ways, to present myself in chains, to please men in the furs.
“Burdens down, rest,” we heard.
Gratefully I lowered my burden, and sank to my side, in the fallen leaves. As I lay, I could see, on the trunk of a nearby tree, a yellowish stain, at about what would be the eye level of a large man. I recalled that, once or twice before, not thinking about it, I had seen a similar stain. I supposed it might be a form of unusual moss, or some sort of parasitic growth.
“Kneel to be watered, and fed, pretty beasts,” we heard.
That came from the front of the march, near the first of the tunicked slaves. I lay as I was, for it was not our turn.
Ahead of us, too, were the men.
I wondered what might be in the large boxes, borne by four men each, as a palanquin might be carried.
There was little mystery about the other burdens.
My legs ached.
“Kneel to be watered, and fed, pretty beasts,” we heard, this time closer.
We of the rope coffle struggled to our knees, wearily, put our heads back, and each grasped her left wrist behind her back with her right hand.
In my turn the stem of the bota was thrust between my teeth, and I drew in, eagerly, gratefully, my ration of water. I then, a bit later, opened my mouth, widely, and a handful of slave gruel, or moist mush, was thrust in my mouth. One swallows it a tiny bit at a time, that one not choke. It is bland, and largely tasteless, but filling, for what one gets of it, and apparently nutritious. It was a far cry from the provenders I had been taught to prepare in the house, ranging from roasted, seasoned bosk and tarsk, and fresh plate breads, with honeys and butters, to frosted pastries and decadent, creamed sauces which, in some cities, were outlawed by sumptuary laws. For what it was worth, the free men with the small caravan did not seem much better off. The rations of Gorean warriors, in the field, I am told, are often austere. A small sack of grain, commonly Sa-Tarna, the Life Daughter, is often carried in the pack, or at one’s belt. Two handfuls of this, the hands cupped together, may then be dampened in a spring, or stream, and eaten. The Pani are fond of rice. It is sometimes boiled in a helmet.
Each Ahn we stopped. At night the coffle rope was tied between two trees, and our hands were tied behind us.
I was puzzled why, in this lovely, lonely forest, with no one about, or I supposed no one was about, the men lit no fires. I wondered, too, how they found their way through the forest, as it seemed trackless. Certainly there were no signs that we were following a familiar path. I saw no sign, either, of anything resembling a compass, or other form of direction finder. There had been a compass on the ship, as I had seen it when on deck, when we were being aired. It was fastened on a pedestal between the two helmsmen. There was the sun, of course, whose progression could be marked through the canopy of foliage, often far above us. I had gathered that many ships had been voyaging to the north, for whatever reason. Perhaps there were many paths to our destination, which I took to be a camp of sort, Tarncamp. Again, I was puzzled how the men found their way through the forest. Doubtless some of those with us, who had been at the shore, were guides, and familiar with such things. I trusted we were not lost.
“Up, up, burdens!” called a fellow.
I lifted my burden, and stood, and was ready to move. It does not do to dally. The rope before me looped up to Eighteen, and, behind me, looped up to Forty-Three. I was taller than she, as Eighteen was taller than I. There were seventeen in our coffle. We would be distributed variously at Tarncamp.
Suddenly, briefly, we heard a succession of thunderous snapping noises from above the canopy, and we looked up, and leaves fluttered about us, and we were cast into a flight of shadows, as though swift, fierce, jagged clouds would blot out the sun, one following another, but these shadows were cast by no clouds. Something alive was above us! A shrill scream penetrated the canopy, and several of the slaves screamed. They understood, I took it, as I did