Wayfaring through Gor as is my wont of late, I found myself meandering along a cart path one sweltering midday not so very long ago. Horts to my left lapped the waters of Lake Ushindi. Across the path and several horts more to my right loomed the border of perhaps the thickest jungle I have ever seen.
Out of an abundance of caution I chose to walk through the wheel rut beside the lake, deeming it less likely to be accosted unawares by man or beast from the lake, than from the jungle. Owing to the variances in cartage width and axle lengths, the two ruts were some three or four feet wide and readily suited for pedestrian travel as well.
My shirt, unlaced at the neck, untucked at the waist, was drenched and stained with sweat down my back and under my arms, and my leathers and boots would have been unbearable in the heat if I paid them any mind at all. Instead, I focused on the path ahead of me and the jungle to my right. My weapons were easily accessible today, rather than tucked away in a roll as they normally are.
Eventually I spied a Warrior ahead, clad in crimson and striding proudly along as if he'd just been been victorious in battle. I quickened my pace to try and catch up, perhaps to pass the time in conversation. And, perhaps, to learn from him.
The path inclined suddenly upward.
He stopped short as I approached and, drawing nearer, I found him facing a slave as she stood at the apex of the hill. Likely a kettle-and-mat girl, she was not particularly comely but she had ample breasts, pert nipples, a trim auburn triangle between her legs, and utile hips. In she sleen, she'd do in a pinch. And do well, I assessed.
I lept up out of the rut and crouched comfortably to my haunches to observe. I was curious. The Warrior glared at her and she gawped and blinked in return, eyes fixed on his sandals. This continued in unbroken silence for several ihn until the Warrior, insisting on his right of way, growled to her, “step aside!”
Obediently she stepped up out of the rut and stopped abruptly again as she came shoulder to shoulder with the Warrior, her progress now impeded by me. At the same time, another girl stepped up to face the Warrior, she slightly prettier than the first, and bound to the first in coffle, collar to collar by five to six merchant feet of chain. Amused, I stepped down to my right, to the jungle-side rut, allowing the she sleen to go on her way with a grand sweep of my left arm. She smiled in relief and gave a grateful nod. I rested back down to my haunches again to watch, unslinging my pack from my back, pulling a larma from it, and taking a bite.
By the time I finished the larma and heaved the core into the jungle, I was beginning to wonder whether this coffle would ever end, these girls chained in pecking order according to beauty, duty, and station. Meanwhile the warrior stared at each as they approached and stepped around him, his fury clear as his face had gone crimson as his cape. Still, in his pride he would not deign to stoop beneath the chains and alter his course.
As the last of the pleasure girls stepped around him, I could see the women approaching in their various castes and states of undress. Even had they been entirely naked, you could tell they were formerly-Free Women or their daughters by their demeanor and, more, by their reactions to the wretchedness of their present circumstance.
Finally, after about a quarter of an ahn, up stepped the last of the women, she obviously an Ubara as her tattered robes revealed while they concealed nothing. She stopped and stood her ground, giving the chain a haughty yank with her neck. The entire coffle held still before her, not daring to tug back as she glared at the hapless Warrior. She neither wailed nor wept, not even a tear trailed down her cheek. Neither did she cry out when the lash sang through the air and landed across her exposed buttocks with a resounding *CRACK.* Instead she merely grimaced and proceeded around the Warrior, with clenched teeth.
By the time she, too, had stepped back down to the lakeside rut, the Warrior found himself, sword drawn and face to face with the conquering Ubar, owner of the slave chain. Coiling the whip and switching it from his right hand to his left, the Ubar growled, “step aside!” His right hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword.
As much in resignation as respect, the Warrior nodded, sheathed his sword, and stepped up out of the rut so the Ubar might pass.
Considering the irony of it all, this Warrior bound firmly in place by his pride and a slave chain both, for a full quarter ahn, I laughed aloud. He hadn't realized I was even there and upon hearing my laughter he drew his sword again and wheeled on me.
Quickly. I considered my options: I could disappear to my right and explore the jungle awhile or I could pull my own weapons. Instead, I chose to spread my hands and explain myself. “Ironic,” I said.
He looked me in the eye, deciding. Finally he smirked and nodded. And then he laughed as well.
We traveled together for some time after that and when we parted ways we had become good friends.
But he always made me walk in front.