Panther Tales Ch. 04

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Our heroine's adventures on Gor continue.
4.6k words
4.8
13.6k
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Part 4 of the 8 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 07/02/2014
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(Thanks to everyone for the comments and votes! We're getting there, and yes eventually there WILL be an erotic element to this story! As always, any character in any of my stories that engages in any kind of sexual activity is over the age of 18.)

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Sally dropped to her hands and knees as she reached the edge of the tall grass, her eyes locked on the small hamlet about thirty yards ahead. This was as close as she could get before breaking cover, and she wanted to be sure there was no movement in the night.

The two harsh, hungry weeks since she'd escaped captivity had transformed her. None of the people she'd known on Earth would recognize her now. The combination of travelling, fear and not quite enough food had melted away every surplus ounce, and what was left was all stringy, corded muscle.

She felt as tough as a strip of beef jerky.

The biggest change was her hair, or more accurately her lack of hair. After only a couple days, she'd taken the dagger and hacked off as much of her hair as she could. It was cooler, easier to deal with and now there was nothing on top of her head for an enemy to grab.

Plus, it made her less attractive, and to Sally's mind that was a plus. Several guards had commented about her beautiful long hair, and the last thing she wanted was to look beautiful. Maybe if she uglied herself up, the slave catchers and other animals would pass her by without a second look.

Her face was still pretty, but thin and drawn, and her expression was grim and determined. Her most recognizable feature was still her large, electric-blue eyes. They blazed with intensity as she stared into the dim night.

She hadn't starved. The first night she risked eating some berries, and they turned out to be sweet and juicy and (thankfully) not poisonous. She remembered thinking 'if these are gonna kill me, I hope it's at least fast' as she tossed the first one into her mouth.

She'd found two types of berries and two kinds of fruit that she could eat. She'd also armed herself, making a sling from her spare shirt, and managed to kill a couple small, rabbit-size rodents and a few birds.

Her older brother had taught her to use a sling, way back when she was a little girl growing up dirt-poor on Earth. 'If a cop or game warden sees you with a gun, or a bow, it's hard to pretend you're not hunting,' he'd said as he twisted his sling and tied it around his head. 'But a sling? In a few seconds it's just a head band.'

She'd giggled and used her own sling to tie her long blond hair into a ponytail. 'Or a scrunchie,' she said, and he laughed and squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

He'd taught her a lot that was useful in her current situation. How to move quietly, how to set simple snare traps, how to skin and clean what they killed, how to use a sling to hurl a rock with deadly accuracy. It had been years since she'd hunted that way, but it came back with a little practice.

Unfortunately, she didn't dare make a fire and risk being seen, so she was forced to eat her kills raw. She cut each animal open, found what she thought was the heart and liver, and used her dagger to chop them into pieces small enough to swallow whole. The first time, her stomach had churned for a few moments until it decided it liked being fed and settled down.

Still, it was much better to steal food from villages. The little farming communities were spread out about two days walk apart, and every one had yielded something. Goreans apparently didn't have watch dogs, and they didn't post guards in these tiny towns, so slipping in and out was pretty easy as long as she was silent and quick.

In every one, she'd managed to find something either drying or being smoked. A couple times she'd even snuck into one of the dwellings. Gorean peasants didn't have locks--the poorer villages didn't even have proper doors, just hide flaps. She wondered if it was because they had no enemies, or were just too fatalistic to care.

One of the most useful things she'd stolen was a simple piece of cloth, almost like a towel. She'd wrapped her hands and feet with strips of the soft, thick material. She always liked being barefoot back on Earth, and during her time in the kennels she hadn't had shoes to wear, so her feet were used to rough conditions.

Still, a little protection helped. Her hands she wrapped to better use her other new weapon. She'd found a long, straight pole almost as long as she was tall. It was another lesson from her brother. 'A big stick is better than a sword. It gives you a longer reach, it's easier to use, and you won't accidentally cut your hand off.'

She practiced with it as she walked under the Gorean moons--twirling it, spinning it, blocking imaginary strikes and thrusting back in attack. She wasn't sure how well she'd fare in an actual battle, but at least she'd have a fighting chance. Plus it strengthened her arms.

