Hunters of Gor by John Norman

bracelets. I could see,
    when the chain moved, its print on her body, where it had lain before. It was
    tight.
    “Greetings,” said I.
    I regarded the golden chains and claws, still at her throat. I noted that, about
    her left ankle, there was still the anklet of threaded shells.
    She looked at us, in rage.
    “So you perhaps have some more men to sell us?” I asked.
    She went wild, jerking and moaning, pulling at the chain. Then she subsided. She
    looked at us, sullenly.
    “Greetings, Sheera,” said I.
    “Do you like her?” asked a voice. It was one of the slaver’s men.
    “She is not bad,” I said.
    “A panther girl,” he said, “as you may have guessed. She was brought in but last
    night, in the darkness.”
    I smiled. This meant that probably she had fallen to an outlaw. Such often bring
    their captures to a market late, after dark. They are then less likely to be
    recognized.
    “An outlaw brought her in?” asked Rim.
    “Yes,” said the man.
    “His name?” I asked.
    “Arn,” said the man.
    Sheera pulled again at her slave bracelets, helplessly.
    Rim and I laughed.
    We were pleased that Arn, whom we knew, had taken her.
    “I did not know that a panther girl could fall to an outlaw,” said Rim.
    “Especially,” I added, “a panther girl such as this one.”
    She jerked at the bracelets. Then she turned her head away, in fury.
    “Would you care to taste her lips?” asked the man.
    “Very well,” said Rim. He held her hair in his hands, and forced his lips to
    hers, for a long Ehn.
    I, following Rim, took her in my arms and, forcing her back over the bar, for
    more than an Ehn raped the proud lips of the chained woman.
    Then we observed her. Outraged, chained, she regarded us.
    “We must dip oars soon,” said Rim.
    Sheera, her head down, her hair now forward, was fighting the chain and slave
    bracelets.
    I watched her. She knew the forests. She was a panther girl.
    “Girl,” I said.
    Sheera lifted her head. In her eyes I saw that she had not forgotten my kiss.
    “Is it true, Girl,” I asked, “that you are the enemy of Verna, the panther
    girl?”
    “Yes,” she said, sullenly. “She once stole two men from me,”
    “I will give you ten copper pieces for her,” I told the man.
    Sheera looked at me, in fury.
    “Her price,” he said, “is four gold pieces.”
    “Too high for her,” I said.
    I knew she had been purchased from an outlaw, from Arn. Outlaws seldom command,
    from professional slaves, the prices which others might. The house, if one may
    so speak of the compound at Lydius, had probably not paid more than two tarsks
    for her.
    “I will give you four tarsks,” I said.
    “In Ar,” said the man, “ she would go for ten gold pieces.”
    “We are not in Ar,” I pointed out.
    “I hate you!” screamed Sheera. “I hate you! I hate you!”
    “Her breasts,” I said, “ are a bit small, and her ankles and wrists are too
    thick,”
    “She is a beauty,” said the man.
    We examined her, carefully. She turned her head to one side.
    “She is a raw girl,” I said, “nor broken to a collar, untrained.”
    “We must dip oars soon,” Rim said.
    “That is true,” I agreed. I did not wish to miss the crest of the tide.
    Rim and I made as though to turn away.
    “Wait, Masters,” said the man. “She is a beauty!”
    we turned again, and, for some time, looked closely upon the proud Sheera.
    “Three pieces of gold,” said, “and five tarsks.”
    “She is yours,” said the man.
    He, with a key at his belt, unsnapped her bracelets and turned her about,
    rudely, and pushed her belly against the bar. “Put your hands behind your back,
    and cross your wrists,” he said to the girl, not pleasantly. Sullenly, she did
    so. Rim, with his belt, then lashed her hands behind her back.
    I paid the man his three gold pieces and his five tarsks. He was not too
    pleased. He waved his hand at the girls, sitting against the board fence. “We
    need cage space,” he said, angrily.