Two had a golden anklet. Clearly then they were women. Did they not have their vanity? They were clothed briefly, and not that differently from slaves, but they wore not rep-cloth, the wool of the bounding hurt, or silk, work silk or pleasure silk, but the skins of animals, of forest panthers. They were not dressed by men for the pleasure of men, but, perhaps, should the occasion arise, to torment and taunt men. But, too, would not such light garb be ideal for moving easily and swiftly in natural, difficult terrains, in the woods, in the jungles, in evading, hunting, attacking, and perhaps, I thought, in reconnoitering.
I recognized the large, strong, fierce women as Panther Women, or, as the men will have it, Panther Girls, for they seem to think of all women in terms of the collar, either presently or in the future. I had heard that Panther Girls, subdued and taught their collars, made excellent slaves, grateful, devoted, loving, obedient, and passionate. But I did not understand why they had to be subdued. Were they not women? Did they not long for masters? Did they war only in the hope of being conquered? I did not have to be subdued. Rather, I longed for my place in nature. On my former world I had feared it would be denied to me. Why were Panther Women, or Panther Girls, so different, so hostile to men, and to themselves? Did they hate a womanhood which they lacked, or doubted they possessed? Was this a matter of pride of some sort, of striving to realize some sort of an unusual image? Why had they fled to the wilds, to forsake civilization, and men, and live as savages, as beasts? Were they trying to be men? Did they fear the cry of their heart, the piteous, insistent pleading of their blood? But I did not understand how there could be Panther Girls this far north, certainly not in the autumn, with winter looming. Had not ice been noted in the Alexandra? One thinks of Panther Girls much farther south, perhaps in the basin and environs of the Laurius, not the Alexandra. Their presence here was certainly anomalous. What were they doing here?
The small caravan had passed, and I backed away, a step, would turn, and would resume my flight, moving to the north, and then, again, follow the Alexandra west.
“Oh!” I cried, in pain.
“Do not move, kajira,” said a woman’s voice. “It is a spear in your back.”
The point was in my back. It had gone through the tunic, and entered my skin, enough that I could clearly feel it, but not enough to do much more than break the skin. I did feel a trickle of blood course down my back.
“Do not turn around, kajira,” said the voice.
I would not have done so. I had not received permission to do so.
“Your tunic is filthy,” she said.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I whispered.
“On your belly, in the dirt,” said the voice. “Cross your wrists behind you.”
In a moment I felt my wrists knotted together, behind me, with a light, leather thong.
“Get up,” she said. “Stand up. Let me look at you. Let us see what we have here.”
I struggled to my feet, and faced her.
“Nice,” she said. “The men will like you.”
I put down my head.
“We have two burden slaves with us,” she said. “You will make another.”
I kept my head down.
“You are a runaway, are you not?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said, not raising my head.
Surely, out here, in my current condition, that must be obvious. I suspected she knew of Shipcamp. How much she knew of it, I did not know. Perhaps she knew as much as I, perhaps more.
“Have no fear,” she said. “We will not return you to the masters, for a capture fee.”
They wish to conceal their presence in this vicinity, I thought. Again I wondered what they might be doing here, this far north.
“We will keep you for a marketing beach, on the coast,” she said. Then she snapped, “Turn about, lift your head, and open your mouth, widely.”
In a moment I felt a heavy leather wadding thrust into my mouth, and then its straps were buckled together behind the back of my neck.
I was then gagged, as securely and effectively as the two slaves I had seen in the small caravan.
It seemed that I, and the others, were to be kept silent. No plaintive cry, no unwelcome sound, was to be risked from us.