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Nature had designed the sleen. I did not think that even the Priest- Kings of Gor would have dared to do so. I continued on, moving inland. Interestingly, as I hurried away, I did not much fear being hunted again by the sleen. This had little or nothing to do with its recent kill, the interval which might be required for it to return to normality, its satiation and possible somnolence after feeding, or such, not even with the paucity of scent which might linger in the camp. Indeed, how could it be given my scent, rather than that of Tula, Mila, or others? Perhaps from a section of rope which had encircled my neck in the night, from footprints mingled with others, perhaps from trying various scents and rejecting all but one? Might it not even follow one of the slaves disappeared earlier with the intruders, on the trek to the coast? No, my confidence in this matter, though it was not an unqualified confidence, had more to do with Shipcamp. At the time I had fled Shipcamp, I knew the great ship was being readied for its journey downriver. - (Smugglers of Gor)