Captive of Gor (34 page)

To her horror, he had sold her.

She would never speak of him to me, but in her sleep, as I have said, she would

cry his name.

“Why do you not go back to Teletus?” I asked Ute.

I did not much favor the idea of living in a village. And it was in Teletus that

she had been freed, and adopted. Her foster parents might still be on the

island.

“Oh,” had said Ute, casually, “I cannot swim Thassa. I do not think I could very

well purchase passage, either. And might not the Captain enslave me?”

There seemed sense in what Ute had said.

“Besides,” had sniffed Ute, “my foster parents might not even be on the island,

still.”

This seemed possible, for the population of an exchange island, like Teletus,

tends to be somewhat more transient than that of an established city, with a

tradition of perhaps a thousand or more years.

“But,” I had pressed, “perhaps you could find your way back somehow, and

perhaps, your foster parents still reside on Teletus.”

If I were to go with Ute, I would surely prefer to go to an exchange island,

with some of the amenities of civilization, rather than to a rude village south

of the Vosk.

“Look at me!” had cried Ute, suddenly, to my astonishment, furious.

I was startled.

“My ears have been pierced!” she screamed.

I shrank back.

“They were kind to me!” she cried. “How could I go back and shame them? Should I

present myself to them, as their daughter, with pierced ears?” she cried.

I could not understand Ute. She was Gorean.

She put down her head. “My ears have been pierced!” she wept. “My ears have been

pierced!” She lifted her head to me. “I will hide myself in Rarir,” she said.

I did not respond to her.

At any rate, Ute was adamant. She would seek the village of Rarir.

(pg. 236) I kicked at the pebbles in the stream, from where I stood, in front of

the ingress to the trap.

The silvery creature began to whip about the inclosure. It frightened me. Once

its rough scales struck the front of my leg, above the ankle. I cried out. I

closed my eyes, gritting my teeth, my fists clenched, my body contracted. When I

dared to open my eyes again, the creature was again at the farther fence of

wands, motionless, facing me.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It had not escaped.

If it had not been for Ute I do not think I would have survived.

I seemed so weak and frightened and helpless. Ute, though a small girl, seemed

strong, and endlessly resourceful.

She had shown me what could be eaten, and what could not. It was she who had

shown how the water trap might be built. She had also shown me how to make

snares of binding fiber, bending down small branches, and making triggers of

small twigs.

She had also shown me how, with binding fiber, a log and a stick trigger, to

make a snare large enough to catch a tabuk, but we did not actually make such a

snare. It might have attracted the attention of a huntsman, and provoked his

curiosity. The smaller snares would be more easily overlooked. Further, it would

have been difficult for Ute and I to have placed the log in such a snare, and,

besides, without a knife, and wishing to move swiftly, tabuk would have been

heavy game for us. She had also shown me how to make shelters of various sorts

and use a small, curved stick for striking down birds and tiny animals. Ute

taught me to find food where it would not have occurred to me to look for it. I

relished the roots she taught me to dig for. But I was less eager to sample the

small amphibians she caught in her hands, or the fat, green insects she scooped

from the inside of logs and from under overturned rocks.

“They can be eaten,” she said.

I, however, contented myself with nuts and fruits, and roots, and water

creatures which resembled those with (pg. 237) which I was familiar, and, of

course, the flesh of small birds and animals.

Perhaps, the most extraordinary thing Ute did, to my mind, was, with sticks, a

flat piece of wood and some binding fiber, make a small fire drill. How pleased

I was when I saw the dried flakes of leaves suddenly redden and flash into a

tiny flame, which we then fed with leaves and twigs, until it would burn sticks.

Over tiny fires, using rock-sharpened, green sticks, we roasted out catches.

We had seen no other human beings since our escape. We had slept by day in

Ka-la-na thickets, and moved southwestward by night.

Ute had not wished to build fires, but I had insisted upon it.

