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I put down my head.
There was more laughter.
To me, at that moment, it seemed I cared not whether they chose to throw me to
the tharlarion or not. It seemed to me that I had lost what might be more
precious than my life itself. How could I face myself, or anyone? I had chosen
ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death.
I was sick. I was shamed. It was true that they might now throw me to
tharlarion. According to Gorean custom a slave is an animal, and may be
disposed of as an animal, in whatever way the master might wish, whenever he
might please. But I was sick, and I was shamed, and I could not now, somehow,
care. I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death.
 Is there anyone who wants this slave? I heard Ho-Hak asking.
 Give him to me, Ho-Hak, I heard. It was the clear, ringing voice of the girl
who stood beside me.
There was a great laughter, and rich in that humiliating thunder was the snort
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
of the fellow who wore the headband, that formed of the pearls of the
Vosk sorp.
Strangely I felt small and nothing beside the girl, only chattel. How straight
she stood, each inch of her body alive and splendid in her vigor and freedom.
And how worthless and miserable was the beast, the slave, that knelt, naked
and bound, at her feet.
 He is yours, I heard Ho-Hak say.
I burned with shame.
 Bring the past of rence! cried the girl.  Unbind his ankles. Take these
ropes from his neck. A woman left the group to bring some rence paste, and
two men removed the marsh vine from my neck and ankles. My wrists were still
bound behind my back.
In a moment the woman had returned with a double handful of wet rence paste.
When fried, on flat stones it makes a kind of cake, sprinkled with rence
seeds.
 Open you mouth, Slave, said the girl.
I did so and, to the amusement of those watching, she forced the wet past into
my mouth.
 Eat it, she said.  Swallow it.
Painfully, almost retching, I did so.
 You have been fed my your Mistress, she said.
 I have been fed by my Mistress, I said.
 What is your name, Slave? asked she.
 Tarl, said I.
She struck me savagely across the mouth, flinging my head to one side.
 A slave has no name, she said.
 I have no name, I said.
She walked about me.  Your back is broad, she said.  You are strong, but
stupid. She laughed.  I shall call you Bosk, she said.
The Bosk is a large, horned, shambling ruminant of the Gorean plains. It is
herded below the Gorean equator by the Wagon Peoples, but there are Bosk herds
on ranches in the north as well, and peasants often keep some of the animals.
 I am Bosk, I said.
There was laughter.
 My Bosk! she laughed.
 I should have thought, said he with the headband, formed of the pearls of
the Vosk sorp,  that you might have preferred a man for a slave, one who is
The girl thrust her hands into my hair and threw back my head. Then she proud
and does not fear death.
spat in my face.  Coward and slave! she hissed.
I dropped my head. It was true what she had said. I had feared death. I
had chosen slavery. I could not be a true man. I had lost myself.
 You are worthy only to be the slave of a woman, said Ho-Hak.
 Do you know what I am going to do with you? asked the girl.
 No, I said.
She laughed.  In two days, she said,  at festival, I will put you at stake as
a prize for girls.
There was laughter at this, and shouts of pleasure.
My shoulders and head fell forward and, bound, I shook with shame.
The girl turned.  Follow me, Slave, said she, imperiously.
I struggled to my feet and, to the jeers of the rence growers, and blows,
stumbled after the girl, she who owned me, my mistress. 4 The Hut
In the stem of the girl s rence craft, she poling the craft from the stern, I
knelt, cutting rence. It was late in the year to cut rence but some quantities
of the rence are cut during the fall and winter and stored on covered rence
rafts until spring. These stores of rence are not used for adding in the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]