Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Thirty-Sixth: CABOT LEAVES THE CAVE; HE IS ACCOMPANIED BY A SHAPELY BEAST OF BURDEN

"You draw it easily,” said Cabot.

"It is not difficult,” said Lord Grendel.

"You see that tree?” asked Cabot, pointing.

"Certainly,” said Lord Grendel.

"I would like Lita's garland hung upon it,” said Cabot.

This garland was woven of shrub flowers, a white Lirillium, and was in width some seven or eight inches. Such things, hung on wands, are familiar targets in rustic archery. A shaft placed within the garland scores, and one which nicks or cuts the wand scores higher, and one which splits the wand scores highest.

"Lita,” called Cabot, “fling the garland!"

Lita removed the garland from her hair and tossed it away from her, and scarcely had it left her hand than the string of the bow of Lord Grendel leaped forward, and then vibrated with that sudden, intense purr, the bow's music, signaling a flight.

The roarlike hum is unmistakable.

The bow is sometimes spoken of as the peasant's lyre.

"Ai!” exclaimed Cabot, muchly pleased, for the garland rested upon the long, quivering shaft, deep in the tree.

"It is a slight weapon, is it not?” asked Grendel.

"No,” said Cabot. “It is, in its way, a power weapon."

It is spoken of sometimes on Gor as the Great Bow, or the Peasant Bow. As the power of such a weapon may not be clear to everyone, it is perhaps germane to what follows to speak of its nature. First, it is a weapon which requires considerable strength and skill to use effectively. A woman, for example, would be unlikely to be able to bend the bow, and many men could not. It requires great strength even to string the bow, let alone to draw it and fire the projectile. Too, even with the strength to bend the bow it requires additional strength to keep it bent, to steady it, and to train it on a target. Too, skill in its use does not come easily to all, for there are dozens of subtleties of judgment which will affect its accuracy, judgments such as those of distance, elevation, and wind. Too, in many situations, one must take account of the motion, and likely motion, of the target. In the hands of a typical peasant, however, this weapon is formidable. It has a remarkable rapidity of fire, far superior to its common Gorean competitor, the shoulder bow, or crossbow. In the time it takes to fire and reload the shoulder bow, even with a stirrup load, as opposed to a windlass load, it can fire several missiles. A sense of the range of the weapon is given by the fact that a peasant can fire a dozen missiles into the air before the first falls back to earth. It is accurate to two hundred yards and, at that range, can sink an iron-piled shaft four inches into a wooden stump.

"I prefer an ax,” said Grendel.

"That is because you want to be next to what you cut and kill,” said Cabot.

"The shaft is not weighty,” said Lord Grendel.

"Its swiftness compensates for its lightness,” said Cabot.

"The spear can be swift,” said Lord Grendel.

It is true the spear can be cast and with effect, but it is most often used as a stabbing weapon. Once a spear is cast, obviously, it is no longer available to its owner, and this is the case even if it strikes its intended target, one of perhaps dozens of advancing, threatening targets. Sometimes the spear, thrust or cast, is used to penetrate a shield, rendering it unwieldy, and a handicap to its bearer. This is particularly to one's advantage if one is faced with a given foe, as in single combat. The attack is then most often pressed with the blade, most commonly amongst Gorean warriors, a short sword, typically the gladius. One is trained to take the cast spear obliquely on the shield, that it may carom away. In such a case he who throws the spear has lost his weapon and the intended target remains unencumbered.

"The arrow is swifter,” said Cabot. “It is not for nothing the arrow is sometimes spoken of as the bird of death. In Torvaldsland, the arrow is sometimes spoken of as the jard feeder."

This reference seems obscure, but the jard is a Gorean bird, a small, black, flocking bird, a scavenger. Its gatherings, sometimes before battles, or in the vicinity of lengthy, desperate marches, are often regarded with uneasiness, and some see it as a bird of ill omen. A saying in the Gorean north, seemingly related, is to speak of a defeated force as having been given over to the feasting of jards.

