Cabot saw the women exchanging wild glances, and three or four edged yet more closely forward.
Cabot thought they would sell well.
The one who had attacked Cabot crawled away a few feet, and climbed to his feet.
He reached to the sheathed dagger he wore at his hip, and Cabot prepared to defend himself, a second time.
Why had he not drawn the dagger first, Cabot wondered.
Cabot assumed a defensive stance, knees flexed, hands ready.
But the leader, as he was that, and we shall call him Archon, to utilize a Gorean title for a variety of civic officials, removed the sheath and dagger from the remains of the Kur harness he wore and handed it to Cabot.
There were grunts of approbation from the men about, and a shaking of their simple weapons.
Cabot took the sheath and dagger from Archon and tried to draw the blade. It was frozen in the sheath. Of course, thought Cabot, it is locked in place. There is a releasing touch. The touch would have to be simple, to be quickly applied, and it would doubtless be indexed to a six-digited paw.
Cabot then gestured to Archon to approach, and he held the hilt in his right hand, placing his five fingers in five of the six depressions in the hilt, and took Archon's hand and placed one of his fingers on the sixth depression. The touch, thought Cabot, cannot be a simple grasp, but it must be nearly so, to be such as could be applied with a moment's notice. He then pressed his own fingers and the finger of Archon into the depressions swiftly, twice. The dagger sprang free from the sheath and there was a cry of wonder from Archon, and the others. Cabot then held aloft the Kur blade, nice inches in length, tapered, grooved to allow slippage and a path for blood, and wickedly sharp.
Cabot looked about himself.
The men about put their weapons to the ground, the weapons facing away from him, as though he might be ringed with points arranged to defend him, or to be directed by him.
I am first, thought Cabot.
No, he thought, I shall not be first.
To Archon's astonishment he returned the blade to him, now freed from the sheath, now no more a mere symbol of authority, a scepter of sorts, but a weapon, one capable of piercing to the heart of even a Kur.
Archon lifted the blade in wonder and jubilation.
The men ringed him, and laid their weapons about him, ringing him.
He then turned to face Cabot, the knife in his hand.
Now I die, thought Cabot.
But Archon thrust the knife through a broad leather band of the Kur harness, unwilling to trust it again to its strange, recalcitrant sheath, and approached Cabot, and, putting out his arms, embraced him.
Cabot was then surrounded by the others, who clapped him on the arms and back, and uttered soft noises, seemingly indicative of acceptance and approval.
Two females were then gestured forth. Both had long, dark hair. Archon untied the leather strips at their necks, and pointed to Cabot's feet. Instantly both knelt before him, and, putting down their heads, kissed his feet. At a gesture from Archon they both then stood before Cabot. The leather strips untied from their necks were then placed in Cabot's hands. He wrapped one about the neck of each, three or four times, and then fastened it, jerking it tight with a warrior's knot. At another gesture from Archon, they both knelt again before Cabot, and again kissed his feet.
Both looked up at him, then, and then each bowed her head before him.
The leader is generous thought Cabot. He has given me two women. They are doubtless a currency of sorts in this place.
Too, they clearly understand their relationship to men, and their place.
Slaves are, of course, in any event, a form of currency. They are exchangeable, bartarable, vendible, as any other form of goods, cloth, leather, metal, kaiila, tarsk, verr, such things.
Their furs did not muchly conceal them, and it was tantalizing to consider them washed, and brushed and combed, and in rep-cloth tunics or slave silk.
Might not both serve well in a high city?
Perhaps even as lesser slaves at the feast of a Ubar?
Yes, thought Cabot, they would sell well.
The leader is generous.
Many men would be pleased to have them chained to the slave ring at the foot of his couch.
At this point a cry, as of a bird, came through the trees.
The forest people were instantly apprehensive, and alert.
Archon gestured to Cabot, and the others, and then turned about, and disappeared amongst the trees.
The group then left the clearing, as did Cabot, as well, the two women hurrying behind him.
Chapter, the Fourteenth:
THE FOREST SEEMS QUIET
For several Ehn the forest group, one of several in the sport cylinder, though these avoided one another as roving groups are accustomed to do, moved swiftly from the clearing where they had encountered Cabot, he now with them, accompanied by the two gifts which had been given to him.
They came after a time to a hilly area, where there were rocky outcroppings, and the leader, Archon, and Cabot, and some others, climbed to a point of vantage, whence they might consider the terrain behind them.
They saw nothing.
Cabot was pleased to have survived his encounter with the group, but he placed little confidence in their sharpened sticks against the spears, the nets, and the edged weapons of Kurii. Too, he knew himself to be a marked man, who would be sleen hunted by the colleagues of Pyrrhus, and he had no wish to jeopardize his newly found fellows.
The cry, as of the call of a bird, had surely been a warning, that a hunting party had entered the cylinder.
Cabot tried to bid farewell to the group, but a fellow held his arm, and Archon moved his hand, as though wiping out marks in sand.
The signification of that Cabot surmised was negation, or denial.
Cabot then tried to suggest the sound of a growling sleen and pointed to the forested terrain below them.
Archon smiled and again performed the gesture, as though wiping out marks in sand. So, too, thought Cabot, might traces of a trail or camps be removed.
Could it be that hunting sleen were not yet come through the shuttle port?
Cabot tried to convey his apprehensions to Archon, but the leader of the group again made the gesture of denial, and led the way down from the high place.
They do not understand their danger, thought Cabot, nor the risk of being in my vicinity.
That night, near a concealed cache of food and furs, one of several Cabot supposed, the group made its camp.
He was brought furs from which he fabricated a loose tunic, and was given a sharpened stick, some seven feet in length. The strips of meat he was given were from wild tarsk, and had been dried, being hung from branches. The forest people did not cook their meat, even when freshly taken. They lacked the mastery of fire, its making and control. But even had they not, they would have been sparing in its use, for its light or smoke might have betrayed their position. His gifts, the two long-haired slaves, softened the meat by chewing it for him. One, too, dug him tubers, wild suls, and the other brought him tree fruit, kernelled pods which dangle from the Bar tree, native, as we understand it, neither to Earth or Gor. After having taken a bite of the provenders afforded him, Cabot indicated, with gestures, that the slaves might feed, as well, and they did so, gratefully. Their new master had found them pleasing, and this was evident in his permitting them to feed. When those of the group not posted to their watches began to retire, Cabot's gifts lay at his thigh, making tiny noises. Archon approached Cabot, and Cabot sat up, to welcome him. Archon pressed two roots into his hands, and Cabot held them to his face, and took their scent. They were sip root. He was familiar with sip root for it is the active ingredient in slave wine. It is taken raw in the Barrens by the white female slaves of the Red Savages, unless it is decided that they are to be bred. In its raw, unconcentrated state the effects of the root last some months, but gradually dissipate. In the high cities the Caste of Physicians has produced a slave wine whose effects are terminated only by a counter substance, called the Releaser. Sip root is bitter to the taste, and slave wine is not sweetened either. The Releaser, however, is not only palatable, but aromatic and delicious. When it is given to the girl she may, to her dismay and misery, and perhaps shrieking for mercy, expect to be soon sent to the breeding sheds, to be chained and hooded, and crossed with a male slave, who is similarly hooded. Slaves, as other domestic animals, are bred according to the will of the masters. Cabot knelt his gifts, and gave them each a root, which they then, head down, shuddering, slowly, distastefully, chewed and swallowed. In his usage of them he gave them the names Tula and Lana, both common Gorean slave names.