Another thought palled that consideration. Perhaps they were saving her for lunch, in which case they wouldn’t want to waste food on her.
The chief, his mouth and beard bloody, approached. His long hair was in a Psyche knot through which two long red feathers were stuck. A circle of human fingers on a leather plate hung from a neck-cord over his beard. One eye socket was empty except for a few flies. He stopped, belched, then yelled at the tribe to gather around.
Anana, watching him remove his kilt, became sick. A minute later, while the tribe yelled encouragement, and made remarks that were obviously obscene, though she didn’t understand a word, he did what she had thought he was going to do. Knowing how useless it was to struggle, she lay back quietly. But she visualized six different ways of killing him and hoped she’d have a chance to carry out one of them.
After the chief, grinning, got up and donned his kilts, the shaman came up to her. He apparently had in mind emulating the chief. The latter, however, pushed him away. She was going to be the chiefs property. Anana was glad for at least one favor. The shaman was even dirtier and more repulsive than the chief.
She managed to get up and walked over to Urthona. He looked disgusted. She said, “Well, uncle, you can be glad you’re not a woman.”
“I always have been,” he said. “You could run now before they could catch you and you could drown yourself in the channel. That is the only way to cleanse yourself.”
He spat “Imagine that! A leblabbiy defiling a Lord! It’s a wonder to me you didn’t die of shame.”
He paused, then smiled crookedly. “But then you’ve been mating with a leblabbiy voluntarily, haven’t you? You have no more pride than an ape.”
Anana kicked him in the jaw with her bare foot. Two minutes passed before he recovered consciousness.
Anana felt a little better. Though she would have preferred to kick the chief (though not in his jaw), she had discharged some of her rage.
“If it weren’t for you and Ore,” she said, “I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
She turned and walked away, ignoring his curses.
Shortly thereafter, the tribe resumed its march. The meat was thrown on top of piles on travois, and a more or less orderly caravan was formed. The chief rode at the head of the procession. Since attack from their left was impossible, all the outriders were put on the right.
About three hours before dusk, the men who’d been sent across the plains returned at a gallop. Anana didn’t know what they reported, but she guessed that they’d gone up one of the mountains to look for enemies. Obviously, they hadn’t seen any.
Why had the tribe been on the move during the night? Anana supposed that it was because many tribes would be going to the sea-country. This people wanted to be first, but they knew that others would have the same idea. So they were on a forced march, day and night, to get through the pass before they ran into enemies.
At “noon,” when the sky-illumination was brightest, the caravan stopped. Everybody, including the prisoners, ate. Then they lay down with skins over their faces to shut out the light, and they slept. About six stayed awake to be lookouts. These had slept for several hours on travois, though when they woke up they looked as if they hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.
By then the captives’ hands were tied in front so they could feed themselves. When nap-time came, thongs were tied around their ankles to hobble them.
Anana had also been given a kilt to wear.
She lay down near her uncle and McKay. The latter said, “These savages must’ve never seen a black man before. They stare at me, and they rub my hair. Maybe they think it’ll bring them luck. If I get a chance, I’ll show them what kind of luck they’re going to get!”
Urthona spoke out of lips puffed up by a blow from a spearshaft. “They might never have seen blacks before, but there are black tribes here. I brought in specimens of all the Earth races.”