"And its range,” said Cabot, “is far beyond that of the spear."

"I think it is a coward's weapon,” said Lord Grendel. “One does not close with the foe. One does not face him. One does not show oneself to him. One strikes him with impunity, from a distance. It pounces with stealth. It is like a knife in the night. Is it not like poisoned wine which can do its mischief while the poisoner reclines afar, amused, upon his couch?"

"It is true,” said Cabot, “that many warriors despise the bow, regarding it muchly as you have suggested, as a slight weapon, as one unworthy of a man, and surely of a warrior, even as one possibly tainted with dishonor, but I am of a contrary conviction."

"Kurii do not look for nobility and honor from humans,” said Lord Grendel.

"I have shared paga with Zarendargar,” said Cabot.

"Forgive me,” said Lord Grendel.

"What would you think of a man who wrestles with larls?” asked Cabot.

"He would be a fool,” said Lord Grendel.

"Better to use a spear, or bow,” said Cabot.

"Certainly,” said Grendel.

"Perhaps the larl might feel that cowardly, or unfair,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps it is,” said Grendel, “but each must do his best, as he can."

"And so, too, must the archer, overmatched, if unable to deal with a mighty foe on that foe's own ground and terms."

"He could choose to die,” said Grendel.

"That is possible,” said Cabot, “but he might prefer to live."

"I think this twig is a coward's weapon,” said Grendel.

"Peasants are not cowards,” said Cabot.

"I do not like the bow,” said Grendel.

"It is not a child's thing,” said Cabot. “It is a powerful, effective weapon, and it requires skill to use it well. A mighty warrior confronted by two foes is often doomed, one foe engaging and the other striking. The archer might slay ten before the eleventh reaches him. Who, then, is the more redoubtable foe?"

"It seems not a noble weapon,” said Grendel.

"The knife,” said Cabot, “outreaches the hand, and the sword outreaches the knife, and the spear outreaches the sword. Is the knife then less noble than the hand, and the sword less noble than the knife, and the spear less noble than the sword?"

"No,” said Grendel.

"Perhaps then,” said Cabot, “the arrow is not less noble than the spear."

"The arrow can strike from cover, the archer unseen,” said Grendel.

"So, too, can the knife, the sword, the spear, even the slinger's leaden pellet or smoothed, rounded stone."

"True,” said Grendel.

"Also,” said Cabot, “you seem surprisingly adept with this despised weapon.” He then called to Lita, that she might retrieve the garland, which hung upon the quiet shaft.

Lord Grendel did not respond.

"You have been practicing, have you not?” asked Cabot.

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel.

"Why?” asked Cabot.

"This is the only match we have, against power weapons,” he said.

"You would not prefer to run nobly up the palace steps and be burned alive?” asked Cabot.

"No,” said Lord Grendel.

"Nor would I,” said Cabot.

"Make more arrows,” said Lord Grendel.

"I shall,” said Cabot. “And then we must join the fray."

"I will go ahead, tonight,” said Lord Grendel. “If the revolution should be successful, the Lady Bina, as a traitress, will be in great danger. She may need me."

"Forget her,” said Cabot.

"No,” said Grendel.

"She is worthless,” said Cabot.

"True,” said Lord Grendel, “but she is beautiful."

"I fear you are human,” said Cabot.

"Human, perhaps,” said Grendel. “Perhaps human, yes, and perhaps too human."

* * * *

"Master,” said the slave, Lita, kneeling before him.

It was now morning.

Yesterday evening, taking advantage of the darkness, Lord Grendel had exited the cave, taking with him a knife, the ax, one of the bows, and a sheaf of arrows.

About the slave's head was the wreath of blossoms, this of white Lirillium.

It is not unusual for slaves to bedeck themselves as they may, and to do so occasionally with flowers, sometimes a garland, sometimes with a mere blossom or two, fixed in the hair. Such things can be fetching, and it is likely they are not unaware of this. They can treasure simple things, too, a ribbon, a bangle, a bracelet, a string of colorful glass or wooden beads. Indeed, such simple things, as worn by a slave, herself recognized as goods, can be a thousand times more provocative to a male than the pearls and diamonds of a free woman.

