I saw another man lying on his belly. Two beautiful panther girls bent to him. One jerked his wrists behind his body, binding them. The other had crossed his ankles and was swiftly fastening them with binding fiber.

I saw two men, in slave manacles, chained to a post of the gate.

With a cry of rage I threw down the bow and kicked out the back of the hut. Outside I looked about.

At one side of the hut, where I could not see, I heard the heavy snap of slave manacles.

I stumbled to the sharpened saplings forming the wall behind the hut. I reached down, seizing one with both hands, trying to pull it up.

We were locked within this fence. Arn, beside me, groggily, slipped to his knees. I shook him, viscously.

Together we managed to loosen one of the saplings, and then, together, we slipped through the wall.

“They are escaping!” I heard cry. “Two! They are escaping!”

Thrusting Arn along beside me, holding his arm, we found a trail among the trees. I heard more cries behind us, of panther girls in fury. W heard the sounds of pursuit. Panther girls are swift, fierce hunters.

Arn fell.

“Get up!” I cried. “Get up!” I slapped Arn fiercely, and dragged him to his feet.

Groggily he ran beside me.

An arrow swept past us. I heard the cries of pursuit, the sounds of branches being broken and rudely thrust aside.

There was suddenly a great, heavy steel snap at my feet. Arn cried out in pain and fell forward.

Locked on his right ankle were the heavy, sharp steel teeth of a slave trap. I fought the heavy, curved steel jaws, but they had locked shut. The Gorean slave trap is not held by a simple, heavy spring as would be the trap for a panther or sleen. Such a spring, by a strong man, with his hands, might be thrust open. This trap had sprung shut and locked. The heavy steel curved snugly about his ankle. The sharp teeth, biting deeply, fastened themselves in his flesh. It could only be opened by key.

He would be held perfectly. It was a Gorean slave trap.

I pulled at the chain, a heavy chain, concealed under leaves.

It led to a ring on a post, sunk deeply into the ground. I could not budge the post.

I heard the pursuit, almost at hand, breaking through branches.

Arn looked at me, agonized.

I put out my hand to him. Then I turned and, stumbling sick, began to run. I fell against a tree, and again struggled to my feet. An arrow struck near me. I plunged into the underbrush, hearing the sounds of pursuit.

I began to grow dizzy. It was hard to see. I fell again, and again stumbled to my feet and, unsteadily, attempted to run.

I do not know how far I ran. I do not think it was far. I fell in the brush. I must get up. I screamed to myself, I must get up!

But I could not get up.

“Here he is,” I heard.

I opened my eyes and saw about me the ankles of several panther girls. My hands were dragged behind me. I felt slave steel locked on my wrists, I fell unconscious.

I awakened with a start.

I could not move.

I lay in the center of a clearing. I could see lofty Tur trees surrounding the clearing. We were deep in the forest, somewhere within one of the stands of the mighty Tur trees. I could see them, on all sides, at the edges of the clearing, rising beautifully a hundred, two hundred feet toward the blackness of the Gorean night, the brightness of the stars, and then, almost at the top, exploding into a broad canopying of interlaced branches. I could see the stars overhead. But through the leafed branches of the trees I could catch only glimpses of them. There was grass in the clearing. I could feel it beneath my back. I saw, to one side of the clearing, a short, stout slave post, with two rings. No slave was bound to it.

“He is awake,” said a girl’s voice.

I saw a woman, in the brief skins of the panther women, turn and approach me. She wore ornaments of gold, an armlet, and anklet, a long string of tiny, pierced, golden cylinders looped four times about her neck.

At her belt was a sleen knife.

She stood over me. She looked down upon me. Her legs were shapely. She was marvelously figured.

I pulled at the thongs on my wrists and ankles. My feet and arms had been tied separately, widely apart. I was stretched between four stakes. Several bands of binding fiber fastened each limb to its heavy stake. The stakes were notched to prevent the fiber from slipping. I could scarcely feel my hands and feet. I was well secured. I had been stripped.

She looked down upon me.

She carried a light spear.

I turned my head to one side.

With the blade of her spear she turned my head so that I must again face her. “Greetings, Slave,” she said.

I did not speak to her.

She looked down upon me, and laughed.

I, her captive, hated her.

Yet she did not permit me to take my eyes from her. The blade of her spear made me face her.

“Am I so difficult to look upon?” she asked.

She was one of the most exciting beautiful women I had ever seen.

I resented the brief, tight skins which concealed her from me.

Her blond hair, unbound, swirled below the small of her back. Her blue eyes, regarded me, contemptuously.

“No,” I said, “it is not difficult to look upon you.”

She was magnificent. She might have been bred from pleasure slaves and she-panthers. She was sinuous and arrogant, desirable, dangerous, feline. I had little doubt that she was swift of mind. She was surely proud and haughty. She was lithe. She was perhaps two inched taller than the average Gorean woman, and yet, due to the perfections of her proportions, as vigorous and stunning as a girl bred deliberately in the slave pens for such qualities.

She looked down upon me.

“I am a free man,” I said. “I demand the rights of prisoners.”

Idly she moved the blade of her spear along the side of my body.

I closed my eyes.

“You were fools to drink the wine,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

I looked up at her.

“More than once,” she said,we have used out camp as a slave trap.” In rage I pulled at the thongs.

“You got further than any other in the forest,” she said. “You are strong.” I again felt the blade of the spear at the side of my waist.

She looked down upon me.

I looked up into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, “you are strong.”

In rage I again fought the thongs. I pulled at them with my feet and wrists. But I was perfectly secured. I had been bound by panther women.

I was theirs.

I looked up again into her eyes.

I had little doubt but what this was Verna who now examined me.

None but the acknowledged leader of the band, whose authority was undisputed, could have so looked upon a prisoner, dispassionately, objectively, serene in her power over his life and body.

It was up to her, what was to be done with me.

It was she, more than the others, to whom I belonged.

I, and my men, were hers.

Another girl came and stood behind her. I recognized that girl. It was Mira, who had spoken to me in my camp. She looked up at the sky. ”The moons,” she said, “ will soon be risen.” Then she looked at me, and laughed.

Verna sat down beside me, cross-legged. ”The moons are not yet risen,” she said. “Let us converse.” She drew the sleen knife from her belt sheath. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Where are my men?” I asked.

“You will answer my questions,” she said.

I felt the blade of the sleen knife at my throat.

“I am Bosk,” I said, “of the exchange island of Tabor.”

“You were warned,” said she, playing with the knife, “not to return to the forest.” I was silent.

Then I turned to face her. “Where are my men?” I asked.

“Chained,” she said.