot was tied as tightly as that of any of the other girls; her wrists were confined no less securely behind her back. she was as much slave as they. Then there came six panther girls, who had been of Verna’s band, in their skins, and then, still in lipstick and earrings, still in her bit of slave silk, cam Verna, and then, following her, came the other eight girls who had been of her band. I saw the girl behind her, with her heel, kick at the back of Verna’s knee. She fell back, twisting, strangling in the fiber. She struggled to her feet, muchly switched. One of the switches cut the silk on her body. She tried to turn to face the girl who had kicked her, but strangling, was pulled ahead by the girl in front of her. She was then struck more with switches.

“Hurry, Slave,” cried one of the girls of Hura, striking her twice again with a switch.

Verna hurried on, a slave girl under the switch.

It was no accident that Verna, garbed and adorned as she was, as a pleasure slave, had been tied among panther girls. She even still wore slave bells at her ankle. I suspected that, in the eyes of the men of Tyros, and those of the girls of Hura, her position in the slave coffle was regarded as, and intended as, a delicious cruelty. The remaining slave girls, who had been girls in Marlenus’ camp, brought north for the recreation of his men, were safely tied behind the panther girls. They brought up the rear of the coffle.

I had seen, near the front of the march, Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros, and near him, Hura, and her lieutenant, Mira, who had first betrayed Verna, and then Marlenus. I smiled to myself. Mira would betray Hura as well. I would see to that.

The men of Tyros and the girls of Hura had had scouts out, flanking their line of march, panther girls.

Two, whom I had encountered, were nearby. They were bound and gagged. I had tied them to a small Tur tree.

The last of the march passed beneath me. I would wait, for a time. Doubtless, there would be rear points. They were not as far behind the main group as they should have been. They were doubtless apprehensive, nervous. They were separated by some fifty yards. I took them individually. It was not difficult in the heavy brush. I left them bound hand and foot, and gagged, near the trail, where I might get them later.

The rear of the march was now open to me. I would later use the flanks. I carried with me four of the seven quivers of arrows taken from panther girls. Their arrows, their bows being smaller, are not as long as the common sheaf arrow of the long bow, but they would be satisfactory. The bow need not be fully drawn to effect a considerable penetration.

Sixteen men of Tyros, in single file, brought up the rear of the march. One begins with the last man, and then the next to the last, and so on. I expected that men would now hesitate to bring up the rear of the march. I returned and picked up the girls I had taken, the day’s catch. I unbound their ankles, tied them together by the neck, and, with a switch, hurried them to the camp. There the dark-haired girl and the blond girl, two of my paga slaves, stripped the new prisoners and I, with Harl rings, part of the freight carried by the panther girls, not speaking, fastened them in the slave chain. There were twenty-five girls now in the chain.

They fed from bowls of slave meal, mixed with water. Too, I cut each of them a piece of the dried, salted meat taken from the abandoned camp of Tyros and the girls of Hura.

“What if the food is poisoned?” asked the blond girl, in her ankle ring. “Eat,” I told her.

She looked at me.

“Eat, Slave,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Looking at me apprehensive, she chewed and swallowed.

“Quickly,” I told her.

“Yes, Maser,” she said.

Swiftly, frightened, she finished the bowl of slave mean and the piece of salted, dried meat.

I observed her. She suffered no ill effects. The food had not been poisoned. Later, when the moons were high, the paga slaves and I partook of it as well. I was pleased that we had this food, much of it, because I did not wish to be distracted by the need to seek out supplies.

In the forest I was hunting game other than tabuk.

The loose end of the slave chain, attached to the front of the first girl’s ankle ring, I took from her wrist. I fastened it about a small tree, thus tethering the entire chain of girls to the tree.

“Lie down,” I told the girls. “Closely together.”

They did so.

I then, with the aid of the paga slaves, covered them with the tarpaulin and pegged it down.

I lay awake, looking up at the moons.

I turned my head to one side, and saw, some yards away, at the edge of the camp, in her yellow silks, Ilene. She was standing with her back against the trunk of a tree, her hands behind her back. Her head was turned toward me. Her hair was long and dark. She was very lightly complexioned. She was slender.

I rose and went to her.

“You are of Earth,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“The others are asleep,” she said. “I must talk to you.”

