then spun about, and faced Hiza. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.
“No,” said Hiza.
She then faced Emerald. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.
“No,” said Emerald.
She then faced us, and said, “Do you question the will of the mistresses?”
“No, Mistress,” we said.
“Good,” said Tuza. She turned back to Hiza and Emerald, and gestured to the side of the camp, contemptuously, where Darla lay, unconscious and chained. “Fetch the garbage,” said Tuza. “Both of you! Now!”
“She is not dead?” asked Hiza.
“No,” said Tuza. “Be quick!”
Hiza and Emerald went to the side of the clearing where Darla lay. It was now morning, and fully light. It was easy to see why Hiza had been uncertain as to whether Darla was alive or not. The body was inert, and there was a considerable amount of blood about the head. The blanket, too, was dark with blood. Hiza and Emerald, half lifting, half dragging, brought the inert body of Darla to the center of the camp, and put it where Tuza indicated, at her feet. I saw a tiny movement of Darla’s hands, clasped behind her back in the steel of slave bracelets, the slight opening and closing of fingers. A small sound escaped her, as though she might be stirring in her sleep.
“See,” said Tuza, “she is alive. I planned it so. I want you to see her as she is, and should be. And I want her to understand what she is, and should be.”
“She may die,” said Hiza.
“No,” said Tuza. “More is planned for her.”
“Should we not wash the blood from her head and body?” asked Emerald.
“That is work for slaves,” said Tuza.
“But she is free,” said Hiza.
“Let her be washed by slaves, as a slave,” said Tuza. “Yes, yes! Excellent! Unbind our tunic girls; have them wash the chained she-tarsk, that she be less offensive to our eyes. Then set our little beasts about their tasks, let them sweep and clean the camp, let them tidy things, let used boughs be cast aside, let them fetch water and wood, and berries, let them serve us, let us have a fine breakfast. I want our former leader to see that even tunic sluts are freer than she!”
“The rope?” inquired Emerald.
“Remove it from Tula, but put her in rope shackles,” said Tuza. “She is an excellent cook. Let the other two address themselves to less demanding tasks.”
“But on the rope?” said Emerald.
“Certainly,” said Tuza, “for one would not wish them to stray, to be eaten by panthers.”
“We shall have a splendid time,” said Tuza, “before we begin the trek.”
“What will be done with Darla?” inquired Hiza.
“You will see,” said Tuza. “Quickly now, unbind the sluts, that they may be put to work!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“How many are there?” I had asked.
“Not many,” said Axel. “I would guess six or seven altogether.”
“At least one is a slave,” I said.
“Most likely more,” said Axel. “Panther Women, who tend to be large and fierce for women, often hold smaller, weaker women as slaves.”
“Feminine women?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “they despise feminine women, and enjoy holding them as slaves.”
“How many would be armed then?” I asked.
“Four or five,” he said.
“I trust we would make a determination on this matter before doing anything precipitate,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said. “While you seize one Panther Girl, binding her helplessly, another might drive her javelin into the back of your neck.”
“It seems they touch weapons,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said, “until they are collared, and then it might mean their death to touch one, even inadvertently.”
“Are there men with them?” I asked.
“It seems unlikely,” he said, “for Panther Girls seldom league themselves with men, for before men their bravado fades, its fraudulence becomes transparent. They no longer find themselves dominant, but find themselves before the truly dominant, and then must fight their blood, as other women who long for the raptures of submission, the fulfillments of being owned and mastered.”
“Still,” I said, “might there not be men in the party, if only temporarily?”
“I think not,” he said, “the size and depth of the prints do not suggest that.”
“Some of the prints are those of small, bared feet,” I said.
“Three are with bared feet,” he said, “and they are probably slaves. Still, one cannot be sure. Sometimes Panther Girls trod the forest barefoot. Too, a ruse might be in play, to suggest fewer Panther Girls than are actually with the party.”