Captive of Gor (7 page)

present capabilities of any of the civilizations of Earth. And yet the men who

had captured me were surely human, or seemed so, as did those who manned the

ship. Even those who had come from the silverish ship, with the exception of the

tall, delicate golden creature, had seemed to be human, or much like humans.

But the black ship had crashed. And the silverish ship had departed, perhaps for

another world.

But I wanted to be rescued! I would be rescued! I must be rescued!

But I was not particularly frightened.

I could live on this world.

But I was lonely.

There is nothing to be frightened of, I told myself. There is food here, and

water. I had found berries, and there were doubtless other things to eat, fruit

and nuts.

I laughed, so pleased I was.

Then I cried, for I was so lonely. I was all alone.

Then, startled, I lifted my head. Drifting through the air, unmistakable, though

coming from some distance, was the sound of a shout, a human voice.

I leaped wildly to my feet and ran, stumbling up the hill. I came to its crest

and looked wildly and cried out, and (pg. 46) waved, and began to run down the

side of the hill, stumbling and shouting and waving my arms. There were tears of

joy in my eyes. “Stop! I shouted. “Stop!”

They were humans! I would be rescued! They would have food and shelter, and

water! I was saved! I would be saved! Safe!

“Stop!” I shouted. “Stop!”

There was a single wagon. About it were some seven or eight men. There were no

animals at the wagon. At the front of it, standing on the grass, were some

fifteen or twenty girls, unclothed. They seemed immeshed in the harness. Two men

stood near them. The wagon itself seemed damaged, partly stained with black. Its

cover, of blue and yellow silk, was torn. Near the front of the wagon, too, was

a short, fat man, clad in a robe of broadly striped blue and yellow silk.

Startled, they turned to face me.

I ran down the hill, stumbling and laughing, toward them.

Two of the men ran forward to meet me. Another two, flanking these, began to run

toward the top of the hill. They passed me.

“I’m Elinor Brinton,” I told the men who had come to meet me. “I live in New

York City. I’m lost.”

One of the men, with two hands, seized my left wrist. The other man, with two

hands, seized my right wrist. They swiftly left me, pulling me, not gently, down

the hill between them, toward the group at the wagon.

The small, fat, short man, he, plump and paunchy in his robe of broadly striped

blue and yellow silk, scarcely looked at me. He was more anxiously regarding the

top of the hill, where his two men had gone. Crouching down, they were looking

about, over the hill. Two others of his men had left the wagon and were looking

about, some hundreds or so, on other sides. The girls near the front of the

wagon, immeshed in the harness, seemed apprehensive. The fat man wore earrings,

sapphires, pendant on golden stalks. His hair, long and black, did not seem

cared for. It was dirty, not well combed. It was tied behind his head with a

band (pg. 47) of blue and yellow silk. He wore purple sandals, the straps of

which were set with pearls. The sandals were now covered with dust. Some of the

pearls were missing. On his small, fat hands, there were several rings. His

hands, and nails, were dirty. I sensed that he might be, in his personal habits,

rather fastidious. But, now, surely he did not seem so. Rather he seemed

haggard, apprehensive. One of the men, a grizzled fellow, with one eye, came

back from searching the fields some hundred yards or so from the wagon. I

gathered he had found nothing. He called the fat, pudgy little man “Targo.”

Targo looked up to the top of the hill. One of the men there, standing a bit

below its crest, waved to him, and shrugged, lifting his arms in the air. He had

seen nothing.

Targo drew a deep breath. Visibly he relaxed.

He then regarded me.

I smiled my prettiest smile. “Thank you,” I said, “for rescuing me. My name is

Elinor Brinton. I live in New York City, which is a city on the planet Earth. I

wish to return there, immediately. I’m rich, and I assure you that if you take

me there, you will be well rewarded.”

Targo regarded me, puzzled.

But he must understand English!

Another man came back, I suppose to report that he had found nothing. Targo sent

him back, perhaps to stand watch. One of the men he then recalled from the top

of the hill. The other remained there, also I suppose, to watch.

I repeated, somewhat irritably, but with some patience, what I had said before.

I spoke clearly, slowly, that I might be easier to understand.

I wished the two men would release my wrists.

I was going to speak further to him, to attempt to explain my predicament and my

desires, but he said something abruptly, irritably.

I flushed with anger.

He did not wish to hear me speak.

I pulled at my wrists, but the two men would not release me.

The Targo began to speak to me. But I could understand (pg. 48) nothing. He

spoke sharply, as one might speak to a servant. This irritated me.

“I do not understand you,” I told him, icily.

Targo then seemed to reconsider his impatience. My tone of voice had seemed to

startle him. He looked at me, carefully. It seemed he suspected he had been

wrong in some way about me. He now came closer to me. His voice was oily,

ingratiating. It amused me that I had won this small victory. He seemed kinder

now, honeyed.

He would treat Elinor Brinton properly!

But I still, of course, could not understand him.

There seemed something, however, that was familiar about his speech. I could not

identify what it was.

He seemed to refuse to believe that I could not understand him.

He continued to speak, finally very slowly, word by word, very clearly. His

efforts, of course, were not rewarded in the least, for I could understand not

even a word of what he had said. This seemed, for some reason, to irritate him.

I, too, began to grow irritated. It was as though he expected anyone to be able

to understand his strange language, whether it was their native language or not.

How simple and provincial he was.

It was not even English.

He continued to try to communicate with me, but to no avail.