For now, she set the pole and her pack down and drew her dagger. She crept cautiously from her cover, headed for the nearest building--it was the smallest in the little village, and she pegged it for the smokehouse.

When she reached the small building, she leaned her head against the outer wall, listening and sniffing. The air here on Gor was remarkably pure, and it almost seemed like her senses were more keen than before. She heard nothing but the normal night sounds around her, and her mouth watered at the smell of roasted meat.

Carefully, she slipped her hand between the hanging hides covering the doorway and tossed in a handful of rocks, then spun away, her back pressed against the wall, her dagger at the ready. If there was anyone inside, the rattle of the pebbles would hopefully draw him out.

Moments passed and nothing happened. With a last look around, she slipped inside.

Jackpot! Just inside the door was a bird of some kind, about the size of a chicken, roasted and salted and hanging to dry. She grabbed it and dashed away, her small feet making almost no sound on the grass and dirt.

She allowed herself a rare smile as she gathered up her meager possessions. No rumbling stomach tonight!

She looked up, finding the odd looking star she'd been following from the beginning, and hurried to put some distance between herself and the village before morning. For a good mile she stayed low, her fighting staff clutched in her right hand.

Sally didn't know, but she was travelling almost due north/northwest. If you had a map of Gor, you could draw a line at a 45 degree angle from the city of Besnit towards the northern forests and be copying her route almost perfectly.

It was excellent farming country, rich black soil and fertile valleys mixed with small patches of forest--hence all the small peasant communities. Slavers didn't bother the farmers much--they were too important in feeding the cities.

She stopped and sliced off a generous chunk of breast meat, than walked briskly, eating as she moved. Another couple hours and it would be time to find a hiding spot and sleep through the daylight.

If a person had to be a wandering fugitive, there were certainly worse places than Gor. Yes, there was the ever present danger of slavers and outlaws, but intelligence and caution greatly reduced that risk.

For one thing, the weather was ideal--warm days, cool nights, never terribly humid. Even the couple times it had rained, it was a warm rain--not too uncomfortable to be stuck out in.

Also, it seemed to Sally that, compared to Earth, there was less life on Gor. Back home, going into a wooded area meant being immediately surrounded by clouds of annoying gnats and misquitos. Here there weren't very many bugs. As a consequence, there were also far fewer birds.

She shuddered to think about trying to sleep under (or in) fallen trees back on Earth. It would have meant sharing your 'bed' with countless spiders and insects, worms and grubs, creepies and crawlies. Here, however, it wasn't even an issue.

'All right, so Hell is rather pleasant,' she thought, feasting on her stolen bird. 'Too bad it's full of demons.'

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Two mornings later, Sally woke with a start to all kinds of noises.

She had burrowed into a brushy thicket for the day, after walking around it several times, checking it carefully in the Gorean moonlight to make sure she'd be well concealed. It scratched her up a little, but hell--she was already covered with scratches, so what were a few more?

She wiggled in the direction of the sounds and peered out through the leaves. Without even realizing it, she had stopped within view of what appeared to be a Gorean highway. Her eyes widened as she watched a caravan of carts pass, each one pulled by two or four large, furry animals that reminded her a little of Earth bison.

At least twenty of the wooden wheeled wagons went by. About half had an armed soldier walking alongside. Some were loaded with logs, some filled with crates. A couple had cages filled with live, squawking birds. And one had a very large cage filled with beautiful, terrified looking girls.

The sight made her blood boil, and her teeth clenched with anger. She had to fight the urge to run screaming to the road and start swinging her pole. It would be a suicide mission, and all she could do was watch helplessly from her hiding spot.

It wasn't the first time Sally had seen caged slave girls on her journey. In one of the villages she had entered, there had been six naked girls sleeping in a cage, piled together like kittens. She had ached to smash open the cage and rescue the girls, but knew she couldn't.

Even if they could get away without waking up the villagers, she knew from her time in the kennels how the girls would act. Meek, cringing, easily terrified, prone to panic and incapable of doing anything without being told. As awful as it was, she had to leave them where they were.