“Speak,” I said.

“Not here,” she said, “surely.”

“Precede me,” I told her.

She turned and, I following her, walked some distance from the camp. Then, in a small clearing, she turned to face me. Her fists were clenched. “Return me to Earth,” she said.

“There is no escape for a Gorean slave girl,” I said.

“I will not accept being a Gorean slave girl!” she said.

“You have not been long on Gor,” I said.

“No,” she cried.

I shrugged and went to turn away.

“I am not a slave girl!” she said.

I turned and faced her. “How did you come to this world?” I asked.

She looked down. “I awakened one night. I found myself bound and gagged. My hands were tied behind my back. my ankles were tied to the bedposts. I could not free myself. I had been stripped. For an hour I struggled, helpless. Then, at two A.M. by the clock on my dresser, a dark, disklike shape, not more than five feet in thickness and eight feet in width, black, appeared before the window. It was a small ship. A man emerged in strange garb. The window lock was, from the outside, disengaged, perhaps magnetically or electronically. The window slide upward. The man swiftly used me. He then hooded me. I felt my ankles released and then crossed and bound together. I then felt myself being lifted through the window and thrust into the small ship. I felt a needle being entered in my back. I lost consciousness, and I remember nothing more until I awakened. I do not know how much later, in a Gorean slave pen.” “How were you sold?” I asked.

“I was sold privately to Hesius of Laura,” she said, “I then served his customers in his paga tavern” “How is it,” I asked, “that you think you are free?” “Is it not clear from my story?” she asked angrily. “I am a free woman of Earth!” “Once, perhaps,” I said. “Then you were taken by Gorean slavers.” “I was taken by force,” she said.

“All slaves are taken by force,” I told her.

She looked at me, angrily.

“How were you brought to this world?” I asked.

“As a slave,” she said.

“Where did you awaken?” I asked.

“In a slave pen,” she said.

“Are you branded?” I asked.

“In the pen,” she said. “I was branded.”

“I see that you wear a collar,” I said. She wore the collar of Hesius of Laura, a tavern keeper in that city.

She tried to tear the collar from her throat. She could not, of course, do so. It remained fixed upon her, snug, beautiful, gleaming.

She threw back her head, haughtily. “It means nothing,” she said.

I smiled.

“A slave collar,” she said, lightly, “Might be snapped on the throat of any pretty girl.” “That is true,” I said.

She reacted as if struck.

“You do not understand,” she said.

“What is it that I do not understand?” I asked.

“Gorean girls,” she hissed, “may be slaves! Not the women of Earth! Earth women are different! They are better, finer, nobler, more refined, more delicate! You cannot make them common slaves!” “You regard yourself as better than Gorean girls?” I asked.

She looked at me, astonished. “Of course,” she said.

“That is interesting,” I said. “To me you seem less worthy, more slavish.” “You needn’t play games with me,” she said. “The others are asleep. We can speak frankly. We are compatriots of Earth. If you wish, for your vanity, I shall play the role of a slave girl when they are about, but I assure you that I am not a slave. I am not a slave! I am a free woman of Earth, different from them, and superior to them! I am better than they!” “And so,” I said, “I should show you special consideration?” “Certainly,” she said.

“I should be particularly kind to you,” I said, “and you should, doubtless be accorded special privileges.” “Yes,” she said. She smiled. “Be cruel to them,” she said, “but not to me. Be harsh to them, but not to me. Treat them as laves, but not me.” “Why should I treat them as slaves?” I asked.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Because they are slaves,” she said.

“And you are not?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.

“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said.

I looked at her. She stood in brief, diaphanous yellow slave silk, that of the paga slave. Her hair was very long and dark. Her skin was very light. She was slender.” “I do not accept being a slave girl,” she said.

“Your legs,” I said, “are beautiful enough,” I said, “to be a Gorean slave girl.” “Thank you,” she said.

I strode to her and pulled away the bit of silk. She gasped, but dared not interfere.

‘“I walked about her. “You are beautiful enough,” I said,to be a Gorean slave girl.” She was silent.

“You were brought by slavers to this world,” I said. “You were sold. You have been branded. You wear a collar.” She dared not speak.

