surprised at the golden bowls, which were, I supposed, some sort of loot. Sometimes, in concert, bands of Panther Women will attack a small caravan in the forest or an outlying trading post on the coast. On the other hand, perhaps the bowls were payment of a sort, or a token of more to come, from the mysterious “employer” Darla had mentioned.
When the mistresses had satisfied themselves with sullage, Tula was returned to the rope, and the rope shackles she had worn were removed. We then knelt to the side, hungry.
Tuza carefully returned the golden bowls to the pack.
“There are four,” said Darla.
Tuza angrily thrust the fourth bowl into the pack.
Emerald then drew three shallow, porcelain cups from several others in another pack. She then dipped these into the pot, filling them with sullage, and then placed them on the ground, near the fire.
She observed us, to note our reaction. We knew enough not to move.
She then handed each of us one of the cups. Mine was chipped. I looked at it, held in my two hands. I could feel the warmth of the sullage. I was desperately hungry. I supposed we all were. We looked up at Emerald. I took it her name was from her greenish eyes. I did not regard her as bad looking. I thought there would be men who might find her acceptable as a slave. I imagined her, deprived of talmit and ornaments, briefly tunicked, with a collar on her neck. She might do, I thought. Perhaps very well.
“Feed,” she said, and we gratefully lifted our cups to our mouths.
“Enjoy it,” she said. “But do not hasten. It is all you will receive. We must be careful of your figures. You are, after all, to be sold.”
Then she bent down, near me, and whispered. “I am going to sell you,” she said. “You may speak.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered. She then placed her finger before her lips, and I knew I had been again silenced.
I again lifted the small porcelain bowl to my lips. The meat was gone, but there were some berries left. I had had such berries, from time to time, in Kennel Five, mixed with the slave gruel. Slave gruel is not that different from some pottages I had known on my former world. As slave feed, however, it is commonly served plain and bland, served without spices, sugars, salts, or other flavors. It is apparently quite nourishing. I am told that in public eating houses, not brothels or taverns, slaves, when admitted, and not chained to rings outside, may kneel beside their master’s bench, and while he eats from the plates, and such, on the table, if it be his will, may be given a bowl of slave gruel, which will be placed either on the bench beside him, or on the floor near his place. Should he bring a sleen with him it might be similarly fed, though with a different provender, one suitable to its digestive system. Some eating houses object to admitting sleen, but the matter is sensitive. Sleen are dangerous.
“Ho,” said Tuza, reaching into a pack. “Now that we are safe, ka-la-na!”
Hiza uttered a sound of delight, and Emerald clapped her hands in delight. I gathered that this was a welcome surprise.
“You sly she-sleen,” said Darla.
Small golden goblets, matching the bowls, emerged, and Tuza poured ka-la-na into each. I noted she was particularly generous with Darla. Perhaps she wished to mollify her. Too, of course, Darla was leader.
I had never tasted ka-la-na but I had gathered there were a great many varieties, differing much in quality. Some Ubars might barter a city or a hundred slaves for a given flask of the beverage. Others were so cheap and common that, as the joke goes, they might be mixed with the swill of tarsk. The word itself, which is generic for several wines, derives from the ka-la-na trees, or wine trees, of Gor. But wines, as is well known, may be derived not only from the clustered fruits weighting the branches of the ka-la-na tree in the autumn, but, as on my former world, from vine fruit, tree fruit, bush fruit, even from some types of leaves.
“Have more wine,” said Tuza to Darla, holding the bottle toward her. “There is more.”
“You are a sly she-sleen,” said Darla, smiling. But she drew back her cup. “Bed the animals,” she said.
Tuza corked the bottle, rose up, and loosed the switch from her belt. We kept our heads down. Our hands