“What are you going to do with us?” I asked.

“What is the woman Talena to you?” she asked.

“Do you hold her?” I asked.

I again felt the edge of the sleen knife on my throat.

“Once,” said I, “long ago, we were companions.”

“And you wished to rescue her, as a hero, and repledge the companionship?” she asked.

“It would have been my hope,” I said, “ to have repledged the companionship.” “She would be an excellent match, would she not?” asked Verna.

“Yes,” I said. “That is true.”

Verna laughed. “She is only a slave girl,” she said.

“She is the daughter of a Ubar!” I cried.

“We have taught her slavery,” said Verna. “I have see to that.”

I struggled against the thongs.

“You would find her, I think,” said Verna, “rather changed from when you knew her.” “What have you done to her?” I cried.

“Human beings change,” said Verna. “Little is constant. Doubtless you have an image of her. You are a fool it is a myth.” “What have you done to her?” I begged.

“It is my recommendation,” said Verna, “that you forget about her.” She smiled. She played with the knife, putting her fingertip to its point. “You may accept my word for it,” she said. “She is no longer worthy of your efforts.” I fought the thongs, growling like an animal, fighting to free myself. I could not do so.

“How fierce the slave is,” exclaimed Verna, in mock fear.

I lay back, bound.

Verna, idly, began to play at the side of my throat with the sleen knife. I could feel its point.

“Talena,” she said, “by my permission, by one of my women, sent a missive in her own handwriting to Marlenus, her father, the great Ubar.” I was silent.

“Are you not curious,” she asked, “to know the import of the message?” I could feel the point of the knife.

“In it,” said Verna, “she begged that he purchase her freedom.”

I lay back, my eyes closed.

“Only slaves beg to be purchased,” said Verna.

It was true, what she said. I recalled that in the paga tavern the girl Tana had begged to be purchased. In so doing she had acknowledged herself a slave. “Marlenus,” she said, “in his great fist, crumbled this note, and discarded it, throwing it in the fire.” I looked at her.

“He then withdrew his men from the forests.

“Marlenus is gone?” I asked.

“He has returned to Ar,” she said.

“It is true,” said Mira, who stood to one side, and now turned toward us. “I myself took the missive to Marlenus. I myself saw them break camp. I myself saw them take flight to Ar.” Mira, too, like several of the other panther girls, was beautiful, but her beauty was hard, and there was a cruelty in it.

“I cannot believe Marlenus has withdrawn,” I said.

“Speak,” said Verna to Mira, “what else you saw, before their camp was broken before their tarns took flight.” “His hand on his hilt of his sword,” said Mira, “and his other hand on the medallion of Ar, his daughter was disowned.” I gasped, stunned.

“Yes,” laughed Verna, “according to the codes of the warriors and by the rites of the city of Ar, no longer is Talena kin or daughter of Marlenus of Ar.” I lay, stunned. According to irreversible ceremonies, both of the warriors and of the city of Ar, Talena was no longer the daughter of Marlenus. In her shame she had been put outside his house. She was cut off. In law, and in the eyes of Goreans, Talena was now without family. No longer did she have kin. She was now, in her shame, alone, completely. She was now only slave, that and nothing more. From the most desirable woman on Gor she had suddenly become only another slave. “Does Talena know?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Verna. “We informed her immediately.”

“That was kind of you,” said I, bitterly.

“We gagged her first,” said Verna, “that we might not be annoyed by her outcries.” “Did she not wish proof?” I asked.

“Anticipating such a desire,” laughed Verna, “we had written confirmation of the enactment signed with the seal of Marlenus himself. Further, documents proclaiming the disowning, officially notarized with the seals of Ar and Marlenus, will soon be posted in all the major Gorean cities.” “One, even now,” said Mira, “stands on the news board in Laura.” She looked up at the moons. I could now see them beginning to emerge from behind the leaves and high branches of the encircling Tur trees. Mira looked at me. Her lips were parted. She was beginning to breathe heavily. She rubbed her hands on her thighs.

“The moons are not yet risen,” said Verna, sharply.

Mira turned away.

In the shadows about, I could see other panther girls, ornaments of gold dully glistening on their shapely limbs.

“What of Talena?” I asked Verna.

“The following day,” said Verna, “we ungagged her and set her about her duties.” “I see,” I said.

“She performed them well,” said Verna.

“Of course,” I said.

“If she had not,” said Verna, “she would have been beaten.”

“Of course,” I said.

I lay on my back and looked up at the stars.

“So now,” asked Verna, “how excellent a match do you think Talena would be?” Talena was now nothing.

“Do you still hold her?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Verna, “do you wish her brought forth to look upon you?” “No,” I said.

I was silent.

“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.

“She is now without much value,” said Verna. “We will take her to an exchange point and sell her.” I did not speak.

“Probably to one of Tyros, as a pleasure slave,” said Verna. “Tyros is an enemy of Ar of long standing. Doubtless in Tyros there will be several who would not be displeased to have in their pleasure gardens one who was once the daughter of Marlenus of Ar.” What Verna had said was undoubtedly true.

“It would be my recommendation,” said Verna, “that you put her from your mind.” I felt the point of her dagger at the side of my neck.

“You may take my word for it,” said Verna. “Talena is no longer deserving of your consideration.” I was silent.

“She is only a slave girl,” said Verna. “She is only a slave girl.” “You have taught her slavery,” I said.

“Yes,” smiled Verna, “in the forests we have well taught her the meaning of slavery.” I put my head to one side.

“But, too,” laughed Verna, “I do not think you would longer find her much enjoyable.” I looked at her.

“We have also taught her,” smiled Verna, “as only panther girls can, the despicability of men.” “I see,” I said.

“She now despises men,” said Verna, “and yet she knows, too, that it will be her fate to serve them.” “Her experiences,” said Verna, “will be exquisitely humiliating. Do you not think so?” “You are cruel,” I said.

I again felt the knife blade at my throat. “There are those who rule,” said Verna, “and those who serve.” She replaced the knife in her sheath and stood up. She looked up. The moons were now over the trees. She looked down upon me, in her gold and brief skins. “Long ago,” she said, “I determined that it would be I who would rule.” She laughed, and thrust her foot against the side of my waist. “And it will be such as you,” she smiled, “who will serve.” I tore helplessly at the thongs.

She stood over me. She looked down upon me.

“Why were you not in your camp at dawn?” I asked. “How did you know of our presence in the forest.” “You mean,” asked Verna, “why am I not at your feet, bound naked between the stakes, as you are at mine, your slave?” “Yes,” I said.

“You concealed your movements well,” she said. “You are skilled. I respect you skill.” “How did you know of us?” I asked.

We were following an enemy panther girl,” she said, “one less skilled then yourself, of the band of Hura, who would take my land from me.” She smiled. “We would have slain her. It was her good fortune that you took her slave.” She laughed. “We saw you pin her to the tree, and bracelet her. You are skilled with the bow.” “You then followed me?” I asked.