I examined her, candidly. “I congratulate the slavers on their taste,” I said. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I looked at her, standing in the clearing, the bit of silk at her ankles, beautiful in the light of the three moons.

She was now frightened.

“I am glad,” I told her, “that the slavers brought you to Gor.”

“Why?’ she said.

“Because,” I said, “it is a pleasure to own you.”

“I cannot be owned,” she said. “I am not a slave girl!”

“Are you aware that the men of Gor look upon the women of Earth as natural slaves?” I asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.

“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said, her head high.

“You wear a collar,” I said.

“I am not a slave!” she said.

“You are an exquisite slave,” I said.

“No!” she cried.

“Quite exquisite,” I said.

“Return me to Earth!” she cried.

“There is no escape,” I said, “for a Gorean slave girl.”

“I know what you want,” she said. “I will purchase my passage back to Earth!” “What have you to offer?” I asked.

“Myself,” she said. She shook her hair. “Obviously myself!” She looked at me. “I will serve your pleasure,” she said.

“As a slave girl?” I asked.

She tossed her head. “If you wish,” she said.

“Kneel, Slave,” said I, not pleasantly.

Uncertain of herself, she knelt. She looked up at me. There was fear in her eyes.

“Am I playing a role?” she asked.

“No,” I told her.

She tried to leap to her feet, but my hand was in her hair, painfully. When she stopped struggling, I released her. She smiled. “I’m not a slave girl,” she said.

“Do you know the penalty,” I asked, “for a slave girl who lies to her master?” She looked at me, no longer smiling. She was now apprehensive. “Whatever the master wishes,” she said.

“For the first offense,” I said, “the penalty is not usually severe, commonly only a whipping.” She looked down.

“Will it be necessary in the morning to have you trussed and switched?’ I asked. “Why looked up, suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. “Why are you not kind and solicitous like the men of Earth?” she asked.

“I am Gorean,” I told her.

“Will you show me no mercy?” she begged.

“No,” I told her.

She put her head down.

“I shall now ask you a question,” I said. “I advise you to think carefully before you answer.” She looked up at me.

“What are you, Ilene?” I asked.

She put down her head. “A Gorean slave girl,” she whispered.

I knelt then beside her and took her in my arms, and put her back to the grass. “Slaves,” I told her, “are to be treated with great harshness and cruelty, and you are a slave.” She moaned.

She lay on her back on the grass, and looked up at me. “Am I to receive nothing?” she asked. “Nothing?” “You are to receive nothing,” I told her. “Nothing.” In half an Ahn she was wild, moaning, weeping, submissive in my arms. And when in another half an Ahn she yielded it was with the helpless, uncontrollable yielding of the utterly vanquished Gorean slave girl. “I am a slave,” she wept, “ a slave,” she wept, “what will you do with me?” I did not respond to her.

“Will you return me to Earth?’ she asked.

“No,” I told her.

“Will you free me?’ she asked.

“No,” I told her.

“I am totally your slave,” she wept. “What will you do with me, Master?” “I will sell you in Port Kar,” I told her. I then left her.

I awakened shortly before dawn. It was muchly dark, but not as dark as the night. I was cold, and wet. I heard the call of some horned owls.

I rose on one elbow.

At my feet, to one side, a yard or two away, lay Ilene. Her head was on her right arm, and her eyes were open. She was watching me.

I knew the eyes of a slave girl in need.

I looked about. There was already, though before dawn, a dim filtering of light in the forest, the false dawn, the inchoate, fractionated light preceding the true dawn, when Tor-tu-Gor, the common star of two worlds, would, as a Gorean poet once said, fling its straight, warming, undeflected spears of the morning among the wet, cool branches of the forest.

I lay on my back.

The sky was now a darkish gray. I could see the edges of the trees clearly against it. I could detect dim, whitish clouds overhead.

I lifted myself again to my elbow. It was a chilly morning. Dew covered the grass and leaves. Everywhere drops glistened.

I again regarded Ilene. I read the need in her eyes. The bit of yellow pleasure silk, wet with dew, clung to her. Her hair was wet and straight, black, damp and matted back from her forehead, on both sides. Her face was damp. There was dew on her collar. Her legs were drawn up.

She crept to me and put her head to my waist. Then she lifted her head and looked at me. “Master?” she whispered. I did not speak to her. She lay beside me and put her arms timidly about my neck. Delicately, timidly, she kissed me. “Please, Master,” she said, “please.” Her eyes were pleading.