We could not eat our catches raw.

“Tal,” cried Ute, greeting me a free person.

“Tal!” I cried, pleased, waving to her. I was very relieved she had returned.

She had, thrust in her belt, the binding fiber she had used for snares. We

always took it with us, of course, when we moved. Over her shoulder she had two

small, furred animals, hideous forest urts, about the size of cats, in her left

hand she carried four small, green-and-yellow-plummaged birds.

Tonight we would feast.

I, too, had been successful.

“Ute,” I cried. “I have caught a fish!”

“Good!’ cried Ute. “Bring it to the camp!”

“Ute!” I pleaded, anguished.

Ute laughed and threw her catch down on the bank. She waded into the trap. I

remained where I was, blocking the exit to the trap.

Ute approached the creature very carefully, in order not to startle it.

It wavered slightly in the water.

Then, suddenly, very swiftly, Ute struck for it. It backed (pg. 238) into the

fence of wands and she caught it there, against the sticks, and, in a moment, it

thrashing and squirming, she lifted it from the water and carried it

triumphantly to the shore.

“Destroy the trap,” said Ute.

Each time we moved from a thicket, if we had built such a trap, we destroyed it.

This, incidentally, is a standard Gorean practice. He never leaves a trap set to

which he does not intend to return. The Goreans, often so cruel to one another,

tend to have an affection for wildlife and growing things, which they regard as

free, and thereby deserving of great respect. This affection and respect,

unfortunately, is seldom extended to domestic animals, such as bosk and slaves.

The Gorean woodsman, it might be mentioned, before he will strike a tree with

his ax, speaks to the tree, begs its forgiveness and explains the use to which

the wood will be put. In our case, of course, aside from such general

considerations, we had a very special reason for destroying the trap. It was a

piece of evidence which might betray us, which might set men upon our trail.

Ute waited sitting for me on the bank, while I pulled up the sticks of the trap

and cast them into the bushes.

I then helped her carry our catch, she bearing the fish, and the small birds, to

our camp.

“Clean the animals,” said Ute.

I did not like her giving me orders.

“I do not want to,” I said.

“Then build the fire,” said Ute.

“You know I cannot manage the fire drill,” I said, angrily. I had never been

able to master it.

“Then,” said Ute, “let us not make a fire.”

“No,” I said. “I cannot eat raw flesh! We must have a fire!”

“It is dangerous,” said Ute.

“Make a fire, Ute,” I begged.

“Then clean the animals,” she said.

“All right,” I said. I hated that job. It was so dirty, so sticky and slimy. Ute

always wanted me to do it! Who was she to give me orders? I did not like her.

She was stupid. (pg. 239) she made grammatical mistakes in speaking her own

language! I hated her.

With a sharp rock and a stick I started to work on the animals.

I no longer needed Ute. She had taught me probably as much as she could. I could

now get along without her. Besides, she acted superior to me. I was an Earth

girl, superior to Gorean girls! She acted like she was our leader. I had not

told her she could be the leader! I hated her.

“What are you thinking of, El-in-or?” asked Ute.

“Elinor,” I said, sharply.

“Elinor,” said Ute.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Oh,” said Ute.

After I had worked for awhile, Ute, taking up a rock and a stick, began to help

me.

I did not thank her. She should have done the work herself. I had spent the day

fishing. She had only roved about the thicket, hunting birds and checking her

snares.

Ute began to hum.

“Why are you humming?” I asked her, irritated.

“Because I am happy,” said Ute.

“Why are you happy?’ I asked.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Because I am free,” she said.

When we had cleaned the animals, and the birds, and the fish, which later job I

left to Ute, for I did not like to touch the creature. Ute bent over the fire

drill.

“Hurry,” I told her. I was hungry.

Ute worked for more than fifteen minutes, bowing the drill, sweating, her eyes

fixed on that tiny, blackened pit in the wood.

