“We lost you shortly,” she said. “You are skilled. And we were wary of the bow. But we knew that, sooner or later, you would fine our camp, and you, and others doubtless with you, would attack.” “I found your camp that night,” I said. “Did you know?” She smiled. “No,” she said. “But we surmised that you would find it either that night, or the next, or the next.” She fingered the hilt of the sleen knife. “And so we arranged not to be within our camp at dawn, but to leave for you in our absence a gift of wine.” “You were most thoughtful,” I said.

“What was the name of the girl you took in the forest?” asked Verna. “Grenna,” I said.

Verna nodded. “I have heard of her,” she said. “She stands high in the band of Hura.” I said nothing.

“What did you do with her?” asked Verna.

“I sent her back to my ship,” I said, “to be enslaved.”

“Excellent,” said Verna. She looked down at me, and laughed. “Any panther girl,” she said, “who falls to men deserves the collar.” She fingered the hilt of the knife. “There is a saying among panther girls,” she said, “that any girl who permits herself to fall to men desires in her heart to be their slave.” “I have heard,” I said, “that panther girls, once conquered, make splendid slaves.” Verna kicked me suddenly, viscously, in the side. “Silence, Slave!” she cried. “The moons are risen,” said Mira, standing behind her.

I recalled the uncontrollable movements of Sheera’s body, its wild helplessness, the ecstatic prisoner of its slave reflexes.

“It is said,” I said, “that in the band of Hura there are more than a hundred women.” Verna smiled. “We shall pick them off,” she said, “one by one, and then, when they flee, we shall again follow them, and drop them one by one. When they turn in the forest and throw down their arms, the last of them, we shall put them in chains and sell them to men.” There was bitterness in Verna’s face. “I would see Hura, and her high girls,” she said, “sold as slaves to men.” She looked at me, and laughed. “Grenna,” she said, “is already slave. It is an excellent start.” “You hate them so?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“What is to be done with me and my men?” I asked.

“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”

I was silent.

She smiled. “You might be beaten for it,” she said.

I did not speak.

One does not inform slaves of the plans of masters. Slaves are deliberately kept uninformed, and ignorant. It increases their dependence, their helplessness. They do no know whence they may be herded, or what they may be forced to do. Leave them alone, it is said, with their ignorance and their fears. It is enough for the master to know what is to be done with them.

In time the slave will learn. That will be soon enough.

Verna then, without speaking further, turned and left me. Some of the panther girls, at the edge of the clearing, with their spears, stood restlessly, watching me. I looked up, and saw the bright moons, now beyond the foliage of the Tur trees. The stars were beautiful in the black sky. My wrists and ankles pulled at the thongs that bound them. I could not move. I was helpless. I laughed bitterly.

How brave and noble I had been to enter the forests, to rescue the beautiful Talena, daughter of Marlenus of Ar.

How grateful she would have been, the loving, high-born beauty, in my arms, when I had brought her glorious and safe from shameful bondage, her former captors now stripped and at our feet in the chains of slaves. Perhaps, if it had pleased me, I would have given her Verna, as her personal serving slave, a souvenir of her ordeal in the forest and the glorious triumph which culminated that ordeal. How beautiful she would have looked as we had, arms interlocked, drunk the wines of a renewed, repledged companionship.

How splendid she would have looked at my side, my beautiful consort in P Port Kar. Together, in our curule chairs, raised above those of others, we might in the house of Bosk have held court.

With my wealth and power we might have been as Ubar and Ubara.

The jewels and robes which I would have given her would have been the finest in Port Kar, the finest in all Gor.

But now it did not seem that she would stand beside me among falling flowers on the bow of the Tesephone, on some great holiday declared in Port Kar, as we returned in triumph to that city, making our way through its flower-strewn canals, beneath the windows and rooftops of cheering throngs.

She was now only a slave, no more than Sheera, or Grenna, or any other. She, while slave, could not even stand in companionship. She, even if freed, without family, and, by the same act, without caste, would have a status beneath the dignity of the meanest peasant wench, secure in the rights of her caste. Even if freed, Talena would be among the lowest women on Gor. Even a slave girl has at least a collar.

I stared up at the sky, the stars. Again I laughed bitterly. How foolish had been my dreams.

The glory that was to have been Marlenus’ would have been mine.

I might then, when it had pleased me, have had official word sent to Ar, that his daughter now sat safe at my side, my consort, the consort of Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar, jewel of gleaming Thassa.

We would have made a splendid couple. The companionship would have been an excellent one, a superb one.

Talena was a rich and powerful woman, high born and influential.

It would have been an excellent match.

Who knew how high might have been raised the chair of Bosk?

Perhaps there might even, in time, have been a Ubar in Port Kar, sovereign over even the Council of Captains.

And there might, in time, have been an alliance, in virtue of the companionship, between Port Kar and Ar, and other cities.

And who knew, in time, there might have been but one throne of one Ubar of this unprecedented empire.

Who knew to what heights might have been raised the chair of Bosk?

But Talena had now been disowned. She no longer could claim family. No longer was she the daughter of Marlenus. She now was only another slave, that and that alone. She now was nothing, only another beautiful slave girl, that and that alone.

She could no longer, with fitness, sit by the side of a free man.

Even if freed, she would have no caste, no family. She would be among the lowest women on Gor.

She would no longer be acceptable.

It would probably be kinder to her to keep her in bondage. She would then have at least her collar.

I threw back my head and laughed. Talena was no longer acceptable.

And I, a fool of my dreams, had come into the forest, to rescue her, to best Marlenus, and improve my fortunes, to rescue the beautiful Talena and improve the fortunes of the house of Bosk.

I looked up.

Once again Verna stood over me. She looked down upon me. There was incredible pride and superiority in her gaze and carriage. She was barbaric, a panther girl, a beauty. She carried a spear. She wore at her belt a sleen knife. She wore the skins of forest panthers, primitive ornaments of beaten gold. “The moons are now risen,” said another panther girl, edging closer to Verna. She was looking at me.

“There is not much time,” said Mira. “Soon the moons will be at their full.” “Let it begin,” said another girl.

Verna looked down upon me. “You wished to take us as slaves,” she said, “it is you who have been taken slave.” I looked up at her in horror. I pulled at the thongs.

“Shave him,” she said.

I fought, but two girls held my head, and Mira, laughing, with a small bowl of lather and a shaving knife, shave the two-and-one-half-inch degradation stripe on my head, from the forehead to the back of my neck.

“You are now well marked,” said Verna, “as a man who has fallen to women.” I pulled helplessly at the thongs.

“Bring a whip,” said Verna.

Mira leaped to her feet.