Barbarian of Gor Chapter Fifteen

 

“You’re not a man.” I gazed down at the lovely Mishka as I gripped both her wrists and easily spread them widely apart, resting the weight of my body on her own to press her down into the grassy moss of the river bank. We were both wet, cold and exhausted, but crucially she was more exhausted than I.

 

“No,” she hissed, “I am not a man. I am far superior to men!” She writhed against my grip which proved futile.

 

“Apparently not when it comes to physical strength,” I said.

 

“I will kill you!” she snarled.

 

“Thank you for the warning.” I flipped her over onto her stomach with considerable ease and rested my weight against her lower back. 

 

“Let go of me, male!” she cried.

 

“Be quiet. We were washed a long way down stream. We are on a river bank and there may be outlaws close by. I’m in no mood to take part in yet another fight tonight.” I took her right wrist and pulled it to the small of her back. Again, this was so easy.

 

She was breathing heavily from the exertion of our fight and the battle against the river current. Also, she had struck the rocks at some point and would probably be heavily bruised at the very least. 

 

“Gahh!” she strained against me, continuing to ignore the evidence that I was far stronger than her. 

 

“Do you carry binding fibre?” I asked.

 

“Of course!” she snapped. Again she struggled. But again it was futile. “What are you doing?”

 

“Searching for your binding fibre. It would be easier if you told me where I might find it.”

 

“Hateful male!” And still she struggled. 

 

There was a loop of binding fibre in her belt pouch. I began to tie one end around her right wrist, taking my time to ensure the capture knots were secure. 

 

“My sisters will find and kill you! But not quickly! They will take their time cutting little pieces from your body and feeding them to sleen!” 

 

I ignored the dire threats and pulled her left wrist back to cross over the right where the binding was already in place. I then lashed the left wrist to the right and secured it with a series of capture knots. I then addressed her ankles, crossing them in the same way, and once she was securely bound I rolled her over onto her back.

 

“Do you know who I am?” I asked.

 

“A dead man!” It was dark and I suppose she didn’t know me well enough to recognise my voice. But I knew her. There weren’t many women on Gor who walked around in hunting leathers acting up as if she was the equal of men. Gorean men would find such a conceit worthy of contempt.  

 

“But I know you. You are Mishka, and you ride with Svetlana, Kulai, Danata and Livinnia, she of the Assante, beloved companion of Stannis.”

 

“How do you know that?” she snarled. 

 

“Never mind. Where are your sisters? How many rode with you?”

 

She laughed. “They will be coming for you once they have secured our prize. Your companions will be their captives by now. We have weighted capture nets. I was about to put an arrow through your head when you got up and took the slave to the river. I followed, leaving my sisters to fall upon your friends. I should have simply killed you when I had the chance.”

 

“And what prize would that be?”

 

“The girl. The girl with the flame red hair. The fire crotch.”

 

“We have no girl with red hair. I think you are mistaken.” I hadn’t missed the implication that she hadn’t considered that the slave girl at the river bank could be her prize. 

 

“Our hunting sleen are not mistaken. We have her scent from the Inn. She is with you.”

 

“And what’s so special about a red haired girl?”

 

“She is the daughter of the Tatrix of Corcyrus.”

 

It was beginning to look like Miss Sally Reeve of Brighton had manged to evade both outlaws and travelling slaver encampments and had made contact with one of Stannis’s patrol after all. Well done, Sally. The huntresses would be outriders ranging some distance ahead of the main body of Stannis’s men. With luck it would only be them. For now at least. 

 

“Why do you think you are superior to a man?”

 

“Because I am!”

 

“I see little evidence. I bested you in a fight and then I wrestled you to the ground and bound you hand and foot.”

 

“I hate you!” she snarled.

 

“You are my captive, now, Mishka. I hereby claim all the rights of a captor under common Gorean law.” 

She struggled furiously. I let her expend some more of her remaining stamina. Let her weaken herself further. 

 

“I tie good knots, don’t I, Mishka?”

 

“Yes,” she snarled. “They are good knots.”

 

“Speak the words of a captive,” I said.

 

“Never!” She struggled again. She really would tire herself out at this rate.

 

“Speak the words of a captive, or I will throw you in the river, bound as you are.”

 

“I hate you!”

 

“So you have said. I am not a patient man.”