At one point he turned to one of his men and seemed to ask him a question. The

fellow replied with a single word, apparently of negation.

Suddenly I was startled. I had heard that word before. When the small man, in my

penthouse, when I had lain bound on my bed, had touched me, the large man,

abruptly, angrily, had said that word to him. The smaller man had then turned

away.

It struck me then what was familiar about the language Targo spoke. I had heard

only a word or two of it before. My captors had conversed, almost entirely, in

English. And I supposed they had been, at least on the whole, native speakers of

English. But I recalled the accent of the large man, who (pg. 49) had commanded

them. In English, that accent had marked his speech as foreign. Here, however, a

world away, I heard the same accent, or one similar, save that here it was not

an accent. Here it was the natural sound, the rhythm and inflection, of what was

apparently an independent, doubtless sophisticated, native tongue. I was

frightened. The language, though it struck my ear as strange, was not

unpleasant. It was rather strong, but in its way it seemed supple and beautiful.

I was frightened, but I was also encouraged. Targo noted the difference in my

attitude, and he redoubled his efforts to communicate with me. But, of course, I

still could not understand.

I was frightened, because it had been the language, or rather like the language,

of my chief captor, and perhaps others of his group. On the other hand, I was

encouraged because it seemed to me then that these individuals, if they spoke

the same language, must possess the technological skills to return me to my

native world.

Yet it was hard to believe.

The men I now noted, held as I was, did not carry pistols and rifles, or even

small weapons, such as my captor had had, or the wands, or silver tubes, which

had been carried by the men from the silverish ship. Rather, to my surprise,

even amusement, they wore at their sides small swords. Two, over their backs,

had slung something like a bow, except that it had a handle, much like a rifle.

Four of the others actually carried spears. The spears were large, with curved

bronze heads. They seemed heavy. I could not have thrown one.

The men, saving the one called Targo, wore tunics, with helmets. They looked

rather frightening. The opening in the helmets reminded me vaguely of a “Y”. the

swords they carried in scabbards slung over their left shoulder. They wore heavy

sandals, laced with thick straps, more than a foot up their leg. Several of

them, besides the small swords, carried a knife as well, this attached to a

leather belt. They wore pouches also at the belt.

I was relieved that these men, apparently so primitive, could not be of the same

group as my former captors, with (pg. 50) their sophisticated equipment. But I

was also apprehensive for, by the same token, surely men such as these did not

have the technological capabilities essential for flights between worlds. These

men, surely, could not, themselves, return me to Earth.

I had fallen in with them, however, and would have to make the best of it.

I was rescued, and that was the important thing. There were doubtless men on

this word who did possess the capabilities for space flight and I would make

inquiries and contact them. With my riches, I could pay well for my

transportation back to Earth. The important thing was that I was now safe, that

I had been rescued.

I noted the wagon. It was also scarred in several places, as though it had been

struck with sharp objects. In places the wood was splintered. I wondered where

the draft animals, presumably oxen, were, who would draw the heavy wagon. I

further noted that the boards of the wagon, besides being struck and splintered

in certain places, were, in other places, darkened, as though by smoke. Further,

looking more closely I could see that the paint on the wagon, which was red, had

cracked and blistered considerably. It was reasonably clear that the wagon had

been afire, or had come through a fire. As I mentioned, over the wagon, its

cover, of blue and yellow silk, was torn. Further, as I could see now, it had

been burned at the edges and was, in another area, stained with smoke and rain.

It then occurred to me that Targo had seemed haggard, apprehensive, and that,

although he seemed to be the sort of man who might be vain about his appearance,

judging from the earrings, the sandals, the robe, the rings that he had not kept

up his appearance. I did not event think him the sort who would be likely to

walk, but his sandals, with the pearled straps, with certain of the pearls

missing, were stained with dust. I recalled, too, how apprehensive the men had

been, when I had approached them, how they had examined the hill, the fields

about, as though they feared I might not be alone.

Targo was running.

(pg. 51) They had been attacked.

There were some objects in the wagon, some chests and boxes.

I looked to the girls near the front of the wagon, immeshed in the harness.

There were nineteen of them, ten on one side of the wagon tongue, and nine on

the other.

They were naked.

I looked at them, irritably, and stunned. They were incredibly beautiful. I

regarded myself as a fantastically beautiful woman, one among perhaps tens of

thousands. I had even modeled. But here, to my amazement, and fury, I saw that

at least eleven of these girls were unquestionably, clearly, more beautiful than

I. On Earth I had never met a woman, personally, whom I had regarded as my

superior in beauty. Here, uncomprehensively, but obviously, there were at least

eleven. I was puzzled how there could be so many in this one small place. I was

shaken. But, I told myself, I am more than their equal in intelligence, and in

riches, and in taste, and sophistication. They were doubtless simple barbarians.

I felt pity for them. I hated them! I hated them! They looked on me as I had

looked on other women , on Earth, casually, unthreatened. They looked on me as I

had looked on plainer women, unimportant women, not to be taken account of, not

to be considered seriously as a rival, simply as my inferiors of beauty. I could

not remember ever having not been the most beautiful woman in any room I had

entered. How I had relished the admiration of the men, the intake of their

breath, their pleasure, their furtive glances, the irritation of the other

women! And these women looked upon me, daring to, as I had upon those others.

They regarded me curiously, I could see, but more importantly, I had seen, to my

fury, that when I received their instantaneous appraisal, that which one woman

gives always to another when first they meet, as natural and unconscious as a

glance, that they had, at least to their own satisfaction, found themselves