John Norman - Hunters of Gor

Then he lifted his head. “When am I to be sent to the galleys?” he asked. “You are strong, and handsome,” said Samos. “I expect that a rich woman might pay a good price for you.” The man cried out in rage, trying to struggle to his feet, fighting his chains. The guards, their hands in his hair, forced him back to his knees.

Samos turned to the girl. “What should be done with him?” he asked her. “Sell him to a woman!” she laughed.

The man struggled in his chains.

“Are you familiar with the forests?” I asked.

“What man is familiar with the forests?” he asked.

I regarded him.

“I can live in the forests,” he said. “And hundreds of square pasangs, in the south and west of the forest, I know.” “A band of panther women captured you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“What was the name of the leader of this band?” I asked.

“Verna,” said he.

Samos looked at me. I was satisfied. “You are free,” I told the man. I turned to the guards. ”Remove his chains.” The guards, with keys, bent to his manacles, and the double-chained iron clasps securing his ankles.

He seemed stunned.

The slave girl was speechless, her eyes wide. She took a step backward, clutching the two-handled paga vessel. She shook her head.

I drew forth a pouch of gold. I handed five pieces of gold to Samos, purchasing the man.

He stood before us, without his chains. He rubbed his wrists. He looked at me, wonderingly.

“I am Bosk,” I told him, “of the house of Bosk, of Port Kar. You are free. You may now come and go as your wish. In the morning, from the house of Bosk, in the far city, bordering the delta, I shall leave for the northern forests. If it pleases you, wait upon me there, near the great canal gate.” “Yes,” Captain,” said he.

“Samos,” said I, “may I request the hospitality of your house for this man?” Samos nodded.

“He will require food, clothing, what weapons he chooses, a room, drink.” I looked at the man, and smiled. The stink of the pens was still upon him. “And, too, I suggest,” said I, “a warm bath, and suitable oils.” I turned to the man.

“What is your name?” I asked him. He now had a name, for he was free. “Rim,” he said proudly.

I did not ask him his city, for he was outlaw. Outlaws do not care to reveal their city.

He slave girl had now stepped back two or three more paces, edging away. She was frightened.

“Stay!” I said to her sharply. She cowered.

She was very beautiful in the bit of slave silk. I noted the bells locked on her left ankle. She was slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Her eyes were wide. She had exciting legs, well revealed by the slave-height of her brief silk. “What do you want for her?” I asked Samos.

He shrugged. “Four pieces of gold,” he said.

“I will buy here,” I said. I placed four pieces of gild in Samos’ hand. She looked at me, terrified.

One of the guards fetched Rim a tunic, and he drew it on his body. He belted the broad belt, with its large buckle. He shook his shaggy black hair.

He looked at the girl.

She looked at me, her eyes pleading.

My eyes were hard, and Gorean. She shook her head, trembling.

I gestured with my head towards Rim. “You are his,” I told her.

“No! No!” she cried and threw herself to my feet, weeping, her head to my sandals. “Please, Master! Please, Master!” When she looked up, she saw my eyes, and read in them the inflexibility of a Gorean male.

Her lower lip trembled. She put her head down.

“What is her name?” I asked Samos.

“She will take whatever name I give her,” said Rim.

She whimpered with anguish, bereft of a name. The Gorean slave, in the eyes of Gorean law, is an animal, with no legal title to a name.

“In what room shall we lodge this man?” asked one of the two helmeted guards. “Take him,” said Samos, “to one of the large rooms, well appointed, in which we lodge slavers of high rank, of distant cities.” “The Torian room?” asked the guard.

Samos nodded. Tor is an opulent city of the desert, well known for its splendors, its comforts and pleasures.

Rim lifted the girl to the feet by the hair, twisting her head and bending her body. “Go to the Torian room,” he said, “and prepare me a bath, and foods and wines, and gather together whatever you might need, bells and cosmetics, and such, to please my senses.” “Yes, Master,” said the girl.

He twisted her hair more. She winced, her back bent painfully. “Do you wish me to submit to you now?” she begged.

“Do so,” said he.

She fell to her knees before him, and lifted her head to regard him. “I will be your slave,” she said. Then, she knelt back on her heels, lowered her head, and lifted and extended her arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding. She was very beautiful. “I am your slave,” she said, “ — Master.” “Hasten to the Torian room,” said Rim, “In its privacy, I will have use for my slave.” “May I not beg a name?” she asked.

He looked at her. “Cara,” he said.

She had been named.

“Go, Cara,” said he.

“Yes,” she whispered, “Master.” She leaped to her feet and, weeping, fled from the room.

“Captain,” said Rim, regarding me. “I thank you for the wench.”

I nodded my head.

“And no, noble Samos,” said Rim, boldly, “I would appreciate the arousal of one in your employ, a metal worker, to remove this collar.” Samos nodded.

“Further,” said Rim, “I would appreciate your sending me the key to Lady Cara’s collar, that I may remove it, and providing another.” “Very well,” said Samos. “How shall it be inscribed?” “Let is say,” suggested Rim, “I am the slave Cara. I belong to Rim, the Outlaw.” “Very well,” said Samos.

“And, too,” said Rim, “prior to my retiring to the Torian room, I would appreciate a sword, with sheath, a knife, and a bow, the great bow, with arrows.” Rim wished to be armed.

“Were you once of the warriors?” I inquired.

He smiled at me. “Perhaps,” he said.

I tossed him the pouch of gold, from which I had drawn the coins to purchase his freedom, and the arrogant, slender, red-silked girl for him, to be his slave. He caught the purse, and smiled, and threw it to Samos, who caught it. He turned away. “Lead me to your armory,” said he, to one of the guards. “I require weapons.” He left, following the guards, not looking back.

Samos weighed the gold in his hand. “He pays well for his lodging,” said Samos. I shrugged. “Generosity,” I said, “is the prerogative of the free man.” Gold had been nothing to Rim. I suspected then, he might once have been of the warriors.

The torches burned.

Samos and I looked down upon the board, with its hundred squares of red and yellow, the weighted, carved pieces.

“Ubar to Ubar Nine,” said Samos. He looked at me.

I had planned well. “Ubar to Ubar Two,” I said, and turned, robes swirling, and strode to the portal, whence I might leave the hall.

At the broad, bronze-linteled portal I turned.

Samos stood behind the board. He looked up at me, and spread his hands. “The game is yours,” he said.

I regarded him.

“You will not reconsider?” he asked.

“No,” I told him.

“There!” said Rim, pointing off the starboard bow. ”High on the beach!” His slave, Cara, in a brief woolen tunic, one-piece, woven of the wool of the Hurt, sleeveless, barefoot on the deck, graced by his collar, stood behind him and to his left.

I shaded my eyes. “Glass of the Builders,” I said.

Thurnock, of the Peasants, standing by me, handed me the glass.