“Stand,” I said.

With a rattle of chain, they stood. There were tears on the cheeks of several. “Remove the binder fiber from their throats,” I told the dark-haired girl, “and untie their hands.” She did so.

I went to her who was now the first girl in the chain, she who had been last to be chained. There was, seemingly left over, the yard of chain, coiled on the grass, attached to the front of her ankle ring. It may be used, of course, to fasten the entire chain about, or to, some suitable object, a pillar, a stanchion, a wagon wheel, a tree, a column in a market colonnade, a post in a bazaar, one of the heavy slave rings, set in the ground, usually found at the edges of a square in a Gorean city. But, that it not impeded the girl, I picked it up and, with the locking device through one of the links in the chain, fastened it about her left wrist. She could carry it that way until it was needed.

One key, incidentally, serves for an entire set of ankle rings and locking devices. The key had been in the crate with its set of Harl rings. I dropped the key in my pouch.

“You have chained us,” said one of the girls, a blond one, standing proud in her ankle ring, her feet widely apart. “Our safety is entirely in your hands.” “A single panther,” wept another, cringing, the ankle ring fastened to her left ankle, “could kill us all.” I did not respond to them. I walked about the chain.

“Posture!” cried the red-haired girl, with her switch. She struck two of the girls with stinging stripes.

Then the captive panther girls, fearing her, stood well. Their backs were straight, their heads were high. Their trim ankles were together. Their shoulders were back, their bellies flat and tight.

“You are of the warriors,” said the blond girl in the ankle ring looking straight ahead.

“I am of the merchants,” I told her.

“No merchant,” she said, “could have taken us as you did. You are of the warriors.” I shrugged. It was true I had once been of the warriors.

“Sit,” I told them. The girls sat down on the grass.

With the aid of the paga slaves, and Ilene, I sorted through, discarding here and saving there, the baggage abandoned at the campsite. There was much of some value, though mostly bulk goods. I found quantities of slave meal, which is mixed with water, and silks, and bowls, and collars. Not inscribed, and lengths of dried meat, stretched and salted; and coils of rope and chains. I have already mentioned the sack of slave hoods. Too, there was a small box of slave bracelets, all opening to the same key. The box, though small, was heavy, for slave bracelets, in quantity, are heavy. There was a large, rolled tarpaulin, which might probe useful. The girls could be slept under it at night. The edges could be pegged down. It would provide some protection from cold night rains, and some protection, though less, against panthers and sleen. Among the baggage, too, I found items which had been brought from Verna’s camp, which had been taken originally by Marlenus to his camp, and captured there by the men of Tyros and the band of Hura. Among these items I found the remaining bottles of drugged wine, those which we had not drunk, when we had fallen captive to Verna and her band, not seemingly so long ago. I smiled. Such an exotically vintaged wine might prove of value. These items, and many others from the baggage abandoned at the old camp, I sorted through. When I had decided what we would and would not take, I, and Ilene and the paga slaves divided up the burdens. Four girls, on their shoulders, would carry the heavy tarpaulin.

I was pleased with the amount of foodstuffs found left behind. It did not seem likely to me that it would have been poisoned, but, even if it were, I and the paga slaves would be in little danger from it. It would be fed first to the prisoners.

The fists of the chained panther girls, sitting chained on the grass, were clenched. They could not believe what they saw before them, boxes, and bundles, the rolled tarpaulin.

“We are panther girls!” cried the blond girl in the ankle ring. “We are not porters of a man!” it was she who was struck first with the switch by the red-haired girl, who leaped among them, striking and slashing with the supple lash.

The blond girl, weeping, seized up her burden, and stood straight in the coffle. She carried the box on her head, in the fashion of the Gorean woman. She balanced it with her right hand. She stood straight. She was, though in tears, very graceful.

I regarded the coffle. Each beauty carried her burden, we would, at least in the beginning, follow a parallel trail to that taken by my fleeing enemies. Later, if their flight became more precipitate and less rational, we might simply make their route ours. In this fashion the trail would be broken and clear and, if anything of value had been discarded in the flight, we might, if we wished, gather it up and, following, bring it with us.

I turned and strode toward the forest.

I heard the slap of the switch twice behind me, and cries of pain from panther girls.

“Hurry, Slaves!” called the red-haired girl.

Ilene walked beside me. She took quick steps. Her head came only to my shoulder. She looked up at me, and then looked down.

I regarded her sternly. Her hand lifted before her mouth. Fear showed suddenly in her eyes. Would I have the red-haired girl beat her? “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.

She fled back two paces, and put her head down, trembling. The Gorean slave girl does not dare walk beside a free man. She had forgotten. She had not been long on Gor.

I turned away from her, and continued on. I hear her sob, following me. She had not yet, even, fully, yielded to a man. I expected, however, that soon she would be ready to do so. I had sensed in her body, and her head. She was a pretty slave, the Earth girl. I expected some master would be much pleased with her.

Helplessly yielded, she would be exquisite.

She had not been completely open with me. I would have her sold in Port Kar. I continued on.

Behind me I could hear her quick, light steps, and, behind me, farther back, I could hear the chain of the slave coffle. I would hear the chain, and then a silence, and then the chain again. The left leg of each girl moved in unison, the lovely left ankle of each locked in the clasp of the ankle ring, lifting and carrying the chain that bound them.

I looked back. They were beautiful, the panther girls. They walked straight, and they bore their burdens well. They were a splendid set of slaves.

The red-haired girl walked beside them, with her switch.

I stood on the branch of a tree, concealed in foliage. The slave chain of the men of Tyros passed below me.

It was a long chain, containing ninety-six men. Each was double fastened, and the hands of each were manacled behind his back. Each was chained by the left ankle, and each too, by the throat. About the left ankle of each and the neck of each had been hammered a band of iron, each band with two welded rings. At two ends, then, of a given length of chain, links had been hammered shut again. In this fashion, rude but effective, was formed the long slave chain.

Marlenus was first on the chain, followed by his men. Then came Rim, who had been captured at the time of the raid on the Tesephone. Then came Arn, and the other eight men of mine who had been in the camp of Marlenus when it had been attacked.

Following the men came a coffle of twenty-four slave girls. They were tied together by the neck, by binding fiber. Their wrists were bound behind their body by slave bracelets.

Men of Tyros, and panther girls, flanked the lines of slaves.

Many supplies had been tied on the backs and shoulders of the male slaves. Apparently the men of Tyros, and the panther girls, feared to free their hands. I did not blame them in this matter, for the men they guarded were dangerous. Some burdens were carried even by the men of Tyros. Others, lighter burdens, were carried by certain of the panther girls.