Gor 07 - Captive of Gor by John Norman

Author:John Norman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I Gather Berries

How good it was to be out of the slave wagon!

Standing in the grass, in the sunlight, I stretched, and laughed.

I wore my new camisk. I was much pleased.

I had sewn it in the wagon, the first day out of Ko-ro-ba. My old camisk, long ago, had been burned near the compound of Targo.

I suppose girls of Earth might find the camisk a shameful, scandalous garment, but I was much pleased to have it. We had not been permitted camisks in the pens of Ko-ro-ba. In the stinking straw they might have been soiled. Also, it is thought by slavers that it is, upon occasion, good for a girl to find herself naked and behind bars. But now the dimly lit cells, the steel and cement, the stomach-wrenching heat and dampness, the close, foul air, the soiled straw, the stink, the crowding, the heavy bars, were behind us. Sometimes free women fall desperately ill when brought to the pens. Inge and I had vomited for more than an hour after we had been forced into the pens, and locked in our cells. But now the pens were behind us.

I stretched again.

It was a day in the early summer, the second day of En’Var. In the chronology of Ar, that city for which we were bound, it was said to be the year 10,121.

I could feel the grass at my calves, the sun on my face and arms and legs, the warm, fresh, root-filled earth beneath my bare feet.

I was happy.

(pg. 207) I lifted my face to the sun and closed my eyes, letting its warmth and light bathe my face and closed eyes.

Elinor Brinton, the rich girl of Earth, was happy.

I felt the pull of the strap on my throat, and opened my eyes. By a long, leather strap, some ten feet in length, I was fastened by the neck to Ute. We were picking berries.

Elinor Brinton, the Gorean slave girl, quickly bend down and, with her fingers, pulled berries from the twigs of a small bush, and put them in her leather bucket.

Ute had her back to me, and the guard, too. He, drowsy, was leaning on his spear.

We were perhaps a pasang from the caravan. I, by standing on my tip toes in the grass, on the low hill on which we were gathering berries, could see the squarish tops of the wagons, with their blue and yellow canvas coverings.

We were nine days out of Ko-ro-ba.

It would be weeks before we could reach Ar, where we would be sold.

I was pleased with the summer’s day, and the breezes.

Surreptitiously, I moved, picking berries here and there, closer to Ute.

She was not facing me, nor was the guard.

My hand darted into her leather bucket and seized a handful of berries, and quickly put them in my own. Neither she nor the guard noticed. Ute and the guard were stupid.

I slipped one of the berries into my mouth, taking care that no juices showed on my lips or face.

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