For all she knew, if she tried to rescue them they'd probably scream for help from their captors, and then she'd be in a cage too.

She shook her head, hating this place that reduced some women to such a pitiful state, and squirmed deeper into her bushes. She closed her eyes and slept, knowing she needed to be alert when night came and she had to cross that highway.

Sally slept lightly, fitfully, seeming to pop awake as every new group passed on the highway. She was all too aware of how vulnerable she was, and how easy it would be for someone to find her with only a cursory search around her hiding spot, and how impossible it was for her to escape quickly. All she could do was stay still and quiet and hope no Gorean decided to go for a wander.

The day seemed endless, but finally the sun set and traffic on the road slowed to a trickle--nothing but an occasional single cart, or a rider or two on what looked like wierd, mutant horses. It seemed safe enough for her to crawl out of her hiding spot. Keeping the bushes between herself and the highway, she stretched her stiff muscles, peed, and stretched some more.

Gripping her fighting stick tightly, she approached the road, ready to dive to her stomach at the first sight or sound of approaching Goreans. Her heart pounding, she broke into an all-out sprint, dashing across the stone surface of the highway, not stopping until she crested a small hill a couple hundred yards beyond. Gasping, she collapsed on her back, staring up at those three insane moons.

When her breathing was back to normal, she took a couple long drinks of water, and cut the remainder of her meat in half. 'Not much left of either,' she thought as she walked briskly, eating on the move. She knew she needed to put some distance between herself and that road for safety's sake.

Several hours later, the wild grass turned into some type of grain crop, and she knew from past experience that meant a village was near. Sure enough, off in the distance she saw buildings. It was easily the largest she had seen in her travels, and she skirted around until the star she had been following was directly behind her when she faced the farming community.

She set her pack and pole on the ground, drew her dagger, and went towards the village. Now when she left, all she had to do was head straight for her 'guiding star', and she could find her stuff.

It was very late at night, and there were no lights, no sounds, no movement at all in the community. Sally assumed all the hard-working peasants were sound asleep. Hanging on three hooks on the outer wall of one of the huts was a dress, or gown.

She looked down at the man's shirt she was wearing. It was tattered and filthy. She had dunked herself in water whenever she was lucky enough to find a big enough pond, but the idea of new, clean clothing was irresistible. The dress was too long, and would be baggy on her skinny frame, but she had her dagger and could easily make some crude alterations.

She was reaching for it when something caught her eye. There was a kind of palisade ahead, like an enclosed, fenced-in area. Curious, she crept closer and peered between the wooden slats--and sucked in a shocked breath.

There was an enormous bird within, crouched down and apparently sleeping. 'Like something from a fucking Godzilla movie,' she thought as she stared in wide eyed wonderment. The thing was bigger than an SUV.

'It must be a tarn,' she thought. She had heard the guards talk about the giant birds that could be raced or used in battle like prehistoric fighter planes. An image of Fred Flintstone flying over a battlefield, throwing big rocks and yelling 'yabba dabba doo!' popped into her head, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle hysterical giggles.

'Damn I'm tired,' Sally thought. 'I need to get those clothes and find a spot to sleep.'

She took one last look at the massive, silver-grey bird--and almost screamed when it opened one fist-sized eye. She froze, scarcely daring to breathe, as the creature appraised her through the fence. Then it made a soft noise, ruffled it's feathers, and seemed to go back to sleep.

Sally let out a long, ragged breath. 'Fuck this,' she whispered to herself. 'Time to go.'

She gently took the dress down off it's hooks--apparently Goreans hadn't invented clothespins yet-- and folded it under her arm. It was green and brown with some gold trim, the fabric very soft and not too heavy. She gave it a little stroke, and then almost had a stroke when a deep voice rang out through the darkness.

"What are you doing?"

She wheeled and saw a man walking towards her. He was wearing a knee length white shirt, like a Victorian night gown, extremely bright in the dark night. A typical Gorean male, he towered over her, and his steps ate up the distance between them.

"What are you doing there, girl?" he demanded again, and Sally fled.

