"Why not?” asked Cabot.
"The slave!” cried Flavion. “The slave!"
"A worthless slave for a worthless life?” asked Cabot.
"Yes, yes!” said Flavion.
"It is a possible exchange,” said Cabot.
"Yes, yes!” cried Flavion. Blood was about his jaws where he had bitten himself in his pain.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"You want her back,” said Flavion.
"Do I?"
"You desire her,” said Flavion.
"Better can be purchased in the markets,” said Cabot.
"But I think it is she whom you want,” he said.
"Perhaps, to teach her that she is a slave, a mere slave, and nothing else, and then beat and sell her."
"I will include gold,” said Flavion, “staters of Brundisium, tarn disks of Ar!"
"It seems you are well prepared, should the opportunity present itself, to buy your way to Gor."
"One must prepare for contingencies,” said Flavion. “It seems it is you who chose the winning side."
"As I am of the scarlet caste,” said Cabot, “I do not care to haggle."
"One hundred staters then, and ten tarn disks,” said Flavion.
"The girl herself, stripped, on a block,” said Cabot, “would not be likely to go for more than two silver tarsks. She is not even pen-trained."
There are professional slave trainers, of course. For a fee, they will train a girl. It is said that some can take a pot girl, a kettle-and-mat girl, a mill girl, a laundress, or such, and return a needful dream of a pleasure slave. This is often a good investment, obviously, as one might then sell them for a higher price, that would more than cover the trainer's fee. To be sure, no woman can thrive except at a man's feet.
"The exchange is obviously much to your advantage,” said Flavion.
"Considerably so,” said Cabot.
"We are then in agreement?” said Flavion.
"It seems so,” said Cabot. “You will lead me to the slave?"
"Certainly,” said Flavion. “Release me."
"Might it not be better for you to tell me where she is,” said Cabot. “Then, if you are telling the truth, and I recover her, in block condition, salable and such, I could return for you."
"No, no!” he cried. “I will die here!"
"Some sleen,” said Cabot, “survive for days."
"My presence would be necessary,” said Flavion.
"Then there must be others, to recognize you,” said Cabot.
"—Yes,” said Flavion.
Cabot then, with much effort, lifted the teeth of the trap a few inches, and Flavion, with his hands, lifted his torn, bleeding leg free.
"We have an agreement, do we not?” asked Flavion, in pain.
"As I understand it,” said Cabot, “a slave—for a life, and gold."
"Give me my rifle,” said Flavion.
"I have your word, do I not,” asked Cabot, “that it will not be used against me?"
"Surely,” said Flavion.
"May I trust you?"
"My word has been given, and I am Kur,” said Flavion.
"Very well,” said Cabot, and pushed the weapon across the leaves, so that it would lie within the reach of Flavion. “You had best staunch the bleeding,” said Cabot.
Flavion reached to the weapon, in pain, grimacing, and then swung it to his shoulder, pressing the detonating mechanism twice, once point-blank at the large sleen, once at Cabot.
"I removed the charges in your camp, last night,” said Cabot. “If you are to be of much use, you had better stop the bleeding."
In desperate fury Flavion cried out with rage and flung the rifle at Cabot, who moved to the side, permitting it to pass, which it did, spinning into the brush.
"I will cut a branch, to be used as a staff,” said Cabot. “That leg will not be of much use to you, not for some time, perhaps never."
Chapter, the Seventy-First:
A DESTINATION IS APPROACHED
"We are close?” asked Cabot.
"Yes,” said Flavion. “I keep my part of the bargain. You will not turn me over to Lord Arcesilaus, and others?"
"No,” said Cabot.
Ramar was at Cabot's side.
"They may, however,” said Cabot, “seek you out."
Flavion was no longer in need of the makeshift crutch which had been supplied by Cabot in the vicinity of the sleen trap.
He was however, lame, and could do little more than hobble, lurching from side to side.
Two days ago Cabot had conducted his prisoner to a smithy, in a remote village. There he had had a chain belt and manacles prepared for his prisoner, which would hold his hands close to his body. Too, he had a heavy iron collar, with a ring, hammered shut about his neck. He also purchased some heavy chain, which he slung about Flavion's body, and by means of which he could tether him at night. Cabot also scratched, in Gorean, on the collar: “I am Flavion, adherent of Agamemnon, traitor to the cause of Lord Arcesilaus."
The smith had been quite cooperative, particularly as he had received for his work a ruby, one from the trial of Lord Pyrrhus, long ago.
It was equivalent to more than he would be likely to earn in more than two revolutions of the steel worlds about Tor-tu-Gor, or Sol, the common star of Earth, Gor, the steel worlds, and a wheel of worlds, satellites, fragments, and debris.
Cabot had two power weapons, one from the forest camp, and one which had been Flavion's. Between both, he had only five charges, three designed for one weapon, two fitted to the other.
"Free me of these encumbrances,” said Flavion, shaking the manacles.
"You were doubtless making your way to some enclave or post when caught,” said Cabot. “Too, I have little doubt that is where you, and others, are holding one or more prisoners, and slaves. You will have compatriots there. They will doubtless have tools."
"I will explain our agreement to them,” said Flavion, “and they will hand over the slave."
"And the gold?"
"Of course."
"And they will not be concerned that their enclave has been detected?"
"There is another,” said Flavion.
Cabot stopped.
"What is wrong?” asked Flavion.
"A slave is only a slave,” said Cabot, “and gold is only gold. I am thinking it might be more pleasant to turn you over to Lord Grendel, or others."
"We have an agreement,” said Flavion.
"True,” said Cabot. “You are certain that it will be safe to approach the enclave?"
"I will guarantee you safe passage,” said Flavion.
"That sets my mind at ease,” said Cabot.
Chapter, the Seventy-Second:
THE TREACHERY OF FLAVION
Cabot flung himself to the leaves and fired twice, and one blast struck a tree, cracking it open, setting it afire, as if it might have been smitten with lightning, and the other charge took off the head of a Kur.
"Kill him! Kill him!” Flavion was shrieking, with a rattle of chain, the translator conveying this imperative in Gorean with its customary passionless professionalism.
Another Kur raised his head, cautiously, warily, only feet away. It would have been better for him had he been more patient, and waited even Ahn, or until night, but he had not. And so he died, and Cabot changed his position again.
It was quiet then in the glade.
Cabot discarded one rifle, and had at his disposal then only two charges, those configured to the second weapon.
Cabot was then within the enclave, and saw the vessels, the stores, the half-buried amphora for water, the mats for sleeping. There were six such mats. Cabot detected no sign of chains or cages.
"Draw his fire, find his position!” he heard Flavion screaming.
But Cabot had made the determinations he wished. What he had sought, something soft, in a collar, was clearly not here, nor any sign that it had been. Nor was there any sign of coffers, or sacks, which might have bulged with coin.