 

“I am a captive!” she cried.

 

“Whose captive?”

 

“I am your captive. You are my captor.”

 

“Good. It’s all legal now. Not that it really matters, but I am a slaver by trade, so I suppose I should follow common capture law to a certain degree.’

 

There seemed to be a look of alarm in her eyes as I told her that.

 

“You are a slaver?”

 

“Indeed. You are familiar with my respected caste?” I was quite enjoying this.

 

“I have not submitted to the collar, slaver. I will never do that.”

 

It seems she didn’t quite understand common Gorean Capture Law and how it pertained to my caste in the wilderness. Or perhaps she thought we were in the territory of Torcadino already, and thereby protected by the laws of that city. Who can tell with free women. They are a law unto themselves and difficult to understand at times. But like slaves, often lovely when tied helplessly.  

 

“I will take all that into consideration,” I said. 

 

“I will not be able to walk with my ankles bound,” said Mishka. “You can’t possibly intend carrying me?”

 

“Your ankles will soon be unbound,” I said with a smile. “Trust me on that.”

 

She then smiled back in the dim moonlight as if this was some sort of victory. Perhaps she might find an opportunity to run from me in the dark, even with her wrists bound behind the small of her back. She would be helpless, yes, but in time she might find some sharp stones and, hiding from me, work the stone to saw slowly at the binding fibre.

 

“Who rode with you?”

 

“Svetlana, Danata and Livinnia.”

 

“Are they all as pretty as you?”

 

“Beast!” More struggling ensued. She really was tiring herself out. 

 

“You must have walked some distance on foot. I would have heard the approach of your tharlarion, otherwise.”

 

“Obviously,” she said.

 

“And I would have heard the snuffling of sleen.”

 

She shook her head, angrily. “We rode far ahead of the main body of men with sleen. Then we dismounted and crept forward on foot when we saw the glow of a camp fire. We wished to seize the fire crotch ourselves. We would have paraded her before the men as our trophy and made her dance in a sand pit, naked and belled as we encouraged her with switches.”

 

“A daring move, yet leaving yourselves without support from warriors.”

 

“We are warriors!” she snarled. 

 

I laughed at that. “Pretty Mishka, do not ever say that to a warrior. He will be greatly offended. He may put you over his knee and spank you.”

 

“I hate you!”

 

I rose to my feet and gazed up river. Time was pressing and while it would be amusing to tease the pretty huntress all night, I had to see to Adamus and Felix. I was concerned that the women had capture nets which they might use before my companions could rise and arm themselves. 

 

“Do you carry any further weapons, Mishka?”

 

“Why should I tell you?”

 

“I could search your body intimately? I would have to cut away your hunting tunic, of course, stripping you completely.”

 

“A second knife, sheathed high on my right thigh.”

 

I smiled. “Excellent. That will do nicely.” I drew the knife from the short scabbard and examined it. It seemed to me to be a high quality blade with a sharp edge and a wicked point. I took the sheath, too, and fastened it to my belt.

 

“Any other weapons?”

 

“No.”

 

“Poison pins in your hair?”

 

She sneered at that, and did so convincingly. “I am not some soft pampered lady from the cities. I fight with a bow and a blade in my hand. I am a huntress!” 

 

I would check her more carefully later, though I was inclined to believe her on the subject of poison pins. In the meantime, bound as she was with both her wrists and ankles crossed, she wasn’t going anywhere, but to be on the safe side I rolled her back on to her stomach, removed her ankle boots, throwing them into the fast flowing river, and cut away the forest green woollen hose that she wore on her legs beneath her silly, pretentious hunting tunic.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Why is it that free women ask endless questions? I pulled her bound ankles up and tied a length of the torn hose to the binding fibre. I then tied the other end to the binding fibre on her crossed wrists, putting her into a bow position. Her legs were now pulled backwards and secured to her wrists. She certainly wasn’t going anywhere now.

 

“You can’t leave me here,” she cried. She looked about in desperation. It was still several ahn until the sun rose. The woodlands would be teeming with predatory animals. “Please, you can’t leave me here.”

 

“Do you believe in Priest Kings?” I asked.

 

“Yes! Of course! The Priest Kings are real.”

 

“Then I suggest you pray to them for my safety tonight, because if I’m killed, no one will ever find you.”

