"Master," called Janice. "I cannot free myself."

I looked down at her. She was tangled and could get no footing.

I made as though to hold down to her, that she might grasp it, the shaft of the raider's spear.

Immediately the small men rushed to me, shaking their heads. They tried to pull me away. "No," said their leader. "No, no!"

I was puzzled. The small men, I recalled, had originally stood about the upper edge of the depression, impassively observing Janice's predicament. They had made not the least effort to help her, even when the eight-legged monster had emerged to claim her as his trapped quarry. Yet when I had fought the monster, and when he had turned upon me, they had sprung vigorously to my aid. They had hurled their spears into the beast and had, helping me, distracted it in its ferocities. Then they had rushed past me and, with their knives, had boldly finished the creature. But now it seemed they, though obviously disposed to be friendly towards me, did not wish to free Janice, the slave. They wished me, for some reason, to leave her there, helpless, unable to free herself, lying there at the mercy of the jungle, surely either to starve or thirst to death, or, more likely, to fall victim to some new predator.

I brushed the small men back. "Get back," I told them. They moved back. They were not pleased but, too, it did not seem they would try to stop me. I extended the shaft of the spear to Janice and she, seizing it with one hand, her free hand, was drawn upward, out of the net, to the safety of the jungle floor.

Then, to my surprise, when she stood safe, trembling beside me, the small men crowded about her and knelt down, putting their heads to the ground.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

"They are showing you respect or obeisance," I said.

"I do not understand," she said, frightened.

"Of course!" I said. "Now it is clear!"

"What?" she asked, frightened.

"Stand! Stand!" I told the small men. "Get up! Get up!"

Terrified, the small men rose to their feet.

I looked at Janice, harshly. "Are you not a slave girl in the presence of free men?" I asked.

"Forgive me, Master," she cried. Swiftly she knelt. The small men regarded her, startled and frightened.

"Put your head to their feet," I said. "Kiss their feet. Beg their forgiveness for the affront you have shown them."

Janice put down her head and kissed the feet of the small men. "Forgive me, Masters," she begged.

They looked at her in wonder.

"Get up," I told the girl. I then, roughly, tied her hands together behind her back. The small men gathered around, seeing that her hands, truly, were tightly tied.

"This is a slave," I told them.

They spoke quickly among themselves. It was not in Gorean.

"We are the slaves of the talunas," said one of the men. their leader.

I nodded. I had thought so, from their behavior. It was from the talunas, too, doubtless, that they had learned their Gorean.

"We fish and hunt for them, and make cloth, and serve them," said one of the men.

"Men should not be the slaves of women," I said. "Women should be the slaves of men."

"We are small," said a man. "The talunas are too large and strong for us."

"They may be taken. and made slaves, as any women." I said.

"Help us to rid ourselves of the talunas," said the leader.

"I have business on the river," I said.

Their leader nodded.

I then turned about and, followed by the girl, my slave, made my way back to the lagoon. To my surprise the small men, in single file, followed me. At the lagoon I retrieved the girl's bark-cloth skirt and beads, which she had discarded while bathing. I slung the beads about her neck. I adjusted the bark-cloth skirt on her body. I made certain it was well down on her hips. I then looked about at the forest, and then up at the sun. I adjudged it too late to hunt further that day. I then turned about and, followed by the bound girl, my slave, made my way back towards our camp. To my surprise the small men, in single file, again followed me.

"Kisu!" I called, alarmed. "Ayari! Tende! Alice!"

Unmistakably in the small camp I saw the signs of struggle. Too, on the ground, I saw shed blood.

"They are gone," said the leader of the small men. "They were taken by the Mamba people, those who file their teeth."

The word 'Mamba' in most of the river dialects does not refer to a venomous reptile as might be expected, given its meaning in English, but, interestingly, is applied rather generally to most types of predatory river tharlarion. The Mamba people were, so to speak, the Tharlarion people. The Mamba people ate human flesh. So, too, does the tharlarion. It Is thus, doubtless, that the people obtained their name.

"How do you know it was the Mamba people?" I asked.

"They came through the forest on foot," said the leader of the small people. "Doubtless they were following you. Doubtless they wished to surprise you."

"How do you know it was they?" I asked.

"We saw them," said one of the men.

"It is our country," said another. "We know much of what occurs here."

"Did you see the attack?" I asked.

"We did not wish to be too close," said another man.

"We are a small people," said another. "There were many of them, and they are large."

"We saw those of your party being led away," said another man.

"They were then alive," I said.

"Yes," said another man.

"Why did you not tell me of these things sooner?" I asked. "We thought you knew of the attack," said one of the men, "and had fled, thus escaping."

"No," I said. "I was hunting."

"We will give you meat, if you wish," said one of the small men. "Our hunting earlier today was successful."

"I must attempt to rescue those of my party," I said.

"There are too many of the Mamba people," said one of the small men. "They have spears and knives."

"I must make the attempt," I said.

The small men looked at one another. They spoke swiftly in a language I could not follow. Certain of the words, but very few of them, were recognizable. There are linguistic affinities among most of the lake and river dialects. The language they spoke, however, was far removed from the speeches of Ushindi or Ukungu.

In a moment the small men turned to regard me. "Let us exchange gifts," said their chieftain. "Rid us of the talunas, and we will help you."

"You must be very brave," I told them.

"We can be brave," said one of the men.

"You are spear and net hunters," I said. 'This is my plan."

45

I Capture The Chief Of The Talunas

Lightly I dropped down within the stockade of the talunas. It contained several small, thatched huts. It was not difficult to see in the light of the three moons.

I made my way quietly, crawling, stopping upon occasion to listen, toward the more central huts. In one of the huts, one with a door tied shut from the outside, I heard a rustle of chain.

I picked that hut which seemed the largest and most impressive, one in the center of the camp.

On my belly, quietly, I entered it. Moonlight filtered in through the thatched roof and between the sticks which formed the sides of the hut. She was sleeping within, in her brief skins. Her weapons were at the side of the hut. She lay on a woven mat, her blond hair loose about her head. I examined her thighs, moving back the skins she wore. They had never been branded. She turned, restlessly. She was the girl who had feigned being chained at the post, to lure us into a trap. She was, I was sure, the leader of the talunas. She had given commands in our pursuit. She did not share her hut with another girl. She threw her arm restlessly over her head. I saw her hips move. I smiled. She was a woman in need. She moaned. I waited until her arms were again at her sides, and she lay upon her back. I saw her lift her haunches in her sleep. She was starved for a man's touch. Such women, in their waking hours, are often tense and restless; it is not unusual, too, for them to be irritable; and many times they are hostile toward men; many times they are not even fully aware of the underlying causes of their uncomfortable conscious states; how horrified they might be if they were told that they were women, and desired a master; yet must they not, on some level, be aware of this; would not their hostility toward the male who does not understand their needs or is too cowardly or weak to satisfy them not be otherwise inexplicable; what other hurt could the uncooperative male be inflicting upon them; the more he tries to please them the more they demand; the more he tries to do what they claim to wish the more he finds himself disparaged and despised; can he not see that what they really want is to be thrown to his feet and subjected, totally, to his will? They wish to be women, that is all. But how can they be women if men will not be men? How cruel a man is to deny to a woman the deepest need of her womanhood. Can they not care for them? Can they not see how beautiful they are, and how marvelous?