“Free the spears,” said Portus Canio.
Two spears, suspended in slings at the sides of the wagon, were drawn free.
Ellen, from her place on the wheel, looked wildly at Selius Arconious, who, looking backward, was unaware of the anxiety of her regard.
He had availed himself of one of the weapons, a gladius, light, wicked, short-bladed, double-edged.
“They are tracking,” said Portus Canio. “If they were hunting they would approach from downwind.”
“Praise the Priest-Kings,” said a man.
“Have they seen us yet?” asked a man.
“I would not think so,” said Portus Canio. “But they will have a sense of our distance, from the freshness of the scent.”
“What men are with them?” asked a man.
“It cannot be told at present,” said Portus.
“Let us flee,” said a man.
“If they are this close to us, it is unlikely they are afoot,” said Selius Arconious. “Look about,” he encouraged Portus Canio.
Portus Canio, standing on the wagon box, looked then to all sides of the wagon, to each barren, windswept horizon.
“When danger seems to threaten from one quarter,” said a man, “it is well to fear all quarters, and most that from which it seems to threaten least.”
“I see nothing,” said Portus Canio. “Wait! I think I see men, behind us!”
“Are there standards, banners?”
“No.”
“Have they seen us?”
“I cannot tell,” said Portus Canio.
“Are they Cosians?”
“I do not think so,” said Portus Canio.
“Cosians would be tarnborne, would be aflight, surely,” said a man.
“Brigands, then,” said another.
“Yes, brigands,” said another.
“I think they have seen us,” said Portus Canio.
“How many are there?” asked a man.
“Six men,” said Portus Canio, slowly.
“There is nothing to fear then,” said a man. “There are nine of us.”
“They are not alone,” said Portus Canio, slowly. “There is something else, something with them.”
“What?” asked one of the men.
“I do not know,” said Portus Canio. “I truly do not know. They are large, lumbering things, yet they move swiftly, they are ungainly and yet graceful, they are huge, and dark. By the Priest-Kings they move swiftly. There are five of them, I think. Yes, five. I do not know what they are. I have never seen anything like them! I have never seen anything move like that. I do not know if they have two feet or four feet. Truly, I do not know! It is not clear, as they move. Ho! One is stopped! It is standing, upright! Upright! It is pointing. By the Priest-Kings, it is huge. It is pointing this way! Now it is again on all fours. These things are coming this way, the men, too. The men are on tharlarion, the things with them are not. They run beside the tharlarion, easily, in their strange gait, as tireless beasts of some sort!”
Ellen trembled. She felt ill. She was miserable. She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Why did she not rejoice? Was she not to be rescued from the grasp of he whom she feared and hated, her cruel master, Selius Arconious? She had little doubt then, though she could not yet see them, who followed them. As property, as slave, she knew she was subject to seizure and theft. She could be seized and carried away with no more compunction, no more consideration or thought, than would be accorded to a verr or tarsk, two other forms of domestic animal.
“Can you see the sleen?”
“Yes, there are two. They are running, now fastened on long leashes, straining forward, excited now, before two of the riders.”
Ellen descended from the wheel, and sank down, on her knees, beside it. She clung to the spokes, that she might not collapse to the grass.
“Hit the sleen first,” said Portus Canio to the two bowmen. “They will be the most dangerous. You two with spears defend the bowmen while they prepare their bows for a second flight.”
“The sleen will not be most dangerous unless they are set upon us,” said Selius Arconious.
“Let us see what they want,” said a man. “They may be travelers returning from the great camp. They may wish company. They may be lost. They may want to join us, for mutual protection. If they are brigands, let them look about. Let them see that we do not have enough for them to risk war. If they wish to fight, we will fight. But I do not think that they will care to risk their lives for some biscuits, some blankets, a slave, a wagon, a tharlarion.”
“They may not have the tharlarion,” said a man.
“No,” said another.
Ellen put her cheek against the spoke of the wagon wheel, better understanding her worth on this world. Lovely female slaves strive desperately to please, well aware of their abundance in this economy. She recalled the steam and misery, the cruel labors, of the laundry in the house of Mirus. Gor has many such employments for the inept and less than fully pleasing.
She stood up then, clinging to the bronzeshod wheel.
“Tal!” called Portus Canio, pleasantly enough, from before the bench of the wagon box, where he stood.
Ellen saw the six riders, on tharlarion, in the hands of two of which were the leashes of two gray hunting sleen, which crouched down, their rear haunches trembling, as though readying themselves for a charge. Their hunt had been successful, and they were now ready for a reward, a feeding.
“By the Priest-Kings,” whispered a man, regarding the five beasts who, some yards apart, were in advance of the riders.
Ellen recognized one of the beasts, he spoken of as Kardok. She knew that it, and at least some of the others, could speak, or, at least, make sounds which might, with some transpositions, be understood as Gorean, at least by those she had taken to be their masters, or, better, by at least one of them, for only one of them, she recalled, had seemed to translate for the beasts.
“In the matter of the quarrels,” said Portus Canio, softly, to the two bowmen, one on each side of the wagon, “use your discretion.” He was viewing the five beasts, who doubtless appeared far more awesome to him now, at a distance of a few yards, than they had when they were a quarter of a pasang away.
Ellen saw Kardok’s ears lift slightly, the great body stiffen. Though the men on tharlarion, the strangers, doubtless heard nothing, she had little doubt but what Portus Canio’s soft remark, little more than a whisper, had been clearly audible to the beast. She feared, too, it might have been fully intelligible to that gross, shaggy auditor.
“Tal!” repeated Portus Canio.
He was not answered.
Mirus urged his tharlarion, a swift, bipedalian tharlarion, forward. He was then something like seven or eight yards from the wagon, some two or three yards before the line of his fellows, the beasts and the two sleen.
He looked about and, in a moment, noted Ellen, she standing beside the wagon, on its left side, facing him. She was in the brief tunic which had been permitted to her by Selius Arconious, was barefoot, and collared. The tunic was very short, and sleeveless. Such tunics are designed to well reveal the slave, and leave little to the imagination, only enough to encourage the master to tear it from her. She had little doubt that she was quite fetching in the garment. Surely Mirus seemed pleased with what he saw. Too, there was a collar on her neck. This, she knew, too, had its effect on men. Not only did it serve as an attractive adornment, rather like a necklace, contrasting with, and setting off, the slim, lovely, rounded softness of her throat, but she could not remove it. It was locked on her, publicly and obviously. It proclaimed her property, slave. Thus, on the symbolic level, where human sexuality luxuriates, thrives and flourishes, and aside from the obvious identificatory conveniences of Merchant Law, it was far more than a lovely piece of jewelry; it enhanced her beauty not only aesthetically but symbolically, overwhelmingly, devastatingly meaningfully. It speaks to him, who sees it on her throat, and it speaks to her, about whose throat it is snugly clasped. It tells them both that she belongs to men.