"HEY!" he yelled, and she saw tiny pinpoints of light begin to appear in other huts as she raced away. She looked up, finding her star, and hauled ass out of the village.

If she hadn't found them right away, she would have abandoned her pack and pole, but she got lucky and almost tripped over them. She muttered 'shit shit shit' as she hastily grabbed up her stuff, and for the second time that night flew into a flat-out sprint. The man lumbered after her for a bit, but stopped when he got to the sown fields.

Sally didn't stop running until she had a stitch in her side and was starting to see black spots before her eyes. 'Fuck, that was too close!' she thought as she slowed to a panting, limping walk.

Sally climbed to the top of a small hillock and looked around, scanning the darkness behind her with concern. She didn't see or hear anything, so she took a few moments to rest and change into her new clothes. As expected, the garment designed for larger Gorean women fit her like a tent, but she had her dagger to make some improvised alterations.

She sliced off most of the sleeves, and hacked off the skirt just above her knees. The dress was very soft on the inside too, and roomy enough not to inhibit her movements even if she kicked or did a splits.

She cut her old, ragged shirt into strips, and with some experimentation was able to rig a way to tie her pole to her back. It was much easier to run or walk with the pole strapped to her body instead of having to hold it in her hand.

She took a big gulp of water, and rose with a sigh. As tired as she was, she still knew her safety depended on movement, and she guessed there were still a couple hours of darkness left before dawn broke.

Sally walked as quickly as her exhausted legs allowed, as far as she could go, pausing only once to fill her water gourd and dunk her head in a small, cool stream. She was nearly staggering with fatigue when she finally spotted a decent spot to hide for the day. Her cover wasn't as good as it should have been, but she was simply too tired to care. She lay down, using her pack as a pillow, and was sound asleep in seconds.

It was still bright daylight when she was awakened by loud noises--banging, clanking, thumping sounds, and ominous shouts. Her legs groaned as she rose to her knees to check the commotion.

Her breath caught when she saw the source of all the noise. A dozen men, coming from the direction she had been fleeing, stretched out in a long line, banging sticks on shields and kettles, making as much noise as possible. The closest were maybe a hundred yards away, headed straight towards her.

'Ahhh fuck,' she hissed, and frantically grabbed for her pole and pack. No time to tie the big stick in place, no reason for stealth, she burst from her hiding spot and ran, ignoring the way her stiff legs protested.

The shouts behind her grew louder, the pounding noises more intense, but the men didn't start running in pursuit. They kept up their steady pace, and one produced a horn and began blowing long, loud notes.

'All this bother for one fucking dress?' she thought angrily, but she knew it wasn't about the dress--it was about the possibility of capturing a slave girl.

As she dashed across the grass, most of the noise behind her stopped. She risked a look back, and noted that most of her pursuers had stopped and were looking skyward. She followed their gazes, and the sight chilled her.

It was the tarn, now with a rider perched on its back, flying straight for her. Something was hanging down its right side.

She watched for a moment, her forehead creased in puzzlement. A lasso? Did he really think he could catch her that easily?

She turned and ran some more as a stray thought popped into her head--something she had heard or read long before. 'Runners run--they don't attack.' Her lip curled as that thought led to another memory of her brother, and how angry he would get watching horror movies.

'They always just panic and run, or do something stupid like hide in a closet. That's so dumb! Don't just run--run with a purpose. Look for a weapon, look for an ambush spot, look for a way to fight back. Idiots!'

Sally wasn't just running. She was running with a purpose.

When she saw the huge bird's shadow, she stopped and turned. The leather noose came closer and closer, swinging down some thirty feet. She waited until the last second, then flung herself in an easy roll to her right, dodging the trap and immediately springing to her feet to run some more.

She kept her eyes open as she ran. There! Off to her left--rocks! Ammunition!

Again, the tarn's shadow fell on her, and she spun, her weight on the balls of her feet. This time, she dropped straight down, breaking her fall with her forearms as the tarn rider swung the lasso to her right. Goreans were so predictable. He expected her to keep doing the same thing.

Goreans do not cope well with the unexpected. The tarn circled now, as if thinking. The rider had obviously expected her to just run in terror until he could drop the lasso around her.

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