Free Hunters of Gor by John Norman Page B

strung through it, a short length of chain, some five
    inches, each end of the chain terminating in an opened slave bracelet.
    She put her hands above and behind her head, and I snapped her wrists into the
    slave bracelets.’
    I sat down, cross-legged, across from her.
    She smiles. “Tarl,” she whispered.
    “I am Bosk,” I said.
    She moved her wrists in the slave bracelets. She smiled. “It seems you have
    found me,” she said.
    “Where did you go?” I asked.
    “I sought the northern forests,” she said. “I knew that girls, sometimes are
    free in them.”
    She put down her head.
    “So you arrived at the edge of the forests,” I said, “and released the tarn.”
    “Yes,” she said.
    “And you entered the forests?”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    “I lived for some days in the forest, but poorly, on berries and nuts, I tried
    to make snares. I caught nothing. Then, one morning, when I was lying on my
    stomach beside a stream, drinking, I lifted my head to find myself surrounded by
    armed panther girls. There were eleven of them. How pleased I was to see them!
    They seemed so proud, and strong, and were armed,”
    “Did they permit you to join their band?” I asked.
    “They had not been satisfied with me,” said the girl.
    “What happened then?” I asked.
    “They told me to remove my clothing. Then they tied my hands behind my back and
    put a leash to my throat. They took me to the banks of the Laurius, where they
    tied me to a pole set in the stones, my hands over my head, my neck, belly and
    ankles, too, bound to it. A river craft passed. I was sold for one hundred arrow
    points. I was purchased by Sarpedon, master of this tavern, who occasionally
    scouts the river, to pick up such girls.
    I looked at her. “You were foolish,” I said.
    Her fists clenched in the slave bracelets. Her collar, yellow and enameled,
    shone in the darkness, at her throat. Her hair, a black sheen, loose, fell over
    her shoulders, and to the small of her back. She was beautiful in the bit of
    yellow silk. She pulled at the bracelets. Then she relaxed.
    She smiled. “It seems,” she said, “you have found me, Tarl.”
    “I am Bosk,” I said.
    She shrugged.
    “What has happened to you, since we parted?” she asked.
    “I have become rich,” I told her.
    “And what of Priest-Kings?” she asked.
    “I no longer serve Priest-Kings,” I told her.
    She looked at me, troubled.
    “I serve myself,” I said, “and do what I wish.”
    “Oh,” she said.
    Then she looked up at me.
    “Are you angry,” she asked, “that I fled the Sardar?”
    “No,” I said. “It was a brave act.”
    She smiled at me.
    “I now seek Talena,” I said. “I will hunt for her in the green forests.”
    “Do you not remember me?” she asked.
    “I seek Talena,” I told her.
    She put down her head. Then she lifted it. “I did not want to be returned to
    Earth,” she said. “You will not return me to Earth, will you?”
    I regarded her. “No,” I said. “ I will not return you to Earth.”
    “Thank you, Tarl,” she whispered.
    For a time we said nothing.
    “You are now rich?” she asked.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Rich enough to buy me?” she asked.
    “Ten thousand times over,” I told her, and truly.
    She relaxed visibly in the chains, and smiled. “Tarl—“ she said.
    “Bosk” I corrected her, sharply.
    “I would hear my name on your lips once more,” she whispered. “Speak my name.”
    “Who are you?” I asked.
    “Elizabeth Cardwell,” she said. “Vella of Gor!”
    “What is locked on your left ankle?” I asked.
    “Slave bells,” she said.
    I put my hand in the bit of silk. “What is this?” I asked.
    “Slave silk,” she whispered.
    I pointed to the yellow collar on her throat. “And that?” I asked.
    “The collar of Sarpedon,” she whispered, “my master.”
    “What is your name?” I asked.
    “I see,” she said coldly.
    “Your name?” I asked.
    “Tana,” she said.
    I