 

She found a little strength left in her limbs to struggle again. “You can’t leave me here.”

 

“You tried to kill me.”

 

“I didn’t kill you, though. I could have shot you with my bow. But I took pity on you.”

 

I smiled. “You mean you couldn’t find a clear shot in the dark without moving any closer? And you would only get a single shot before I raised the alarm?”

 

“No, it’s not like that. I didn’t want to kill you.”

“Mishka, I am coming back. But I need to try and find my friends. Be still. Do not make a sound. You do not want anything but me to find you.”

 

“I am your captive!” she begged.

 

“And a lovely captive you are, too.” I stoked her tunic clad bottom.

 

“You are my captor!”

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Do not abandon your captive!”

 

There was still some of the legging hose left. I knotted it thickly in the middle, making knot after knot around a round stone, and then I packed it into her mouth, using the other ends to tie it as a gag at the back of her head. 

 

She mewled and tried to say something that was both incomprehensible and muffled. 

 

“Lie still, compose yourself, and pray for my return, lovely huntress.”

 

And with those parting words I moved quickly along the river bank, heading back upstream towards the area where I hoped to find our camp. I had Mishka’s long knife for a weapon, and I would be facing a maximum of three women. With luck I would have the element of surprise on my side as well. It would be dark still for a number of ahn, and I suspected the women might wait until daybreak before heading out to locate Stannis’s main body of cavalry. Travelling during night time across densely wooded wilderness is never a good idea because the terrain is so rough. You’re likely to go round in circles. Of course I had the luxury of keeping the river to my right hand side and doing that would lead me to where I wanted to go. 

 

The going was tough as there wasn’t a clear path along this side of the river. Often I had to push my way through brambles and bushes, or snake some way round an obstacle, but on the whole I kept close to the fast flowing water. I feared the worst for Adamus and Felix. The women would have surprised them, possibly with weighted capture nets, but there was hope at least that Laetitia might have evaded capture. She was a smart girl, and once I fell into the river she would have hidden herself once it became clear the camp was attacked. 

 

I recalled my last meeting with Livinnia Assante, and remembered how cold and calculating she had seemed. Livinnia wasn’t a woman who would be reckless or make bad choices in war, but she was still only a woman. Women depend on surprise, or ranged attacks, or poison. If I had calculated correctly, the element of surprise would now be with me, their ranged attacks would be limited in dense woodland, and poison was hardly their style. They thought of themselves as warriors, like men, and so they would seek to imitate men on the battlefield.  

 

The idea of course was laughable. Women do not make for good warriors, no matter what they might think. Strength and endurance counts for much in brutal hand to hand combat. A woman’s sword arm will tire quickly before a man’s does. Not only that but men are typically much larger with a longer reach. A woman must work hard to get close enough to even have a chance of striking in the first place.  

 

But even, so the odds were three to one against me. 

 

I reached the area of the river where Laetitia had gone to perform her toilet. Twenty yards away would be our camp. The air was quiet, save for the sound of Gor’s nocturnal wildlife. I crept through some bushes and saw in the dim moonlight the area where I had been attacked, and where had fought Mishka. Somewhere here would be Mishka’s sword, but it would take far too long to locate it in the darkness. 

 

I followed the animal tracks through the bushes to where our camp was, and to my dismay found Adamus and Felix gone. The glowing embers of our camp fire had been extinguished. 

 

“Kayra,” I whispered. “Kayra, are you here?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Kayra, it’s me, Roland. Show yourself.” I paced around the camp site, whispering quietly to each bush. Surely she must have hidden? She wouldn’t have done anything as stupid as run towards the men when they were caught? “Kayra, please show yourself.” 

 

I prayed to the Priest Kings like I had done that night I was staked out for the sleen. Please let he be safe, so-called gods of Gor. Do not let me have failed another innocent girl. Not another. 

 

“Kayra?” I had circled the camp site twice now. She was gone. I had lost her. Just like I had lost all the other women who had been stupid enough to put their trust in me. To Hell with you, so-called Priest Kings if you can’t even spare the life of a brave girl who is willing to sacrifice everything for her people and her city. Damn you all to Hell.

 

And then I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly round and there she was. 

 

“Roland?”

 

It was dark, but I recognised the small, slim silhouette anywhere.

 

“Hold me. Just please hold me. I am so scared.”

 

And so I did.