Explorers of Gor by John Norman Page B

He freed her ankles of the shackles which had held them at the circular, metal platform. Ulafi then, pushing her head down, fastened the sturdy, steel shipping collar on her throat, snapping it shut behind the back of her neck. It had five palms on it, and the sign of Schendi, the shackle and scimitar.
    “Put her in the cage and load her,” said Ulafi.
    The girl was then taken, braceleted, and thrust into the tiny slave cage, which was then locked shut. She knelt, sobbing, in the cage. The two sailors then lifted the cage on its poles, and, kneeling, she was lifted within it. I looked at her. I saw in her eyes that she had begun to suspect what it might mean to be a slave girl.
    She was carried to the ship.
    I did not think she would now escape. I thought now she could be used easily to help locate Shaba, the geographer of Anango, the equatorial explorer. In my sea bag were the notes for him, made out to bankers of Schendi. In my sea bag, too, was the false ring, which the girl had carried.
    “I am grateful to you for having apprehended the slave,” said Ulafi to me.
    “It was nothing,” I said.
    “You also marked her superbly,” he said. “Doubtless, in time, she will grow quite proud of that brand.”
    I shrugged.
    “Captain,” said I.
    “Yes,” said he.
    “I would still like to book passage with you to Schendi,” I said.
    He smiled. “You are welcome to do so,” he said.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “It will cost you a silver tarsk,” he said.
    “Oh,” I said.
    He shrugged. “I am a merchant,” he explained.
    I gave him a silver tarsk, and he turned about and went down to the ship.
    “I wish you well,” I said to the metal worker.
    “I wish you well,” said he to me. I was pleased that I had branded women before.
    I wondered how much Ulafi knew.
    I then left the shop of the metal worker.
    Outside I saw the guardsman unchaining the girl who had been the she-urt, Sasi. Her hands were now bound before her body, and she already had his strap on her throat.
    “You did not sell her?” I asked.
    “Who would want a she-urt?” he asked. “I am going to take her now to the public shelves.”
    Looking at me the small, lovely, dark-haired girl drew back.
    “What do you want for her?” I asked.
    “It cost a copper tarsk to brand her,” he said.
    I looked at her. She looked at me, and trembled, and shook her head, negatively.
    I threw him a copper tarsk.
    “She is yours,” he said.
    He took his strap off her throat, and unbound her hands.
    “Submit,” I told her.
    She knelt before me, back on her heels, arms extended, head down, between her arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding.
    “I submit to you, Master,” she said.
    I tied her hands together; she then lowered her bound wrists; I pulled up her head. I held before her an opened collar, withdrawn from my sea bag. I had had one prepared.
    “Can you read?” I asked her.
    “No, Master,” she said.
    “It says,” I said, “‘I am the girl of Tarl of Teletus.”’
    “Yes, Master,” she said.
    I then collared her. I had thought that some wench, probably one to be purchased in Schendi, would have been a useful addition to my disguise, as an aid in establishing and confirming my pretended identity as a metal worker from the island of Teletus. This little wench though, now locked in my collar, I thought would serve the purpose well. There was no particular reason to wait to Schendi before buying a girl. Besides, the collar on her might help to convince Ulafi, who seemed to me a clever and suspicious man, that, whatever I might be, I was a reasonably straightforward and honest fellow. I traveled with a girl who wore a name collar.
    “Are there papers on her?” I asked the guardsman.
    “No,” said the guardsman. Most Gorean slaves do not have papers. The brand and collar are deemed sufficient.
    I pulled the little slave to her feet, and pointed out the Palms of Schendi.
    “Do you see that ship?” I asked.
    “Yes,” she said.
    “Run