“I do not have time for you now,” I said.

“But I am ready,” she said. “I am ready!”

I took her in my arms and turned her to her back, and touched her. She tore the pleasure silk back that there be less between us.

I marveled. In the night it had taken a full Ahn to an Ahn and a half to bring her to the point of yielding. This morning she had crept to my side as a slave girl in need. To my slightest touch her body responded helplessly, spasmodically. Last night she had been an Earth woman who had had to be conquered, who had had to be taught her collar. This morning she was only a lovely Gorean slave girl, eager and moaning, begging piteously once again for her master’s touch, begging to yield again, and again. On Earth a thousand men might have sued for her hand. On Gor she belonged to only one man, was an article of his property, and was only one slave girl among others.

Twice I used her.

There was little time.

“Please do not sell me, Master,” she begged.

“You are a slave,” I told her. “You will be sold.”

I looked at her. I wondered what she would bring me on the block. Yesterday I would have regarded her as a four-gold-piece girl. But today lovely Ilene’s value had considerably increased. I imagined her ascending the block, turning for the buyers, presenting her beauty for their consideration, responding to the deft guidance of the auctioneer’s coiled whip. And then, when she was unready, when she did not expect it, he would, with the coiled whip, administer to her the slaver’s caress. I could well conjecture, now, the response of the awakened body. The crowd would be much pleased. The movement would be startled, involuntary, sudden, wild, helpless, uncontrollable. Her womanhood would have been betrayed. How enraged, how tearful, she would be. The men would laugh. She had been forced, tricked, before her buyers, on the very block itself, into displaying publicly the ready womanhood of her.

I smiled to myself.

The bids, then, would swiftly increase. The auctioneer, in his skill, would have demonstrated undreampt latencies in the wench, on sale, that her desirablities were not merely placid and visual, but organic, reflexive and sensual, that she, properly handled, was the sort of woman who, as the Goreans say, could not help but kiss the whip that beats her. I smiled. Men would pay well for lovely Ilene. No longer would she be a mere four-goldpiece girl, standard merchandise on a Gorean slave block. The auctioneer, I expected, would close his fist on a price of ten goldpieces for her. I would then have taken a good profit on the Earth-girl slave. Indeed, she had cost me nothing. Last night, I congratulated myself, I had raised her value. I had brought her up by perhaps as much as six gold pieces. I had had a double profit from my work of last night, my pleasure in teaching her her collar and commercially, the considerable improvement of my property, the considerable improvement of my investment.

“Do not sell Ilene in Port Kar,” she whispered. “Sell another girl in Port Kar, not Ilene.” It was dawn.

The red-haired girl, first girl in the camp, she who held the switch, was not up, stretching like a she-panther, yawning like a she-larl. She, though a former paga slave, pulled the skins of panther girls about her body. I had torn the skins at her left thigh, that she might not forget she wore a brand. She was a strong, lithe girl. Ilene, I knew, feared her. And well she might, for she was first girl, and held the switch.

Slowly, stiff-legged, the red-haired girl walked across the wet grass to the dark, dew-stained tarpaulin, to pull the pegs.

It was dawn, time for the prisoners to arise, to be fed and watered, and then, when I wished, to take up their burdens.

“Do not sell Ilene in Port Kar,” said Ilene, snuggling up against me. “Sell another girl in Port Kar,” she whispered, “not Ilene.” “Do you see her?” I asked Ilene, indicating the red-haired girl.

“Yes,” said Ilene, “she is an excellent choice for the block in Port Kar, Master.” “Do you really think so?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Ilene.

“Do you ask that it be she who is sold in Port Kar?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” said Ilene. She kissed me happily.

“Go to her,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” said Ilene.

“Speak to her,” I said.

“I will,” said Ilene. “I will!” she kissed me. “I will tell her that she is to be sold in Port Kar.” “No,” I said.

She looked at me.

“You will go to her,” I said. “You will then inform her that you asked me to sell her in Port Kar. You will then ask her to give you ten switches. You will them ask for your duties of the day.” Ilene looked at me, protest in her eyes. Then, fear and tears came into her eyes and she sprang up.