Beautiful women tend to be vain of their beauty, and it is natural for them to nurse, guard, and enhance it, and slave girls, commonly the most beauteous of all, for commonly it is only the most beautiful of girls which are taken for collaring, are no exception. Accordingly, the slave girl, well aware of her beauty, which commonly far exceeds that of the plainer free woman, is seldom a stranger to vanity. Moreover, as a slave in a unapologetically and uncompromisingly male-dominated world, she is excruciatingly aware, as she might not be in a drabber, grayer, hypocritical world, of her femaleness, and its enormous importance. After all, it has been in virtue of that that she has been acquired, and it is in virtue of that that she will be bought and sold. Her femaleness in such a culture is not incidental to what she is. In such a culture it is not the unimportant empirical contingency, the biological irrelevancy, the meaningless anatomical fortuity, it is claimed to be in a world of anonymity and negativity, of neuterism, that of a world engineered to abet the mindless servicing of machines, technological and economic, political, and corporate. On Gor, the slave, particularly if extracted from Earth's barbarisms of fatuity and denial, discovers, usually for the first time, the enormous importance of her femaleness. It is no longer a supposed accident casually appertaining to her body but rather she herself, what she is. She is a female. It is what she is. Certainly this is clear to her when she is exposed on the block.

On Gor the woman discovers then, often for the first time, fully, that she is a female, and the specialness, preciousness, wonderfulness, and importance of this.

And, too, on Gor, she learns her desirability, and what this will mean in a world of strong men.

And she learns she has been designed in virtue of a binary sexual shaping, a complementary wholeness within which alone she can find her fulfillment, a wholeness within which there is one to command and one to submit, one to rule and one to obey.

A collar on her neck, her lips pressed fervently to the feet of a master, she rejoices to learn what she is, and would not be other than she is.

How else can she find her ultimate and perfect fulfillment?

On Gor these things are understood.

Too, on Gor, at last, as a slave, she finds she has an incontrovertible, indisputable, inexpugnable societal and cultural identity.

At last she finds she is real, quite real, and in two ways, one biological, and one societal and cultural.

Biologically she is a female, and societally and culturally, incontrovertibly, she is a slave.

And she learns on Gor what men are, and can be, and how she will be treated, and what will be done with her.

And she will have little to say about this, and this is welcomed, and it thrills her lovely belly.

Gor is a natural world.

And she finds herself a female in such a world, and the most female of all women, the female slave.

Not until she was collared did she understand the power and beauty of men, whose slave she is, and in whose arms she now longs to be enfolded.

"You are pretty, Lita,” said Cabot.

"Thank you, Master,” she said.

"What have you in your hands?” asked Cabot.

She put her head down and lifted and extended her arms, offering Cabot the object. “Master,” she said. In the pleasure cylinder, she had been taught to so proffer items to a free person.

"What is it?” asked Cabot.

He took the object from the girl, which was a small object, weighty, and of gold.

"It is a ring,” said Cabot, “a Kur ring."

"It is the ring of Lord Arcesilaus,” said the slave.

"He is dead?” said Cabot.

"No,” said the slave.

"How is it you have the ring?” asked Cabot.

"Yesterday,” said the girl, “Lord Arcesilaus gave it to Lord Grendel, to be given to you this morning."

"Why to me?” asked Cabot.

"I do not know,” she said.

"I cannot accept it,” said Cabot.

Cabot made his way to the back of the cave.

He crouched down beside Arcesilaus, and turned on the Kur's translator. “Here,” said Cabot, trying to press the ring into the paw of the large Kur.

His offer was received with a growl. A soft, tortured noise came from the Kur. The translator, however, rendered this in a natural volume, and clarity. “No,” it said.

"I cannot accept this ring,” said Cabot.

"You will fight against Agamemnon,” came from the translator.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Take the ring,” came from the translator.

"Why?” asked Cabot.

