is whimpering for your least touch, cast her aside as the meaningless garbage she is.”
“I shall,” I said.
“Do not pursue her,” he said. “The larls are out. Do not be a fool.”
“The day is pleasant,” I said. “I think that I shall stroll in the forest.”
“Rent a sleen,” he said.
“I shall,” I said.
“And you will need rope.” he said, “a good deal of rope.”
“Of course,” I said.
“And a whip,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I cried out, and pulled away from the thorn shrub, my tunic rent on the right side, at the waist. There was a scratch there, small, the width of two of my fingers, inside the tunic.
It occurred to me that the masters might not be pleased that my tunic was torn. But then, I thought, what difference does that matter now!
I continued on my way.
I had not seen the extended branch. I must be more careful.
My heart was high. I must by now be pasangs beyond the wands. I looked up, through the trees. I thought it might be the eighth Ahn, but was less than sure. Gorean children would be more adept at such estimations than I. They are taught to estimate the time of day by the position of Tor-tu-Gor, Light-Upon-the-Home-Stone, rather as they are taught to recognize fruits and blossoms, trees and flowers, and a thousand small things within their environment, things which children of my world seldom notice, and in which they are seldom interested. I was derived from that world, one in which nature was incidental, unimportant, and neglected. Goreans view themselves as within nature, perhaps as a part of nature; surely, at least, they respect her and love her, and it would never occur to them to scorn and deny her; they live with her, not against her; on the other hand, we commonly view ourselves as outside of nature, and surely, on the whole, if not against her, apart from her. She is alien to us, the home without which we could not live, and is left unnoticed.
I was buoyant.
I thought it must be the eighth Ahn, or approximately so. Midday, when Tor-tu-Gor stands highest in the sky, is the tenth Ahn. In the cities, the tenth Ahn is commonly marked by the ringing of a great bar, or bars, which may be heard from wall to wall. The bars may also mark other Ahn, depending on the city, and may serve as a signal of alarm, of sorrow, of victory, of celebration, and such. Time on Gor is most often kept by water clocks, sand clocks, sun dials, marked candles, and such. Mechanical chronometers exist but they are rare, and expensive. I have also found them confusing to read as their “clockwise movement” is opposite to that which is commonly taken to be “clockwise” on my former world.
I continued on.
Indeed, I sped amongst the trees.
I was joyful!
I was free, I thought, at last, free!
Free!
Then I paused amongst the leaves, the trees, and shade. I stood there, still, small between the trees. I put my hand to my neck. On it was a collar. My left hand strayed to my thigh. Incised there, small, and lovely, but clear, and unmistakable, was a brand. I felt my clothing. How tiny and light it was. It was scarcely there. How free women would scorn and hate me! I was naked, save for a bit of cloth, the scrap of cloth which might be allotted to a slave.
Was I truly free, I asked myself?
Then I thought to myself, no, Margaret, Laura, you are not free, but a slave. I had been duly and legally embonded. All was in order. I was legally, and indisputably, a slave.
And I was thrilled to be such, such as could be owned, and sold, and then I forced such terrible thoughts from my mind.
I knew how I was supposed to want to be, and I tried to want to be that. I must try to be, I thought, as I have been told I should be.
What I was, and what I might want, was immaterial. I did not count; other things counted.
But, I knew, however I might want to think about such things, for better or for worse, I was a slave, in all legality.
But, I told myself, I am an escaped slave!
I have fled Shipcamp.
There are no ropes or shackles on me. I am loose, and running, and I sped on, again.
How proud I was of myself. And how foolish I was! Did I not know I