WE TREK THE FOREST
It was the afternoon of the day following the encounters on the beach, first with Sullius Maximus, and later with Torgus, the fee fighter, or mercenary, and his cohorts.
I was now accompanying Pertinax, deeply into the forest, being led, I supposed, to the alleged rendezvous with one whom I had been led to believe would be an agent of Priest-Kings. I supposed, of course, for reasons earlier suggested, that this individual would not be an agent of Priest-Kings but, most probably, of Kurii.
As it would turn out these matters were darker and deeper than I had suspected, and, in a sense, perhaps unknown to either, both Priest-Kings and Kurii, in a way, were being used.
Agents of both Priest-Kings and Kurii were being applied, unbeknownst to themselves, it seems, to the ends of a third party, or, perhaps it might be better said that three stratagems were afoot, which were occasionally intertwined. Do not dark rivers sometimes flow in the same channel?
The light was mottled, filtering through the foliage of the canopy.
“We are not in the reserves of Port Kar,” I said to Pertinax. This was obvious, for the reserves are gardened, or nearly so, shrubbery cleared, trees spaced, and such, that they may grow exuberantly upward, muchly straight, and tall. One nurses, so to speak, the loftiest and best wood, before its harvesting. Too, we had crossed none of the ditches that act as boundaries to a reserve, whether one of Port Kar or of another polity. Here, in this part of the forest, there was a great deal of shrubbery, brush, broken branches, fallen timber, debris of various sorts. Occasionally one waded through leaves, as through thigh-high surf. Here the trees were muchly together, each challenged by the others, leaves competing for sunlight, roots engaged in their subterranean contests to absorb water and minerals.
“No,” he said.
“You have not been this way before,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“The trail, however, is clear,” I said.
“You see it?” he said, surprised.
“Yes,” I said.
It was not really difficult. I did not know the sign but it appeared here and there, each sign usually visible, some fifty yards or so, from the vantage point of the previous sign. It resembled a yellow stain, such as might have resulted from talendars being rubbed on bark, but, examined closely, given its articulation, it was clearly the product of intelligence, of some intelligence.
“I suspect that we had to come today,” I said. I recalled he had been quite clear about the time we would enter the forest.
“Yes,” he said.
This confirmed my suspicion that the stain, whatever might be its composition, would be temporary, evaporating, or lapsing from visibility, within twenty or so Ahn. I took this as confirming my view that we were dealing with Kurii, for their science could easily manage such a thing. To be sure, so, too, could that of Priest-Kings. I also suspected that there would be a scent, or a flavor, to such a thing, that it would attract insects who would eliminate any possible residue.
“Oh!” cried Constantina.
I had jerked on the leash.
She could not see, of course, as she was hooded. Too, her wrists had been bound behind her.
Cecily had been similarly served. She, too, was hooded, and her small, lovely wrists fastened behind her.
This morning, to her consternation, I had fashioned a hood for Constantina, from opaque cloth, which artifact, once it was well on her, and completely enclosing her head, I fastened in place with some string about her throat.
I had then tied her hands behind her back, and put her to her knees.
“What are you doing?” had asked Pertinax, uneasily, not that I think he much minded seeing Constantina as she then was.
Certainly I had seen his eyes on her frequently the preceding evening. Her appeal to him had been much enhanced, I gathered, by my judicious amendments to her garmenture.
Doubtless he, too, suspected that she was no longer capable of removing her collar.
That, in itself, can make quite a difference in a man’s view of a woman.
All in all, I think he was toying with the thought of her as a slave. What would it be, if she were truly a slave?
Would that not be pleasant for a fellow?
She did not object, of course, to the hooding and binding, as she was desperate to keep up her pretense of bondage before Pertinax. I was not supposed to know that she was a free woman.
“Is it not obvious?” I had asked.
“But, why?” he asked.
“She is a slave,” I said. “Why should she know where she is going?”
“I see,” he said.
Such practices help to keep the slave helpless, and dependent on the master.
“Hood me, too, Master,” begged Cecily.
“I intend to,” I told her.
She purred with delight. The slave responds well to restraints, and the uncompromising dominance which she yearns for with all her heart. Obviously she does not wish to be hurt, nor, generally, should she be hurt, unless she has been in some respect displeasing, and punishment is in order, but she does want to know herself slave, owned, and mastered. Accordingly she loves to be in the master’s power, whether merely heeding his word, obeying, or realizing, in frustration, that no matter how much she might wish to do so, she is not permitted to speak, or writhing in his bonds, helplessly exposed to his mercy, and caresses, should he choose to bestow them upon her, such things. She responds well to blindfolds, hoods, gags, ropes, straps, collars, slave bracelets, chains, and such. When I tied her hands behind her she put back her head in the hood, lovingly, and pressed against me.
Cecily, I thought, was coming along well.
From rope I had improvised a single leash, a common leash, by means of which, grasped at its center, I might control both girls.
I put them in this.
It was thus that they were being conducted through the forest.
Later unhooded, they would have no idea where they were, or how they had gotten there, nor where Pertinax’s hut might be found. The best they might do, given the time of day and the location of Tor-tu-Gor, Light-Upon-the-Home-Stone, the common star of Gor and Earth, would be to reach the coast, but, even so, would the hut of Pertinax lie to the north or south? And, of course, an isolated woman, or women, on Gor, undefended by men, whether collared or not, would be fair game for almost any Gorean male. It would be like picking up shells on the beach.
Constantina had stumbled.
“I beg to be unhooded!” she wept.
I then stopped, and Constantina, sobbing, stood still, waiting to be unhooded. She reached her bound wrists out a few inches from the small of her back. “Please, too,” she said, “untie me.”
Pertinax seemed pleased that the proud Constantina had begged, and had said “Please.”
This was not the Constantina with which he was familiar.
She stood still, waiting to be unhooded, and unbound.
Cecily stood docile, hooded and bound, on the leash, her head lowered. She knew it would be done with her as masters pleased, and she, a slave, wished to be done with as masters pleased.
I located a slender, supple branch, and broke it off.
“Oh!” cried Constantina, stung across the back of the thighs.
“Now,” I said, picking up the leash, “let us be on our way.”
We then continued our journey.