"Take it,” came from the translator.

"Very well,” said Cabot.

"Now, leave me,” came from the translator.

Cabot rose up, the ring clenched in his hand, and went back to where the slave waited. When he came into her proximity, as she was still kneeling, not having been given permission to rise, she put her head to the floor of the cave.

The former Miss Pym looked well, kneeling so.

As many times before, Cabot speculated how the young men she had known on Earth would regard her as she now was, a collared slave.

He did not doubt but what they would rejoice.

Perhaps they would make bids for her.

But he did not think he would sell the slave, at least not now.

"Be as you will,” said Cabot, absently.

She knelt up, regarding him.

"I do not understand it,” said Cabot, considering the ring. “If authority is here, it is not an authority I could use. I could not command Kurii."

"He did not explain its use?” asked Lita.

"No,” said Cabot. “If authority were involved, he should have given it to Lord Grendel, if only that he might give it to another."

"But he gave it to you,” said Lita.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I do not know,” said Cabot. He examined the ring. It was heavy, carved, ornate, but it did not seem unusual. It did not seem a mechanism. It did not seem a key. It did not seem a container of some sort. It did not open. “It is too large for my finger,” said Cabot. “I will put it on a string, about my neck."

The slave, unbidden, fetched a bit of cord, from which Cabot, with his knife, cut a strand of suitable length.

"You put it within your tunic,” observed the slave, who had returned to first position.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “in war, in certain lights, say, in moonlight, a glint on a buckle, a flash from an emblem, such things, might betray one's position."

She touched her collar, almost inadvertently.

"Yes,” smiled Cabot, “more than one fugitive slave has been betrayed by so small a thing."

Cabot turned away from the girl, and began to gather up accouterments. He took up the unstrung bow, and a quiver of arrows, formed from part of one of the blankets which had been purchased by Grendel.

"Lord Grendel,” said the girl, “left many arrows."

"True,” said Cabot. “He took some, but many he left. He has greater confidence in his ax, I fear."

"Surely he left them for Master,” she said.

"Perhaps,” said Cabot. “But it is inconvenient, and can be dangerous, to be overburdened. It is not as though I had a pack kaiila at hand."

"Master has a girl at hand,” she said.

"True,” he said.

"I have never seen a kaiila, Master,” she said, “but I understand I am worth far less than one, let alone the great tarn of which I have been told, but, too, have not seen."

"It is true that slaves commonly sell for less than a kaiila,” he said, “and, too, usually, for the price of a tarn one might purchase twenty or more slaves, even of great beauty."

"Even as beautiful as I?” she asked.

"Vain little beast,” he chided.

"Master?” she persisted.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"I see,” she said.

"Perhaps you now better understand what you are, and your value,” said Cabot.

"Yes,” she said. “I am an animal, one animal amongst other animals, and not the most valuable."

Cabot wondered if he truly understood that. Probably not, he thought. Not in her belly.

To be sure, she had made progress, considerable progress. He remembered her helplessness, her squirming, her gasping, her thrashing about, her begging.

Surely she had begun to sense what it might be, to be a man's slave.

"But more valuable than some,” he said, “usually more valuable than verr or tarsk."

"I see,” she said.

"And animals such as you are special,” he said. “They appeal to men."

"That was clear,” she said, “from the pleasure cylinder."

"And,” he said, “some men would give a dozen tarns to bring a particular woman, say, one who had not treated them well, into their chains."

"I would fear to be she,” she said.

"Do not be upset,” he said. “Masters occasionally grow fond of an animal."

"But she is still an animal."

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

"And should that slip her mind?” she asked.

"The lash will correct such lapses,” he said.

"Then she is truly an animal,” she said, “not only legally, societally, and culturally, but even in the eyes of her master."

"Of course,” he said.

"Good,” she said.

That response interested Cabot.

The girl was perhaps on the edge of bondage. Perhaps she had begun to sense the stirring, the begging, of her secret slave, the need of a woman to be such, her master's beast, his animal, on his chain, licking and kissing, hoping to please.

