Hura fell to her knees, between Marlenus and me, her head down. The proud leader of the panther girls had not escaped.
“I found this slave in the forest,” said Verna. About her own neck she still wore Marlenus’ collar.
He looked at her. She looked at him fearlessly. As an unveiled free woman, not as a slave.
Verna had caught Hura yesterday, but she had refused to bring her to the stockade. She had kept her prisoner in the forest.
Now, like a third, equal among us, though she wore a collar, she brought Hura forward to our meeting.
I looked at Hura. The once-proud panther woman, the now-trembling slave dared not raise her head.
“So,” inquired Marlenus, “this slave attempted to escape?”
“Please do not lash me, Masters,” whispered Hura. She had in the stockade, at the hands of Sarus’ men, once felt the whip. No woman ever forgets it. Marlenus pulled her to her feet, and bent her backwards. He examined her. He passed his right hand over her beauty from her knee to her throat. “The slave pleases me,” he said. Then he said to her, harshly, “Kneel.” Hura knelt, trembling.
“Where is the other escaped slave?” asked Marlenus.
Mira, stripped, her hands tied behind her back, was thrown between us. She was terrified.
Sheera, in her white woolen tunic, stood at my side. She put her cheek against my right shoulder.
She and Verna, like Hura and Mira, had disappeared from the stockade. Within the Ahn Sheera had taken Mira, and, in the darkness, bent over, hand in her hair, she had returned Mira to my men. Mira had then been chained in the hold of the Tesephone. This morning, hands tied behind her back, in a longboat, I had had her brought to the beach to be disposed of.
Marlenus looked down at Hura and Mira. Mira looked up at me. There were tears in her eyes. “Remember, Master,” she wept, “I am your slave. It was to you that I submitted in the forest!” I looked out across Thassa, to where the Rhoda and Tesephone rocked at anchor. It was cold in the blankets. I could not move my left hand or arm, or leg. I was bitter. It was all for nothing. I looked at Sarus, miserable in his chains, and his men. There were ten, but two were sorely wounded, and should not have been chained. They lay on their sides in the sand. Out on the Rhoda, chained in its hold, were the crews of Tyros who had manned the Rhoda and Tesephone. On the Tesephone, chained in its first hold, were, with one exception, those women whom I had placed in my slave chain. The exception was the woman of Hura, named Rissia, who had remained behind to defend her fallen sisters, whom I had captured at the trail camp of Sarus. She stood to one side, fastened in a sirik. I saw the graceful metal at her throat, and on her wrists and ankles, the long, light chain dangling from the collar, to which the slave bracelets and ankles rings were attached. She was in the care of Ilene, who now wore not slave silk, but a tunic of white wool, like that of Sheera. “Stand straight!” cried Ilene, and struck Rissia with a switch. Rissia lifted her head proudly, tears in her eyes.
I saw Cara, in Rim’s arms, to one side. She still wore a tunic of white wool, but no longer was there a collar at her throat. The lovely slave had been freed. There was no companionship in Port Kar, but she would accompany him to the city. He gently kissed her on the shoulder, and she turned, gently, to him. “I am not a slave,” said Verna to Marlenus of Ar, though she wore his collar. They looked at one another for a long time. she had saved his life in the stockade, interposing her body and weapon, the crossbow, between him and the maddened, desperate attack of Sarus. He had not struck her, a woman. I had taken his sword from him, and given it to one of my men. Then, she had turned, and leveled her crossbow at the heart of Marlenus. We could not have stopped her, did she then fire. The Ubar, in chains, stood at her mercy. “Fire,” he had challenged her, but she had not fired. She had given the crossbow to one of the men of Ar. “I have no wish to kill you,” she had said. Then she had turned away. Yesterday, she had returned of her own free will to the beach, and in her power, a captive panther woman, whose name was Hura.
“Take from the throat of this woman,” said Marlenus, “the collar of a slave.” He looked about. “This woman,” he said hoarsely, “is no slave.” From the belongings of the camp of Marlenus, which had been carried to the stockade, was taken the key to the collar. It was removed from the throat of Verna, panther girl of the northern forests.
She faced the Ubar, whose slave she had been.
“Free now, my women,” she said.
Marlenus turned about. “Free them,” he ordered.
Verna’s women, startled, were freed of their bonds. They stood on the beach, among the stones, rubbing their wrists. One by one, collars were taken from their throats. They looked at Verna.
“I am not pleased with you,” said Verna to them. “You much mocked me when I knelt slave, and wore garments imposed upon me by men.” She then pointed to her ears. “You mocked me, too,” said she, “when rings were fastened in my ears.” She regarded them.:are there any among you,” she said, “who wish to fight me to the death?” They shook their heads.
Verna turned to me. “Pierce their ears,” she said, “and put them all in slave silk.” “Verna,” protested one of the women.
“Do you wish to fight me to the death?” demanded Verna.
“No, Verna,” she said.
“Let it be done as Verna has said,” said I to Thurnock. Orders were given. In an Ahn, the girls of Verna knelt before her on the beach. Each wore only clinging, diaphanous slave silk. In their eyes were tears. In the ears of each, fastened through the lobes of each, were earrings, of a sort attractive in each woman.
The skins of the women who had protested “Verna!” were now worn by Verna herself.
She strode before them on the beach, looking at them. “You would make beautiful slave girls,” she told them.
I saw that the woman called Rena, whom I had used in Marlenus’ camp, before departing it, was especially beautiful.
I sat in the captain’s chair, in authority, but cripples, huddled in blankets, bitter. I knew that I was an important man, but I could not move the left side of my body.
It was all for nothing.
“You,” challenged Verna to the girl who had protested, “how do you like the feel of slave silk?” She looked down.
“Speak!” ordered Verna.
“It makes me feel naked before a man,” she said.
“Do you wish to feel his hands, and his mouth, on your body?” she asked. “Yes!” she cried, miserably, kneeling.
Verna turned and pointed out one of my men, an oarsmen. “Go to him and serve his pleasure,” ordered Verna.
“Verna!” cried the girl, miserably.
“Go!” ordered Verna.
The panther girl fled to the arms of the oarsmen. He threw her over his shoulder and walked to the sand at the foot of the beach.
“You will learn, all of you,” said Verna, “as I learned what it is to be a woman.” One by one, she ordered the girls to serve the pleasure of oarsmen. The girl, Rena, fled instead to me, and pressed her lips to my hand.
“Do as Verna tells you,” I told her.
She kissed my hand again, and fled to him whom Verna had indicated she must serve.
Their cries of pleasure carried to me.
Marlenus regarded Verna. “Will you, too,” he asked, “not serve?”
“I know already what it is to be a woman,” she said. “You have taught me.” He reached out his hand, to touch her. I had not seen so tender a gesture in the Ubar. I had not thought such a movement to be within him.
“No,” she said, stepping back. “No.”
He withdrew his hand.
“I fear your touch, Marlenus,” she said. “I now what you can do to me.” He regarded her.
“I am not your slave,” she said.
“The throne of the Ubara of Ar,” he said, “is empty.
They looked at one another.
“Thank you,” she said, “Ubar.”