I feared these sober, strange men in their sable habiliments. A normal Gorean male, I was sure, would have defended a jeopardized kajira to the death. But, too, he would not have relaxed the perfection of his mastery over her in the least. Is she not, it might be asked, a desirable, beautiful animal, worth saving for his pleasure?
An Earth woman, incidentally, if rescued on Gor by a Gorean, might be surprised at the aftermath of her rescue. Half hysterical with relief, overwhelmed with gratitude, say, she was prepared to throw herself into his arms and grant him, even though he is a stranger, the inestimable favor of a kiss. Many Earth women seem to think their kisses are of great value, whereas most of them do not know how to kiss. The kisses of a slave on the other hand, so subtle, and humble, and well-placed, coupled with her entire demeanor, the meaning of her collar, and such, can drive a man mad with pleasure. But then that is understandable, she is a slave. To be sure, as the slave is further and further aroused by the master, in his turn, her kisses may become more and more piteously and helplessly orgasmic. But then to her surprise, and, one supposes, consternation, the Earth woman finds herself enfolded helplessly in mighty arms and kissed in turn and kissed as she had never dreamed she might be kissed, with such ferocity, and mastery and power, and ownership, and then as she reels, giddy and dazed, she is taken in hand and turned about, and thrown to the ground, on her stomach; her clothing, she almost failing to comprehend what is occurring, is ripped from her, all of it; she feels the air on her body and the grass on her belly and breasts; she protests; she struggles; she tries to rise; his hand holds her in place; she cannot rise; her wrists are jerked behind her and enclosed in slave bracelets; she is then leashed, and led from the field; if she resists or dallies she will be whipped; if he has a collar with him it will undoubtedly be put on her; he has saved her life and it now belongs to him, and he will do with it what he wants. He will keep her, have pleasure with her, sell her, or give her away, as he pleases.
This will become more intelligible to her as she becomes more aware of the ways of Gor.
Not all cultures are the same.
She is now a slave, with all that that means on Gor.
She will soon learn.
“Where are the urts?” asked the lieutenant.
“As they did not pass us,” said the pit master, “ and they are not here, one gathers they have returned to the nest, or the pool. Some might be on the walkway.”
It seemed very dark beyond the gate. I could see the railing about the pool.
It was silent within, very silent.
“Perhaps he is gone,” said a man.
“Was he within,” said a man, “he would have left the gate down, as a barrier. It would have been dangerous for us to lift it. He would have fired from behind it.”
“Are there other gates, accessible from the walkway?” asked the lieutenant.
“Yes,” said the pit master.
“Aagh!” cried the lieutenant, in fury.
“Then he is gone?” said a man.
“Are the gates open?” asked the lieutenant.
“No,” said the pit master.
“I do not believe you,” said the lieutenant.
“He is gone then” said the man.
“If he was not within he would have left the gate down,” said a man, “to make us believe he was within, to slow our pursuit.”
“Leaving it up, is to invite us into a trap,” said a man.
“Or have us believe it so,” said another.
“He is not within,” said the lieutenant. “But he has already won his point, buying time, we, like fools, standing about in idle converse.”
“I would, nonetheless, recommend caution,” said the officer ofTreve.
“Step from behind the slaves,” said the lieutenant ordered the lead man.
Reluctantly he did so.
It was he, I recalled, who had been the second of the two men who had not joined in the attack on the sleen.
“Go to the threshold, stand there,” said the lieutenant.
The peasant, I recalled, was not likely to waste quarrels on slaves, at least according to the speculations of the pit master, which speculations I fervently hoped were sound.
The black-tunicked man, on the other hand, would presumably constitute a prime target.
“I do not think he is within,” said the lieutenant.
The man slowly, reluctantly, went to the center of the threshold.
He stood there.
It takes time, of course, to reload a crossbow. That interval of time, I gathered, figured in the lieutenants calculations.
After several seconds, the man standing there in the portal, silhouetted by the light behind him, the lieutenant, unwilling to lose more time, indicated that one man, preceded by his fair shield of two, should enter and go to the left, and another, he, too, preceded by his shield of two, to the right. After an interval of about four paces, the lieutenant, with two slaves, followed the man who had gone to the left. The man who had served as point for our advance, with two slaves, remained at the portal, just within it.
I was with the second man who had gone to the left, preceding him, with Fecha.
We moved cautiously, the light lifted.
There were four gates giving access to the walkway, that though which we had entered, and, across the pool, on the other side, three, each leading to a different tunnel.
I heard a girl scream. An urt, on the walkway, at their approach, had scrambled over the railing, and dived into the pool.
Fecha held her torch over the pool. We could see ripples in the water there. And I saw the wet, glistening head of an urt, just at the surface. The head was very smooth. They swim with their ears back, flat against the head. This was not the urt which had just entered the pool. That one had dived in far back and to our right.
“Hurry!” urged the lieutenant to the man before him. He feared the loss of time.
“Move,” said the man to the slaves before him. They whimpered, and, laps lifted, moved forward. The pair ahead of us stopped.
“Urt!” cried Tira, pointing.
“No,” said the man. “It is only a shadow.”
The lamps and torches threw strange shadows, which moved as the source of the light moved, sometimes giving the impression of a dark body stirring, even moving furtively, or quickly.
I looked above us. The vault of the chamber was lost in darkness. I could see the cage, high, to my left, over the pool, with its various chains and ropes, for controlling its location. There was also the cord which went to the gate latch at its bottom.
“Lift the gate,” said the lieutenant to the pit master. The first man and the lieutenant had come to the first gate, reached by going to the right about the pool. The lieutenant did not wish to risk either himself or his man by standing at the gate, lifting it. A bolt from the other side would not be likely to miss. The fellow who had served as a lure for quarrels was still back at the gate we had entered, guarding it with his bow. The man with the lieutenant was the one who limped, having injured his ankle yesterday morning in the cell, apparently having twisted it in the stirrup of the crossbow, while trying to reset the weapon.
“It is locked,” said the pit master.
“Determine that it is so,” said the lieutenant.
With one hand the pit master bent down and pulled against a crossbar of the gate.
“Try it,” said the lieutenant to his fellow.
Reluctantly the man put down his bow and, with two hands tried to lift the gate.
“It is locked,” he said.
I heard urts in the pool below. Some, it seemed, had just entered it, from the tunnel leading to the nest. The noises about the walkway may have aroused their curiosity. Too, once they had come to the tunnel opening, which was beneath the surface of the pool, reached from the nest, on a higher level, on the other side, they may have seen the light from the lamps and torches on the water. Such things were probably associated in their minds with the possibility of food. There were several urts in the pool area. I knew, and, save for their fellow, and what they had had of the man by the gate, they had not eaten for two days. They would doubtless, most of them, be hungry. The guard had been dismissed. When one urt leaves the nest, others tend to follow.