It is apparently pleasant to own a slave.

Many are the wonders of the collar, many the marvels consequent upon its affixing.

"So many?” she said.

"What?” said Cabot.

"Twenty?” she said. “As many as twenty, for only one tarn?"

"Much depends on the market,” he said.

"As beautiful as I?” she asked.

"You are quite vain,” he said.

To be sure, this is not unusual with a beautiful woman, and it is certainly not unusual with a beautiful slave, who is probably well aware of the most likely reason a collar has been put on her.

"Master?” she persisted.

"Perhaps more beautiful,” he said.

"But I am beautiful, surely,” she said.

"You will do,” he said.

"I was publicly chained in the pleasure cylinder,” she said, “and I was not unaware of the approbatory glances of masters. They roved me well, and lengthily."

"So?” he said.

"And they are, as you may recall,” she said, “slavers, professionals in the assessment of slaves."

"It is true, as I have said,” he said, “that you would do. Vended off a platform at night, under torches, well displayed, your blemishes somewhat concealed, you might bring a handful of copper."

"I am extremely beautiful,” she said.

"Do you think you were the most beautiful woman in the pleasure cylinder?” he asked. He recalled that she had thought herself amongst the most beautiful women she had ever seen on Earth. To be sure, at that time she was unfamiliar with a particular form of merchandise, Gorean kajirae.

Her eyes filled with tears. “No,” she said.

"But more beautiful than some?” he said.

"Yes,” she said, “yes!"

"When on my chain,” she said, “I heard Master Peisistratus, assessing my lineaments and features, quite candidly as men will do, and which at the time was easily done, as I wore only a chain, commend me to another, ranking me above several of his girls."

"That is high praise,” said Cabot. Certainly the girls of the pleasure cylinder had been carefully selected, chosen with the pleasure of his crews in mind.

"So I am beautiful, am I not?” she said.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “you are beautiful."

"Quite beautiful!” she said.

"Yes,” he said, “quite beautiful."

"And though I am not free,” she said, “might not master find me of interest, if only as a slave."

"Perhaps,” he said.

He found this amusing, for most slaves were once free women, and, usually, only the most beautiful of free women were collared. Accordingly, almost all slaves would be likely to be more beautiful than most free women, a fact not lost on free women. Too, interestingly, women became more beautiful in bondage, this going well beyond the garmenting, dieting, training, and exercising of the slave, but having more to do with the life of a slave, and its fulfillments.

"I would beg to serve Master,” she said.

"There is little time,” he said.

"I know,” she said.

Amongst Goreans, though one may use a slave as carelessly, as thoughtlessly, and indifferently as one might take a drink of water, as one might take a belt to her flanks, as one might, the need on one, cuff her to her knees, it is common to take one's time with her, often a morning or an afternoon, or an evening, sometimes a day. The lengthy and patient exploitation of a slave is one of the pleasures of the mastery. She is no stranger to his favorite viands, which she, most likely nude, for masters, at such times, often keep their slaves so, will prepare under his supervision, nor to the wines which she will measure and serve, her loveliness similarly exposed for his delectation, as much as the goblet, the serving surface, and such, nor to the furs at the foot of his couch, upon which, helplessly chained, she will be forced, again and again, mercilessly, at his pleasure, she willing or not, as an object, an animal, to endure prolonged lengthy, shameful, degrading ecstasies, ecstasies beyond the comprehension of the free woman, those of the mastered slave.

"Master could use a pack beast,” she said.

He regarded her.

"Surely,” she said.

"It is true,” he said.

"Let Lita be your pack beast,” she said.

"It can be a capital offense for a slave to touch a weapon,” said Cabot.

"Do not slaves sometimes arm their masters?” she asked.

"Sometimes,” he said.

"And do they not sometimes struggle beneath the weight of their masters’ shields?” she asked.

"Sometimes,” he said. “How would you know these things?"

"In teaching me Gorean,” she said, “the girls in the pleasure cylinder told me much of Gor."