She ran to the girl.

“I asked for you to be sold in Port Kar,” she said.

“Aren’t you a pretty little slave with the master,” said the red-haired girl/ Ilene trembled.

“And what did he say?” she asked.

“I am to ask for ten switches, and then for my duties for the day.” said Ilene. “I see,” said the red-haired girl.

Ilene stood before her.

“Remove your garment, pretty slave,” said the red-haired girl.

Ilene did so.

“Go to that tree,” said the red-haired girl, indicating a slender-trunked tree at the edge of the camp clearing. Ilene went to it. “Hold to that branch, pretty slave,” said the red-haired girl, indicating a branch over Ilene’s head. Tears in her eyes Ilene grasped it.

There was the swift hiss of the switch and then the slap of its strike. Ilene screamed with pain and fell, releasing the branch. She clutched the base of the tree’s trunk. She looked over her shoulder at the red-haired girl. “Please,” she wept.

“Hold the branch, pretty little slave,” said the red-haired girl, not much pleased with her.

Ilene regarded her with horror.

I strode to the tree and, with two short lengths of binding fiber, tied Ilene’s wrists to the branch.

She was weeping in pain.

“Let me beat her,” said the blond girl, one of the panther girls, in her ankle ring.

The red-haired girl went swiftly to the girl who had spoken and struck her twice. The blond girl, tears in her eyes, shrank back in the coffle, shoulder stinging, and hid herself among the other girls.

The red-haired girl then strode to Ilene.

The Earth girl must now endure nine strokes. The red-haired girl was excellent with the switch. She knew well how to beat a slave.

Ilene would not soon forget her beating.

It took more than two Ehn to deliver the next five strokes. Ilene did not know when, or where on her body, they would fall. She would stand there, her wrists bound over her head, apart, on the branch, waiting. Then suddenly there would be the hiss, and, somewhere on her body, the swift, lashing fall of the switch. The red-haired girl had handled the psychological dimension of the beating beautifully.

Even when she was not being struck Ilene would sometimes cry out. “No! Don’t hit me!” Sometimes, waiting, unstruck, she would cry out as though she had been struck. She jerked, trying to free her wrists. She twisted helplessly, but could not free herself. Then, shaking her head, weeping, she began to writhe and beg incoherently for mercy. She, of course, as a slave girl, would receive none. “Be silent, Slave,” said the red-haired girl.

“Yes, Mistress,” wept Ilene.

“Suppose,” said the red-haired girl to the slave, “it was not a switch, but the five-strap Gorean slave whip?” Ilene closed her eyes.

“Suppose,” said the red-haired girl, “it was not I who disciplined you, but, with such a whip, a male.” “Yes, Mistress,” wept Ilene, her head down.

“Rejoice,” said the red-haired girl, “that you are only switched, and by a woman.” “Yes, Mistress,” whispered Ilene, her face stained with tears. The red-haired girl had thrown Ilene’s long dark hair forward, that it not provide any shielding from the switch.

There were now six stripes on her body, from her ankles to the back of her neck. They were slender and red. Each was well placed. Spreading from each stripe there was a redness of pain. She clenched her fists in her bonds. Now her entire back burned scarlet.

The panther girls, in their chains, laughed. They enjoyed seeing the pretty Earth-girl slave beaten.

I nodded to the red-haired girl. Swiftly, across the back, in rapid succession, she delivered Ilene’s last four stinging stripes.

I then unfastened her wrists from the branch.

She was bent over with pain. I picked up the bit of yellow silk and threw it to her. She caught it, and held it before her body.

“It is you,” I told her,” “who will be sold in Port Kar.”

I then turned away from her.

I heard the red-haired girl addressing the panther women. “On your feet, Slaves,” she said, slapping the switch in her hand.

They stood up.

“Get bowls,” said the red-haired girl to Ilene. “And open a bag of slave meal. When the slaves pass you, give each half a bowl of meal.” “Yes, Mistress,” said Ilene.

“Then gather fruit and nuts for them,” said the red-haired girl.

“Yes, Mistress, ”said Ilene.

I went to the tree about which had been fastened the length of chain extending from the first girl’s Harl ring, that tethering the girls to the tree. I unsnapped it and refastened it about the left wrist of the first girl on the chain, that she might carry it as she had the day before.

