"You could have followed her, could you not?” asked Cabot.
Grendel reached to activate the small, disklike translator on his harness.
"You do not need that,” said Cabot, irritably. “Do not put a machine between us. I can understand your Gorean."
"My Gorean is imperfect,” said Grendel. “It has to do with the throat."
"I can understand you quite well,” said Cabot. “Your Gorean is different, but comprehensible."
Grendel snapped off the translator, it seemed reluctantly.
"Yes,” said Grendel. “I suppose I might have followed her. She was barefoot, and was indiscreet in her flight, leaving various traces."
"She did have a start,” said Cabot. “Perhaps as much as three Ahn."
"Even so,” said Grendel.
"Why did we not pursue her?” asked Cabot.
"She told me she would remain in her bower,” said Grendel. “I trusted her."
"A tragic mistake,” said Cabot. “In three Ahn she might well have come to a trail, and encountered Kur patrols."
"What is love,” asked Grendel, “if there is no trust?"
"Do you think she loves you?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said Grendel.
"She is a treacherous little she-urt,” said Cabot, “and should have been kept on a tether, bound hand and foot, naked."
"Please,” said Grendel, reprovingly, “she is a free woman."
"Blindfolded and gagged,” said Cabot, angrily.
"Do not be angry with her,” said Grendel. “She is beautiful."
"She might have made contact with Agamemnon's people within Ahn of her flight,” said Cabot.
"True,” granted Grendel.
"Look,” said Cabot, suddenly, pointing to a stirring in the water.
"Tharlarion,” said Grendel, resting on the mighty oar with which he propelled the raft.
Grendel then again plied his mighty lever.
"Lita,” said Cabot, “lie nearer the center of the raft."
The slave crawled closer to the center of the large, rude raft, some yards in width, and lay there, supine, her left arm shading her eyes from the light, amidst the small store of supplies, one property amongst others. She was tunicked, and about her waist a rope was fastened, which rope was fastened, too, to the raft. By means of this arrangement, in the event of a storm, or an attack by tharlarion, should she be pitched into the water, she would not be separated from the raft, but would have at her disposal a means for regaining its surface. Cabot found it difficult to take his eyes off her. Her arms were bare, as is common with a slave tunic. The tunic itself was quite short, as is common, too, with such garments. Yes, Cabot thought, the slave is nicely legged, and that would doubtless, on a sales block, improve her price. How utterly marvelous are women, he thought. How excruciatingly desirable, and marvelous, they are! It is no wonder, he thought, that men want them, and want them as slaves. It is no wonder that they are sought, hunted, captured, and collared. He regarded the collar on her neck. How right it was there, unslippable, closely encircling her neck. How beautiful it was! And how beautiful she was, collared! And it was his collar!
"We will try to reach the far shore,” said Grendel.
"To eventually obtain access to the habitats,” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said Grendel.
"I trust,” said Cabot, “to join those who would stand against the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One."
"Perhaps,” said Grendel.
"I fear it is too late,” said Cabot. “Indeed, by now the world may be abundantly repopulated, with numerous reinforcements for Agamemnon, the fleet having returned."
"True,” said Grendel, “and we may be dealt with, on sight, with power weapons."
"I advised against dalliance,” said Cabot.
"I thought she might return,” said Grendel.
"Why did you take her with you in your flight?” asked Cabot.
"Many wanted her life,” said Grendel. “I took her with me to protect her. I feared she would be sent to the pens, as cattle."
"She betrayed you,” said Cabot.
"I strove to protect her,” said Grendel. “I could not continue to do so unless she were with me."
"And now?” asked Cabot.
"She may need me,” said Grendel.
"Forget her,” said Cabot.
"I cannot,” said Grendel.
"She is your enemy,” said Cabot.
"I am not her enemy,” said Grendel.
"You would sacrifice a world, for one sly, cunning, treacherous she-urt?"
"I love her,” said Grendel.
"I fear you are unwise, my friend,” said Cabot.
"I am part human,” said Grendel.
The slave stretched, languorously, and sat up, looking about.
She smiled at her master, and looked away, over the water.
What a clever little she-sleen she is, thought Cabot. Surely she knows what that smile can do to a man. How innocent it seems, and how devastating. How such a smile can twist the insides of a fellow! Well, he consoled himself, he could have her whenever he wished. She, that sinuous little Earth slut, now goods, now no more than salable, purchasable collar meat, was his!
"Master!” she suddenly cried, pointing upward.
Cabot and Grendel looked upward.
It was very small, and somehow between the lake and the forests overhead.
"See the wings,” said Grendel. “It is in the area where such things can propel one, where there is little fastening to the cylinder surface."
"As in the shuttles,” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said Grendel.
"Has he seen us?” asked Cabot.
"I do not think so,” said Grendel.
* * * *
They had been now on the lake for two days.
Cabot assisted with the oar from time to time, but it was Grendel who plied it tirelessly, sometimes when Cabot and his slave slept.
They had seen two tharlarion but neither had approached the raft. They had seen nothing further in the sky above them, save for the forests and meadows overhead, on the other side of the cylinder.
Two more days had then passed.
"Tomorrow we will make landfall,” said Grendel.
It was at that point that the slave had leaped to her feet, and screamed, and pointed.
Grendel thrust the oar back on the raft and seized up the long ax.
A massive head, glistening, shedding water, on a long neck, had emerged from the water, not yards from the raft.
"That is carnivorous,” said Cabot, picking up the sharpened stick he had formed into a makeshift spear.
"Master!” cried the slave, frightened, miserably.
"Get behind me,” said Cabot, and the slave scurried behind him, and crouched down.
Whether she lived or died, she well understood, would depend on the courage and prowess of others. She was half naked, collared, and weaponless. But it would not have been otherwise had she been free, and terrified, quivering helplessly within ornate robes. In either case she would be a woman dependent on men, on larger, stronger, fiercer beasts, for her very survival. When there is fighting, slaves are often chained, that they will helplessly await the outcome of war, and their disposition, and free women, too, are often sequestered, that they may not by their presence compromise defenses or complicate ensuant adjudications. Women on Gor are not men. In their smallness, softness, slightness, weakness, loveliness and beauty they are either treasures to be protected, or, if things turn out badly, prizes to be distributed. They must wait to learn if they are to be rejoicing guests at a victory banquet or stripped slaves serving it.
Gor is a man's world, you see, and women are men's.
"We are closer to land,” said Grendel. “Such things are commonly found closer to shore. Some beach at night. Some hunt on the beaches at night. There is more forage closer to shore, for fish, for herbivores, for their prey."
The head moved on the long neck, swaying, snakelike, which seemed odd in an aquatic creature.