"When they were not using their switches on you,” he said.

"Yes,” she smiled, ruefully.

"Your Gorean is coming along well,” he said.

"When an error in diction or grammar brings a stroke of the switch, one learns quickly and well,” she said.

"Surely,” she said, “if the slave has the master's permission, she might touch weapons?"

"Such permission is seldom granted,” he said.

"I might bear many arrows,” she said, “all that remain here."

"You might be slain on Gor,” said he, “to be discovered so, touching a weapon."

"We are not now on Gor,” she said.

"The men of Peisistratus are Gorean,” he said. “And there might be others."

"If it were clear I were no more than a pack beast,” she said, “who might object?"

"Perhaps none,” mused Cabot.

"And might they not be pleased, to see me helplessly burdened?"

"It pleases many to see a beautiful slave laboring,” said Cabot.

"How might a kaiila serve Master in such a situation?” she asked.

"You are a clever slave,” he grinned.

"May not a slave's question be answered?” she inquired.

"The arrows, bundled, would be upon its back, and the beast itself might not stray, being on its tether."

"Surely a slave,” she said, “might be so burdened?"

"And tethered?"

"Perhaps,” she said.

"But you are not a kaiila, pretty Lita,” said Cabot. “You have hands, small, pretty hands, with small, lovely fingers."

"Yes,” she said, “I have hands, but they may easily be made helpless."

He regarded her suddenly, sharply.

"As a slave,” she said, “I am no stranger to bonds, and have I not been helpless many times, while my Master, with his patience, and skills, worked his will upon me, forcing me, whether I willed it or not, to endure ecstasies, and then ecstasies beyond ecstasies?"

"Such things may be done to a slave,” he said.

"And are done to them!” she said.

"Of course,” he said.

"And our will means nothing!"

"True,” he said.

"And what Master may not understand,” she said, “is that we wish to be choiceless. We want our will to mean nothing."

Cabot was silent.

"Our bondage is a way of life,” she said. “We want to belong, to be owned, to kneel, to submit, to serve, wholly and helplessly. Our servitude, our submission, our categorical surrender, our helplessness, is important to us. We love being what we are. Our brands, our collars, are precious to us. Our bondage is our freedom, our servitude our liberty."

"I cannot understand this,” he said.

"Master is not a woman,” she said.

"You must remain here, to care for Lord Arcesilaus,” said Cabot.

This remark was met with a roar of fury from the back of the cave, and the gigantic, wounded Kur struggled to one elbow on the stone. Its eyes were blazing. The fangs at the right side of the jaw were visible. The nostrils were distended, the ears laid back. There was moisture about the visible fangs, and the lips.

"Master forgot to turn off the translator,” observed the slave, her head down, smiling.

"Vixen,” said Cabot to her, apparently in English. I do not find this word in the resources.

"Do not rise,” Cabot cautioned Lord Arcesilaus, for the Kur was now half on its feet, and blood emerged from beneath more than one bandage.

Cabot went to the back of the cave, and Lord Arcesilaus subsided, in obvious pain.

"The world is at stake,” came from the translator.

"You must be cared for,” said Cabot.

"Leave her behind,” said Lord Arcesilaus, “and I will eat her, and this I swear by all the faces of the Nameless One."

"We will leave water, and food,” said Cabot.

"Begone,” said Lord Arcesilaus.

Cabot and the slave set supplies within reach of the weakened, anguished Kur, water in vessels which were available from the purchases of Lord Grendel earlier, and what was left of edibles suitable for Kurii, meat from huntings, and some of the processed edibles which had been chemically designed for compatibility with the Kur metabolism. The latter, incidentally, are also edible by certain forms of animal life, sheep, goats, kaiila, humans, and such.

Cabot would take few supplies with him, as he expected foraging would be available, and he retained, as well, some of the coins won from Peisistratus, and, of course, the rubies he had originally been given by Lord Agamemnon, prior to the trial of Lord Pyrrhus.

Cabot then looked upon his lovely goods, the slave, Lita.

