The Usurper by John Norman

beneath the furs, toward the head of the couch, where it might be convenient to her right hand.
    Where was the barbarian?
    Did he linger, for conversation, matters of moment not to be discussed before women, or slaves?
    Why did he not hasten to her side?
    Why had he not put aside business and rushed, breathless and trembling, to join her?
    Did he not realize the inestimable worth of what awaited him?
    But he had not hurried.
    He had made her wait.
    How angry she was!
    Did he think she was a slave?
    Yes, of course, he thought her a slave.
    She recalled how he had put her to the polishing of his boots on the Narcona , how he bound her, kneeling, to a post at the foot of his bed, and how he had taped her mouth shut, that he might not hear from her, and then, ignoring her, had slept.
    Was she insufficiently desirable?
    Did he regret that she had been prepared? Did he prefer another? Would he put another to his pleasure?
    No, she thought. Qualius had not summoned her back to her chain in the girls’ quarters. Rather, he had delivered the whip.
    Was he making her wait?
    If so, why?
    Because he thought her nothing, only a slave?
    Did he suspect a plot?
    Did he think this delay might make her churn with fear, with an apprehension that she might be insufficiently desired?
    Did he really think this dalliance would heat her, as it might a slave, a yearning beast, hoping for the caress of its Master?
    One hurries quickly enough, she thought, to the couch of a free woman. How anxious men are to please such a lofty one! How they will tumble over themselves to win one of her smiles! Well could she remember such things, on several worlds! See them hurry! Are they fearful that a whim may change her mind, a shift of mood occur, precluding a liaison, that an alleged discomfort will cloud her mien? How skillful are free women, how well they tease and taunt, how well they play games forbidden to the slave!
    It was a craft which she had well mastered.
    Many were the favors, the invitations, the introductions, the dinners, the trips, the small loans, the perquisites of one sort or another, she had garnered in virtue of such skills, until the invitations, and such, had ceased, and she would move to another world, leaving behind her another train of debt.
    Suddenly she heard a sound.
    Someone was approaching.
    Her small hand closed on the handle of the dagger beneath the furs.

Chapter Six
    In the cold light of the moon, amidst the black shadows of leafless branches on the snow, the two tracks of the Herul sled were fresh, deep, and sharp, and black on the side shielded from the light, and the edges of the craters left behind by the paws of what we, for want of a better word, will call horses, had not yet crumbled.
    â€œMight the Heruls not return by the same route?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
    â€œI think not,” said Julian, of the Aureliani, putting his shoulder to the harness of the small sled. “Heruls are clever. Tracks may be seen, and a return by the same route might facilitate an ambush. Little love is lost between Heruls and Otungs.”
    â€œOtungs range outside the forest,” said Tuvo.
    â€œUndoubtedly,” said Julian, “and, I suspect, though less often, Heruls enter it.”
    The explanation for this seems to be that the Heruls are a horse people, so to speak, and ill at ease afoot, and certainly amongst the darknesses of the forest, where archers might lurk undetected in the shadows. Heruls would prefer expanses, such as the plains of Barrionuevo, or, as they will have it, the flats of Tung, venues congenial to the sudden appearances, the rapid movements, the feints, the charges and withdrawals, the encirclings, of light cavalry, seldom choosing to close with a set, prepared enemy.
    â€œThe trees grow more frequent,” said Tuvo. “Surely the forest is near.”
    â€œIt may be hours away,” said Julian.
    One gathers that little has prepared denizens of sparser, more open worlds, denuded