For a time there was silence about, and then the two young women cried out, suddenly, in alarm, startled by a sudden pounding of metal on the outside of the capsule.
“They can’t get in,” said the officer of the court.
“Who are they?” asked the salesgirl.
The officer of the court crept to one of the tiny ports, something like four inches in diameter.
“I cannot see who they are,” she said.
Then she drew back, because a stone, held in a fist, struck against the port.
“They cannot get in,” said the officer of the court, backing away.
There was more pounding on the exterior of the capsule. They could also hear the external hatch wheel being tried. It would not open, of course, as the hatch had been sealed from the inside. Then there was more pounding at the port. After a time the heavy material in the port was chipped away. A stick was thrust into the capsule, jutting in, then rimming flakes of glasseous substance away.
“We are safe,” said the officer of the court. “They cannot enter.”
The salesgirl drew a deep breath. It was less stifling now in the capsule. Air could enter through the opened port.
“Are they men?” asked the salesgirl.
“I do not know,” said the officer of the court.
“Look!” said the salesgirl.
“You look!” said the officer of the court.
The salesgirl rose to her feet and timidly looked out the nearest port.
She quickly drew her head back.
“What are they?” asked the officer of the court, crouching on the floor of the capsule, anxiously.
“They are men,” said the salesgirl.
“What sort of men?”
“By their garb — barbarians,” said the salesgirl, crouching down.
“Be pleased,” said the officer of the court, bitterly. “You will make a pretty little slave girl.”
“So, too, would you!” said the salesgirl.
“I jest,” said the officer of the court. “It is fortunate for us that they are barbarians. That means we have little to fear.”
“How is that?” asked the salesgirl.
“As barbarians,” said the officer of the court, “they will be stupid. They will have no patience.
They will soon leave.”
“What if they do not?” asked the salesgirl.
“They will,” said the officer of the court. “They are stupid.”
“I have heard that barbarians enjoy making slaves of civilized women,” said the salesgirl.
“If they can get them,” said the officer of the court.
“What if they wait outside?” asked the salesgirl. “We have nothing to eat or drink within.”
“They do not know that,” said the officer of the court.
“I am afraid,” said the salesgirl.
“Do not be afraid,” said the officer of the court. “They are barbarians. They are stupid. They will quickly grow weary of waiting, and depart. We will then leave the capsule, and escape. Nothing could be simpler.”
“We shall outsmart them,” said the salesgirl.
“Certainly,” said the officer of the court. “We are far more clever than they are. We are civilized women.”
“How then is it,” asked the salesgirl, “that we are bought and sold, and kept as helpless slaves, on so many worlds?”
“It is quiet outside now,” said the officer of the court.
“What of Oona and the ensign?” asked the salesgirl.
“We must think of ourselves,” said the officer of the court. “They were stupid enough to permit themselves to be captured.”
“It seems very quiet,” said the salesgirl.
“Perhaps they have already left,” said the officer of the court.
The salesgirl stood up and looked through a port. “They have not left,” she whispered.
“Then they are not as impatient as I thought,” said the officer of the court.
“No,” said the salesgirl. “They are even more impatient than you thought.”
“They are leaving?”
“No.”
“I do not understand.”
“But they are not as stupid as you thought,” said the salesgirl.
“I don’t understand,” said the officer of the court.
“They are bringing brush, and wood,” said the salesgirl, “and placing it about the capsule.”
In a few moments the flames were roaring about the lower hull of the capsule.
“I cannot breathe!” wept the salesgirl.
“Ai!” cried the officer of the court, touching the side of the capsule.
The officer of the court lifted one foot, and then the other, from the heated floor.
The salesgirl wept with pain, wringing her hands.
“What are we to do?” wept the officer of the court.
“That has been decided for us, has it not!” cried the salesgirl.
“What choice have we?” wept the officer of the court.
“The only choice they have accorded us!” wept the salesgirl. “A slave’s choice!”
“Ohh,” wept the officer of the court, crying, gasping for breath in the heated vehicle.
Then she heard the salesgirl struggling with the hatch wheel.
“Me first! Me first!” cried the officer of the court, thrusting the salesgirl aside. The hatch wheel burned her hand. Then she thrust it up. Her hands were burned on the rungs of the hatch ladder.
The outside of the capsule had begun to glow redly.
The officer of the court burst from the hatch, crying, and gasping for air. She felt herself seized in strong hands, on each side, and flung to the dirt on her belly beside the roaring fire heating the capsule. She turned her face away from the blaze. She felt her hands pulled behind her and tied there, securely. She was aware, too, of a similar fate befalling the salesgirl, who had followed her from the capsule a moment later. She was still gasping for breath, shuddering, on her belly, trying to pull her hands apart, when she felt a rope being tied about her neck. She turned about and saw that the salesgirl was bound, too, just as she herself was, and that she, too, now, had a rope on her neck.
CHAPTER 18
“What irons are these?” inquired Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.
“My chieftain knows, surely,” said Astubux.
“They are slaving irons,” said Otto.
“Yes.”
“But surely not made by our smiths,” said Otto.
“No,” said Astubux. “These are irons formed on other worlds, civilized worlds. They are such as are used by the Drisriaks to mark women for sale throughout the galaxies.”
“The flower,” said Otto.
“Yes, Master,” said his slave, Janina. Her own thigh bore a not dissimilar brand.
The chieftain considered the irons.
They would leave behind a small, tasteful mark, but one which would be clear and unmistakable.
“The slave rose,” said Otto, the chieftain. This seems, incidentally, the first time, then in the village of the Wolfungs, that he was known by this name. It may be surmised that he chose it for himself before being lifted on the shields. The name, incidentally, was a common one in the Vandal nation, even at that time. Research has made that clear. It is not as though it only became so later. It is also interesting, in the light of historical studies, that he chose that particular name. It was one which had been borne generations earlier by Otung kings.
“Yes, Master,” said Janina, putting her head down.
“How came they here?” asked Otto.
“They were left by the Drisriaks, to remind us of their power,” said Axel, who was the older, grizzled Wolfung warrior who had been with the hunting party which had first made contact with a marooned gladiator and slave.
“When they come for tribute,” said Astubux, “they pick out what goods they want, including women. Then they brand them before our very eyes.”
“They should be here soon?” said the chieftain. The sign had been burned into the forest two days ago.