(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.
