One of the Kurii reached down and seized the brunette by the right ankle, lifted it, and, by its means, turned her to her belly. Her eyes were frantic, her ankle lifted and held behind her, and she stretched out her hands to Tarl Cabot, piteously.
He remained inert.
"Mr. Cabot!” she cried. “Mr. Cabot!"
How dared she, a slave, so speak a man's name?
She was half lifted from the floor, facing him.
He did not move, nor gave he any indication he was concerned with her plight.
"Mr. Cabot!” she wept. “Mr. Cabot!"
Again she had dared to use his name!
A girl once collared would fear to do so. A slave addresses free men as Master, free women as Mistress. She would use their name, normally, only when kneeling, and in response to interrogation.
"Slave."
"Yes, Master?"
"What is your name?"
"Margaret, Master."
"Who is your master?"
"Rutilius, Rutilius of Venna, Master."
The Kur who held her ankle turned about and, the ankle retained in his grasp, began to follow those who had already departed the hallway.
"Help me!” screamed the brunette, being dragged away, backwards, on her belly, by the grasped ankle, over the metal flooring, down the hallway, toward the opening. “Help me!” she cried. “What are they going to do with me? What are they going to do with me?"
"They must leave,” said Cabot. That seemed obvious to him, given their unease, their behavior.
"What are they going to do with me?” she shrieked.
"You are being saved for later,” he said.
"What are they going to do with me!” she cried.
"Presumably you will be eaten,” he said.
She shrieked, wildly.
At this point Cabot, who had hitherto for some time remained inert, seemingly crushed and defeated, reconciled to whatever might lie in store for him, in the grasp of his captor, suddenly lashed back with his elbow, striking sharply, heavily, as an ax, into the ribs of the Kur who held him, who, startled, grunting in pain, released him.
A common principle of warfare is surprise, others being such things as concealment, deception, and so on.
In a moment Cabot, perhaps foolishly, had raced after the Kur who was drawing the sobbing, hapless brunette toward the opening at the end of the corridor. It turned suddenly, aware of the sound on the flooring, and threw up its arm before Cabot's thumbs could gouge through its eyes. Such slaves as the brunette belong more properly, after all, to human males, not to Kurii.
Cabot was smote back, and sank groggily to the flooring.
He was aware of the beast reaching for a heat knife, and saw it glow white, almost instantaneously. At the same time he heard the rapid scrape of claws on the flooring behind him, and an enraged bellowing, as of fury and pain, as the Kur he had eluded rushed forward.
Too, he became aware of a large shape, like a boulder of fur, in the doorway, behind the Kur he had attacked.
The brunette screamed in misery, crawling to the side.
He could feel the blistering heat of the knife, and his vision was blinded with its light, which was wildly reflected about, leaping on the walls of the corridor.
One is not to look at the blade of a heat knife, for that is one of its features, and advantages, that it may temporarily blind its target.
Cabot tried to leap up, blindly, but, at that moment, before he could regain his feet, the Kur behind him seized him, lifting him, and holding his arms helplessly to his sides.
Scarcely could Cabot see through the whirlpool and chaos of light which seemed to blaze before him.
He did see the arm with the knife approach.
It will be the heart, he thought, sought within the cavern of exploded ribs, severed from its vessels, and extracted with a paw, to be crammed into a fanged mouth.
But a large paw rested gently on the arm that held the knife, and the knife suddenly turned red, and then gray.
Cabot struggled, weakly, unable to escape the grip of his captor.
He shook his head, trying to restore his vision, trying to resist the saberlike afterimages which seemed to slide and glow, and emerge again and again, on the walls and surfaces of the world before him.
He became aware that a Kur had taken the brunette by the hair and pulled her to her feet, and that she then, bent over, her hair grasped tightly, cruelly, in a paw, was being conducted rapidly, she running beside him, sobbing, from the hallway.
It is a common slave leading position, thought Cabot. A slave's hair is not only beautiful, and may be used for a number of erotic purposes, and, if long enough, for custodial purposes, as well, but it also makes it easy to control her, punish her, and such. When a girl is put into such a leading position, in which she is humiliated, mortified, and helpless, and knows her least recalcitrance may bring her excruciating pain, she is well reminded that she is not a free woman, but a slave.
It was doubtless the first time that the brunette had been put in slave leading position.
It would not be the last.
Cabot struggled to free himself, to pursue the beast in whose keeping was the former Miss Pym.
One really wonders about the rationality of the human species. What could he, alone, weaponless, have done in her behalf, or in his own?
Perhaps there are genetic predispositions to madness in the human species. To be sure, Kurii, too, can be guilty of such indiscretions. Are we not dark brothers?
Cabot shook his head, to clear his vision.
From somewhere he heard a sirenlike whine. It was a signal, doubtless, perhaps of warning, of alarm, perhaps a sign of urgency, perhaps a signal for recall, for regrouping or retreat.
Cabot became aware of a large, shaggy head peering at him, but inches from his face.
The massive, fanged jaws before him seemed twisted into some contorted configuration. Was it meaningless, or did it betoken menace, or was it a smile?
"Half-Ear!” exclaimed Cabot.
He was then cuffed into unconsciousness.
Chapter, the Third:
THE STALL
"Why am I on a chain?” she asked.
Cabot shook his head, and tried to bundle his thoughts together, trying to piece a number of diverse shreds and particles into a coherent picture of reality.
He sat up in the straw.
The gravity, he sensed, was much like that of Gor, and much the same as on the Prison Moon. But he did not think he was on Gor, or on the Prison Moon.
He found himself in an open, but low, some four feet in height were the walls, three-sided, boxlike enclosure. It had a wooden floor, which was covered with a heavy layer of straw. It was an enclosure such as might have been used for the bedding of animals, and perhaps, in its way, it was. Following one of the selections of our translator, we shall refer to it as a stall.
A dim light was provided by lamps. They are akin to the energy lamps of Gor, he thought.
Cabot looked across the stall at the brunette, who was kneeling, her knees and thighs obscured by the straw, to his right.
On her neck, closed, was a sturdy metal collar. On this collar there was a heavy collar ring, and to this collar ring there was attached a heavy, black chain, which presumably was fastened to a ring or mount under the straw.
She held the chain near the collar ring and jerked it twice, angrily, against the collar ring. “Explain this!” she demanded. “What is the meaning of this?"
"It is a collar, and chain,” said Cabot.
"I am well aware of that,” she said. “What is its purpose?"
"To keep you where you are,” said Cabot.
She pulled at the chain, angrily. “I am well aware of that!” she snapped.
"Why then did you ask?” said Cabot.