"Master?” she asked.

"Face away from me,” said Cabot. “Place your hands behind your back."

There were two swift, decisive clicks, almost simultaneous, and the slave, frightened, tried to separate her wrists.

"Master!” she said.

"Slave bracelets,” explained Cabot. “From Peisistratus. I have kept them in my pouch."

"I am helpless!” she said, jerking at the bracelets. “These are metal! I cannot slip them!"

"They are not intended to be slipped,” said Cabot.

"I did not expect to be braceleted,” she said.

"I find that acceptable,” said Cabot.

"If you must bind me, Master,” she said, “do not do so in this fashion, I beg you. Rather, use slave cord. That will hold a girl well."

"It would,” said Cabot, “but anyone might cut it away. Too, you might, in time, fray it, and sever it, say, on a sharp stone."

"You would have me enmetaled, braceleted, on our journey, so utterly helpless?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"I might as well be a kaiila,” she said.

"Precisely,” said Cabot.

"It was a joke!” she protested.

"Not at all,” said Cabot.

"And I suppose I am then to be tethered, as well,” she said.

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

"Surely not!” she said. “Surely not!"

He turned her about, rudely, and put the leash on her neck, over the collar. He then jerked twice on the leash, pulling it against the back of her neck. Such things are commonly done with slaves. They understand such things.

"I am tethered!” she said. “You have literally tethered me! I am literally tethered!"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

Cabot then held the leash taut, his fist but inches from her neck.

He then casually examined the shapely, braceleted captive of his leash, her face and throat, and shoulders and figure, scarcely concealed in the brief tunic, and her thighs, and calves, and ankles, and small, bared feet.

"I am enmetaled, and tethered,” she said. “Is Master satisfied?"

"I am considering the matter,” said Cabot.

"Master regards his slave boldly,” she said.

"Slaves may be so regarded,” he said.

"Does Master's pack beast meet with his approval?” she asked.

"For light loads, such as you might well replace the kaiila."

"A slave is flattered,” she said.

Cabot then slackened the leash, but did not release it.

"Doubtless I have little to fear now from Goreans,” she said, “as my status as a mere beast of burden is well displayed."

"You are a beast of burden, true,” said Cabot, “but scarcely one accountable as a mere beast of burden."

"Of course,” she said. “I am a female slave."

Cabot grinned.

The female slave, you see, is wholly at the mercy of the master.

She pulled a little at the bracelets.

"And doubtless the bracelets are to make even more clear my inability to alter or modify in any way the use to which I am to be put."

"Yes,” said Cabot. “In this way it should be made clear to Goreans that this is something done to you, and that you have had no say in it."

"I would be truly in jeopardy otherwise?” she asked.

"Quite possibly,” said Cabot. “And in this way, too, it should be clear to Kurii that you are in no way a participant or combatant, but only goods, only an animal, and slave."

"To be disposed of as victors see fit?"

"Precisely,” he said.

"I see,” she said.

"What I fear you may not see, truly see, even now, given your newness to your condition, and your Earth upbringing,” he said, “is that that is actually, exactly, what you are, and all that you are."

"Surely I understand all that,” she said.

"Intellectually, perhaps,” he said.

"'Intellectually'?” she said.

"Yes,” he said, “but now you are going to better understand it, truly understand it."

"Master?"

"In your pretty little belly,” he said, “as any other slave."

She looked at him, suddenly, wildly.

"Master!” she protested.

He then knelt her and, by the leash, pulled her head down, and, crossing her ankles, took the leash back, between her legs, and used its free end to fasten her ankles together.

"Do you understand?” he asked.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"May I speak, Master,” she asked, with difficulty.

"No,” he said.

"Yes, Master,” she whispered.

He then began to gather together those arrows to the side, those not previously readied in his own blanket quiver. There were perhaps a hundred such missiles. He put them in four bundles, placed the bundles in a blanket, and fastened the whole across her back.

Later he freed her ankles and lifted her to her feet.

He then left the cave.

She followed him, staggering a little, on her tether.