“Hurry,” I told her. “Hurry!”

Then, at last, a tiny flame appeared, eating at the flakes of dried leaves on

forked sticks.

In a few minutes, we had our fire.

Because we had more food than usual, we set up two small spits on forked sticks.

When the food was done, we removed it from the spits, placing it on leaves. I

was terribly hungry. It was now (pg. 240) dark out, and the evening was chilly.

It would be pleasant to eat by the fire, and warm ourselves, while we enjoyed

our open-air repast.

“What are you doing, Ute!” I cried, seizing her wrist.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Putting out the fire,” she said.

“No,” I cried.

“It is dangerous,” she said.

“There is no one about,” I said.

“It is dangerous,” she repeated.

I had no wish to eat in the dark, nor to freeze. “Do not put out the fire, Ute.”

I said. “It is all right.”

Ute shook her head, undecided.

“Please!” I pressed.

“All right,” smiled Ute.

But scarcely more than a Gorean Ihn had passed before Ute, suddenly, with a look

of terror in her eyes, began to fling dirt on the fire.

“What are you doing!” I cried.

“Be quiet!” she whispered.

Then I heard, far overhead, in the darkness, the scream of a tarn.

“It is a wild tarn,” I said.

The fire was now out.

“We must leave now,” said Ute, frightened.

“It is only a wild tarn,” I insisted.

“I hope that is true,” said Ute.

I felt a shiver course my spine.

Ute began to destroy, in the darkness, the small shelter of sticks and leaves we

had constructed.

“Bring what food you can,” she said. “We must leave now.”

Angry, but frightened, I gathered what food I could find.

When she had finished with the shelter, Ute felt about and, with her hands,

scooped together the bones and entrails, the furs and scales, left over from our

catch, and buried them.

As well as she could, she destroyed all signs of our camp.

(pg. 241) Then, moving swiftly through the darkness, I following, carrying what

food I could, Ute fled out camp.

I followed her, hating her. I was afraid to be without her.

* * *

We moved southwestward through the great thicket, and then, finally came to its

edge.

The night was dark.

Ute scrutinized the skies. We saw nothing. She listened for a long time. We

heard nothing.

“You see, Ute,” I said, irritated. “It was nothing.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Ute.

“I hear no more tarn screams,” I told her.

“Perhaps they have dismounted,” suggested Ute.

“It was only a wild tarn,” I told her.

“I hope that that is true,” she said.

Together, at the edge of the thicket, we ate the remains of our meal, which I

had carried.

We wiped our hands on the grass, and threw the bones into the brush.

“Look!” whispered Ute.

Through the brush, some two hundred yards away, moving in the darkness, we saw

two torches.

“Men,” moaned Ute. “Men!”

From the thicket, running together, we fled southwestward.

By dawn we came to another large stand of Ka-la-na, in which we, wearily,

concealed ourselves.

* * *

Four days later in yet another thicket, one afternoon, Ute requested that I set

one of our snares on a small game trail we had found earlier.

We had heard nothing more of pursuit. We had seen no more torches, following us

in the night.

We had again escaped.

Swinging the loop of binding fiber, I walked along the trail.

There were small birds about, and I saw a scurrying (pg. 242) brush urt, even a

lovely, yellowish Tabuk fawn. I crossed two tiny streams.

Suddenly I stopped, terrified.

I heard the sound of a man’s voice. I slipped from the soft, gentle, green path

between the trees and brush, and fell to my stomach, concealed among the brush

and grasses.

They were not coming along the trail.

I inched forward, on my elbows and stomach, and then, through a tiny parting in

the brush, saw them.

My heart almost stopped.

They were in a small clearing. There were two tarns hobbled nearby. The men had

made no fire. They were clad in leather, and armed. They were warriors,

mercenaries. They seemed rough, cruel men. I recognized them. I had seem them as

long ago as Targo’s compound north of Laura. They were hirelings of Haakon of