They were buoyant, and the mood was one of celebration. I watched my slave, Mira, smiling, jesting and pouring wine for many of the panther girls of Hura’s band.
The hour was late. It would be dawn in four Ahn. The drug was a strong one. It had been intended for the bodies of men, not the smaller bodies of women. I did not know the duration of its effect in a woman. Mira had, under Vinca’s strict questioning, told us that it would render a man unconscious for several Ahn, usually a half a day.
My own slave coffle, unknown to the men of Tyros and the girls of Hura, was camped not more than two pasangs away.
It might be necessary to waken some of Hura’s girls forcibly from the drug. We did not wish to lose too many hours.
I decided I would need sleep, and so left the vicinity of the camp of the men of Tyros and the girls of Hura.
In examining baggage discarded along the trail, abandoned in flight, I had found little of interest. It was mostly furs and clothing. Three furs I had brought back to Vinca and the other two paga slaves, that they might be comforted from the hard ground and protected from the cold forest nights. I brought no furs for Ilene or the other slaves. The panther girls, chained together, had one another for warmth, and the tarpaulin. Ilene had nothing. When she grew too miserable she would creep to my side for warmth. I would then use her. Her responses were becoming rapid, deep and organic, almost spontaneous. A slave girl is best either when she is often used, or when she has been deliberately, for some time, deprived. A free woman may go days or weeks without the touch of her companion. For a slave girl, who has learned her collar, this would be almost unspeakable misery. Two nights without a master’s touch would be agony for her. Slave pens are often filled with girls, second and third collar girls, begging to be sold. Sometimes their sales are even postponed that their desperation, piteous and supplicatory, their longing to surrender their small bodies, their softness, and beauty, to the hard, strong arms of a master, may be more evident on the block. It is interesting to note a woman, in the process of her vending, who attempts, out of self-hatred, or hatred of men, or pride, to conceal this deprivation, this need. In the hands of a skilled auctioneer she is forced to reveal, incontrovertibly, her passionate latencies, the suppressed pleadings of her womanhood for a master’s touch. Before the auctioneer closes his hand on a price for her, it will be clear to all in the market, including the woman, that her beauty is truly for sale, and fully. Also among the discarded baggage I had found some tunics of Tyros. I had selected one and taken it to my camp. I thought that perhaps, at some time, it might prove useful.
17 I Add Jewels to the Slaver’s Necklace
I strode among the unconscious bodies of panther girls. They slept late. I would not, in the future, allow them that luxury.
“Add them to the slave chain,” I told Vinca.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
From our coffle we had separated eight girls and chained them in pairs, left ankle to right ankle, running the Harl ring chained of one to the second welded ring on the Harl ring of the other. They were thus double chained and separated by about a yard. Each pair was under the command of one of my slaves. Even Ilene in her slave silk, had a switch, and was given her pair of girls to command. She struck them with the switch. “Hurry, Slavs!” she told them.
The chained work slaves, under their switches, began to gather up the unconscious panther girls and carry them and place them on the grass in a line, their feet at, and vertical to, what would have been an extension of the coffle line.
“I am glad there are more slaves,” said the blond girl, in her ankle ring. “That way there will be less for us to carry.” I had thoroughly scouted out the camp and surrounding area.
I looked about. Once more there was the sign of a rout. This morning the men of Tyros had doubtless awakened pleased and confident, eager to be again on their way to the sea. Then, to their horror, and that of the girls of Hura, it had been impossible to rouse many of the panther girls, indeed, all who had last night drunk of Mira’s proffered wine.
The girls would have been deeply unconscious. They would have responded to nothing, save perhaps with a twist of their bodies and an almost fevered moan. The men of Tyros, as I had expected, had not elected to remain at the camp, to protect and defend the girls until they had regained consciousness. They did not know but what this event had been the prelude to a full attack. They did not know the number nor nature of their enemies. They desired to preserve their own lives. Further, they did not elect to impede themselves and their chain by carrying them. Some, I expected, perhaps high girls in Hura’s band, had been carried by their sisters of the forests. Most, however, had been abandoned, left behind with the tenting and baggage.
I saw two slaves dragging another girl by, under the supervision of the dark-haired paga slave.
I heard a switch fall twice. Ilene had beaten her girls. They were dragging another fair prisoner. “Hurry!” scolded Ilene. They did not fear her. They feared Vinca. Accordingly they obeyed Ilene perfectly. She exulted in her absolute control of two other girls. She struck then again. “Hurry!’ she cried. I looked down at two of the unconscious girls. They had gone to sleep after the wine, warmed and drowsy. They would not have known it was drugged. When they awakened they would expect it would be morning and they would resume their march. They doubtless would be startled, upon awakening, to find themselves stripped, members of a slave chain, their fair ankles locked in Harl rings. Suddenly I was alert. I detected in one of the small, narrow, open tents, abandoned, a movement.
Giving no sign I continued as before, looking about the camp. Then, when my presence was concealed by the side of the tent, I slipped into the brush. In a few moments I discovered, kneeling in the tent, her back to me, with drawn bow, a panther girl. She had been pretending to be drugged, but had not been. she had had as yet no opportunity for a clean, favorable shot. She could not risk a miss. Other tents, and moving women, had been between us. I admired her, muchly. What a fine, marvelous, brave woman she was. Others had fled. She had stayed behind, to defend her fallen sisters of the forest.
It, of course, had been her mistake.
From behind I took her by the arms. She cried out with misery.
I bound her hand and foot.
“What is your name?” I asked, as I fastened he knots on her wrists, behind her back.
“Rissia,” she said.
I carried her to where the other girls lay and put her on the grass among them. I then looked again about the camp. I found a girl over whom a blanket had been thrown. I had her, too, carried to a place in the line.
“Return the work slaves to the coffle,” I said.
The paga slaves and Ilene brought their work slaves back to the coffle. “Stand there to be chained!” said Ilene.
“Yes, Mistress,” they said. Ilene laughed.
I fastened them again in the coffle, and moved the coffle forward, so that its last girl now stood where the first of the unconscious girls, lying on the grass, might now be conveniently shackled to her.
Vinca came toward the line. She was leading, by the arm, a stumbling, half-conscious panther girl.
“Where am I? Who are you?” the girl was asking.
“You are at your camp,” said Vinca. “And I am Vinca.”
“Where are you taking me?” asked the girl.
“To be enslaved,” said Vinca.
“Lie here,” said Vinca.
The girl lay on the grass, tried to get up, and then fell unconscious. “Remove their clothing,” I told Vinca and her girls. Their clothing, weapons, pouches, everything was removed from the panther girls. It was thrown to one side and burned. It is customary on Gor to strip a woman before shackling her. Why I do not know.