"Tal, ugly brute," I said, softly.
I turned, keeping it in sight as it circled me, sniffing. Then it had completed its circuit. Those small, myopic eyes peered up at me.
"You are a stinking, ugly brute," I whispered.
It sniffed me again, beginning at my feet and then lifting its head until it seemed, again, to look me in the eyes. When it had lowered its head I had lowered the pelt I grasped, holding it about me, that it might be near its nose. When it had lifted its head I had raised the pelt, too, keeping it muchly between us. It did not seem muchly concerned with the head of the urt which was still, by the skin, attached to the pelt. Its responses in this situation I assumed, I trusted, I hoped, would be activated almost exclusively by smell, and not by the smell of blood, or human, but by the smell of the pelt, by the pack odor.
I breathed a sigh of relief. It had turned away. The animals now returned to their business. Again was the pack tranquil, save where some animals, here and there, fed on sleen.
"Farewell, ugly brute," I said.
I then began, again, to press through the urts, wading through the pack. Once, a few yards before me and to my right, I saw a small, elongated head rise up suddenly, peering at me. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared. Again, then, I could see only the animals. This was the only concrete sign I had to suggest that there might be urt people traveling with the pack.
In a moment or two, now, I had emerged on the other side of the pack. I could see Flaminius, and his men, on the other side of the pack, quite near, now, to its edge. I observed them for a time. I watched while tow or three crossbow quarrels, their energy spent in the distance, looped over the pack and fell short of me. Then they turned about, hurrying back the way they had come. They perhaps had tharlarion somewhere. I then turned, and climbed through the broken, cerrated edges of this natural stone bowl, found myself in the open fields, and began to run, with the long, slow warrior's pace, that pace in which warriors are trained, that pace which may be maintained, even under the weight of weapons, accouterments and a shield, for pasangs.
15 What Occurred in the Camp of Boots Tarsk-Bit
"Here he is!" cried Boots. "We have caught him for you!"
Lecchio and Chino held my arms.
In a moment, led by Boots, running, puffing, at the side of them, with a swirl of dust from the paws of the tharlarion, they were in the camp, the riders.
"Sleen! Sleen!" I cried to those of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit.
The tharlarions now swirled about me.
I shook Chino and Lecchio violently in the swirling dust, my head down, almost dislodging them from me. But they retained their grip.
"Hold him! Hold him!" cried the Lady Yanina. "Do not let him escape!"
"Have no fear! He is in the keeping of Boots Tarsk-Bit," called Boots, "actor, promoter, entrepreneur and friend to noble citizens of Brundisium!" he then approached me, carrying manacles. "It is you who are the sleen," he said. Then he said to Chino and Lecchio, "Pull the sleen's hands behind him!" this was done, and the manacles were snapped on me. Chino and Lecchio, however, continued to hold my arms. Petrucchio, with the great wooden sword he used in playing the parts of the "Captain," stood resolutely by. Publius Andronicus stood near, a look of great satisfaction on his face. The player stood a bit away, his arms folded, dispassionately observing the proceedings.
Rowena, Lady Telitsia and Bina knelt in terror to one side, slaves, fearful in the presence of free persons, trembling in the face of this sudden invasion of the camp. Besides her collar, which was Boots's, to whom she belonged, Bina wore a slave bracelet. It had been put on her wrist by the player, whose bracelet it was, signifying that her use was his.
I pulled at the manacles. "Do not attempt to free yourself, fool," said Boots. "You have been manacled by Boots Tarsk-Bit!"
"Well done, friend to Brundisium!" cried Lady Yanina.
Boots bowed low to the Lady Yanina and then, beaming, handed her the key to the manacles. She seized it, laughing, and lifted it, in triumph, showing it to her men.
"I thought you might return here!" she said to me, in triumph, brandishing the key at me. "Flaminius did not think so! He is looking elsewhere! He is scouring the countryside! 'He would not be so much a fool as to return there, he laughed at me. But I am more clever than he, a thousand times more clever! I thought that just for such a reason y ou would dare to return here, the one place most would be sure you would not go! I was right! I begged men and tharlarion from Belnar! Almost against his better judgment he granted them to me. We rode here, in all haste. My judgment is vindicated! Let Flaminius writhe in envy! It is I who was right! It is I who am triumphant! You are my prisoner, my prisoner alone, Bosk of Port Kar, the prisoner of the Lady Yanina!" Again she brandished the key at me, I looking up at her, she on the tharlarion. Then, laughing, she dropped the key triumphantly into the bosom of her garment.
"Your face is naked," I said.
"Stand away from him!" she cried. Then she drew forth a coiled whip from beside her saddle and struck me with it twice.
"Your legs look well," I said.
Again she struck me, and then again.
"I note that you have not yet been permitted footwear," I said. Her feet, bare in the stirrups of the saddle, were dark with dirt, as were her lower legs, from her ride. Her legs did indeed look well, covered with dust though they might be, shapely against the leather of the saddle, and the thick, scaled hide of the tharlarion. The skirt she had been permitted was almost slave short and was cut at the sides. She had not been permitted sleeves in the garment. She was attractive. Probably most men would have wanted to clean her up a bit before using her. It was interesting to conjecture what she might look like washed and combed, and perfumed, and put in a bit of slave silk, and appropriately collared, of course. The skirt she wore, though it came high on her thighs, and was cut at the sides, had a very high waist, its belting cord cinched just under her breasts. Yes, altogether it was a fetching ensemble. Men who had an eye for women must have designed it and she, doubtless, had been given no choice but to wear it. It was opaque, of course. That was surely a concession to her status, that of the free woman. If I came to own her I thought I might give her a similar garment, but one of diaphanous silk. Too, I might shorten it a bit. The inmates of such garment, incidentally, suitable collared, of course, also look well bedecked with barbaric Gorean slave jewelry. Some women, in the beginning, object strenuously to such jewelry, but soon they are begging for it. Her hair, I noted, was loose. This was also doubtless meaningful. Slaves must often wear their hair in such a fashion.
She struck me twice more with the whip, wheeling about on the tharlarion.
"Your hair is loose," I observed.
"Sleen! Sleen!" she screamed.
Again and again the whip fell. I closed my eyes, that I not be blinded. I was pleased she did not have a man's strength. Then, sweating, angrily, she replaced the whip at the side of her saddle.
I grinned at her. Yes, she would look well, properly attired, or properly unattired, cringing at my feet in a collar, knowing that her least discrepancy from the absolute perfections of slave service would instantly bring upon down her the stroke of the five-stranded slave lash, or worse.
"Laugh, fool!" she cried. "It is you who are in manacles! It is you who are my prisoner!"
I looked up at her, not speaking.