The red-haired girl, to my satisfaction, but not asking me, took some of the silk we carried and cut it into strips, wrapping it in and around the ankle rings of her charges, and about the girl’s ankles, that their ankles be protected in the march. She was a good first girl. “Thank you, Mistress,” said one of the girls to her. “Be silent, Slave,” responded the red-haired girl. “Yes, Mistress,” responded the other. She was a good first girl. She, with her switch, maintained a harsh and perfect discipline among her charges, but she was not more cruel to them that it was customary to be with Gorean slaves. They were animals in her charge. She was, accordingly, solicitous for their welfare. From my point of view, of course, a girl with a scarred ankle is likely to bring a lower price than a perfect specimen. I thus approved of her action. “What is your name?” I asked her.

“Whatever master wishes,” she said.

“What have you been called that pleases you? I asked.

“If it pleases Master,” she said, “I should like to be called Vinca.” “You are Vinca,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

I regarded Ilene.

“No!” she said. “Please do not take my name away!”

“You no longer have a name,” I told her.

She looked at me with horror, and fell to her knees piteously before me. “Please,” she begged. “Please, no!” She looked up at me. She then realized that she was nameless. Her entire body, fresh from its switching, shook with the horror of it. Her identity, her very sense of self, from her earliest understandings had been fused with that name, inseparable from it. Now it was gone. Who was she? What could she be? She looked up at me, piteously. A she-verr, a tarsk sow, a tabuk doe had no more nor less name then she. The collared female animal, nameless, knelt at the feet of its owner.

“I will give you a name,” I told her. “It will be more convenient.” There were tears in her eyes.

“I will call you Ilene,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

“There is a difference, of course,” I told her, “in the name Ilene you once wore, and in the name Ilene you now wear.” She nodded, miserably. Her old name, her old identity, had been taken from her forever. Her new name, though in sound the same, was not her old. Between them there was a difference of worlds, a gulf wider than that dividing planets. Her old name had been hers as a free person, publicly registered, legally certified, historically identified with her throughout her life, until her capture by slavers. It had been a proud, intimate possession, giving her pleasure and dignity. It had ennobled her. It had served, with other properties, to distinguish her as a precious person, a unique individual, among all others on the planet Earth. When asked who she was, it was with that name that she would answer. That was who she was. Then the name had been taken from her. She was then only an animal in bondage. In Gorean courts her testimony would normally be exacted only under torture. In such courts she could not, legally, be named, but would rather be described as, say, Ilene, the slave of Hesius of Laura, or Ilene, the slave of Bosk of Port Kar. Her name might be changed, or altered, as often as a master wished. Indeed, he need not even give her a name. Changing a girl’s name, or taking it away, are common modes of Gorean slave discipline. So I would call her Ilene.

But this was not her old name, though in sound it was the same. This was now a Gorean slave name. It carried no dignity nor civil significance. It might be changed; it might be wore that name now, and she knew it, only by the whim of her master. That was the name to which he had decided she would answer. Thus, simply, but his will, it was her name. The first name, Ilene, had been a proud Earth name; the second name, Ilene, was only a Gorean slave name. It was the second name to which she would answer; it was the second name which she would now wear; it was the second name which was now, by my will, hers.

“You are Ilene,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” she said. Then she put down her head and wept.

I turned to Vinca. “Have the slaves prepare to lift their burdens,” I told her. There was much work to be done today.

“Coffle!” cried Vinca, striking two of the girls. Swiftly they lined up beside their burdens. “Posture!” cried Vinca. “Stand straight!” she struck another girl. “Straight!” cried Vinca. “Remember that you are beautiful slaves!” “We are not slaves!” cried one of the panther girls. “We are panther women!” I went to one of the boxes, that which contained uninscribed slave collars. As the girls stood straight in the coffle, looking directly ahead, fearing not to. I, from behind, one by one, moving their hair aside, snapped a slave collar on the throat of each.

I nodded to Vinca.

“Lift your burdens,” she called.

In tears the panther girls lifted their burdens. “Excellent”, called Vinca. “Remember now, you are graceful and beautiful slaves!” I strode from the clearing.

“March!” called Vinca. I heard the switch fall twice, and then heard, alternating with silence, the movement of the chain.