“It is fortunate he did not stop her by cutting or tearing her, and smell or taste blood,” said Genak.
“That would have been the end of things,” said a man.
I now knelt where, and as, I had been told.
“You disobeyed,” said the leader.
“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.
“What you did was stupid and foolish,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“She is a barbarian, Master,” said Tula. “She knows no better.”
“If you try to rise to your feet now,” said the leader to me, “the beast may well attack.”
“How much time does she have?” asked a man.
“Very little, I would suppose,” said the leader.
“There is one way to make sure of one’s prey,” said a man.
“Certainly, kill it,” said another.
“See the beast,” said a fellow.
It was crouched down, trembling, ears back, the tail lashing back and forth. Clearly it was growing excited. My bolting had apparently ignited or stirred the whole animal.
“She should not have run,” said a man.
“See the beast,” said another. “It will not be long now.”
“The hunt is done, it wants to feed,” said another.
“Training is fragile,” said a man. “Blood will have its way.”
“Kill it, Master, I beg of you!” called Donna.
“Be silent,” he said.
“Please, Master!” she wept.
“This beast is a prize animal,” he said. “It is worth five, perhaps ten, of her.”
“Please,” she cried.
“This is a worthless piece of collar meat,” he said, “sleen prey, thus a fled kajira. To see her torn to pieces will be an excellent example for other slaves.”
She sank to her knees, weeping.
Did I think I was still on Earth? I was only a Gorean slave girl. In the market I would be worth far less than such a beast.
“It tenses!” whispered a man.
I bent down quickly and put my head down to the dirt, and my hands on my head. How can one prepare oneself for the claws, anchored in one’s body, holding one, and then the fangs, mounted in that massive jaw, the tearing and feeding?
Then I heard a man’s voice. I did not recognize it. It spoke softly. “Gently, gently, noble friend,” it said. “Well done, well done! Easy, easy, fellow, the hunt is done. It is over. It is finished, well finished. Are you hungry, friend? Here is meat, much meat!”
Chapter Forty
“It worked out well,” said Axel. “The foolish barbarian, naive little fool that she is, was picked up by the Panther Girls, as we had hoped. Thus, following her trail, Tiomines led us to our true quarry, those who would spy on Shipcamp.”
“It was a gamble,” I said. “Keep your voice down.”
“The Panther Girls were greedy,” he said. “They could not resist bending down and picking up a coin in the leaves.”
“It was their mistake,” I said.
“Else we might not have made contact with our spies.”
“Surely you recognize that we are prisoners, as much as they,” I said.
“The fugitive is apparently a barbarian.”
“That is my understanding,” I said.
“Barbarians are stupid,” he said.
“Ignorant,” I said. “Not stupid.”
“It is well known,” he said, “that barbarians are selected for stupidity, passion, and beauty.”
“Not at all,” I said. “And I am of the Slavers.”
“Of the Slavers, yes,” he said, “but surely you did not deal with barbarians, but with superior stock, Gorean girls, civilized, intelligent, lovely creatures to be captured, marked, and collared.”
“I have had some dealings with barbarians,” I said. I did not go into these matters. Axel need not know of a strange, gray world, of unusual ships of metal voyaging on dark seas, and secret slave routes. Many hazards were involved. In particular, there were the technology laws of Priest-Kings, and the ruthlessness with which they were enforced. Accordingly, slaves and other materials from the gray world, the Polluted World, must be smuggled to Gor. Such goods were contraband. To be sure, once they were delivered to Gor, no interest seemed to be taken in them, unless they were somehow in contravention of the laws of Priest-Kings. A coffle of a hundred naked, neck-chained beauties from the Polluted World might be marched openly between cities, whereas a small communication device, or a weapon small enough to be held in one hand, capable of emitting small metal projectiles, would court the conflagration of the Flame Death, which some have witnessed, for it is not a myth.
“They are all stupid,” said Axel.
“Not at all,” I said. “Barbarians are selected with several criteria in mind, surely beauty, and helpless responsiveness and passion, but also high intelligence, often quite high intelligence. No one wants a stupid slave.