Assassin of Gor

17 — KAJURALIA

"Kajuralia!" cried the slave girl hurling a basket of Sa-Tarna flour on me, and turning and running. I had caught up with her in five steps and kissed her roundly, swatted her and sent her packing.

"Kajuralia yourself!" I said laughing, and she, laughing, sped away.

About that time a large pan of warm water splashed down on me from a window some sixteen feet above the street level. Wringing wet I glared upward.

I saw a girl in the window, who blew me a kiss, a slave girl. "Kajuralia!" she cried and laughed.

I raised my fist and shook it and her head disappeared from the window.

A Builder, whose robes were stained with thrown fruit, hastily strode by. "You had better be indoors," said he, "on Kajuralia."

Three male house slaves stumbled by, crowned with odorous garlands woven of the Brak Bush. They were passing about a bota of paga and, between dancing and trying to hold one another up, managed to weave unsteadily by. One of them looked at me and from his eyes I judged he may have seen at least three of me and offered me a swig of the bota, which I took. "Kajuralia," said he, nearly falling over backwards, being rescued by one of his fellows, who seemed fortunately to be falling in the opposite direction at the same time. I gave him a silver coin for more paga. "Kajuralia," I said, and turned about, leaving, while they collapsed on one another.

At that time a slave girl, a blond girl, sped by and the three slaves, stumbling, bleary-eyed, bumping into one another, dutifully took up her pursuit. She turned, laughing in front of them, would run a bit, then stop, and then when they had nearly caught up with her, she would run on again. But, to her astonishment, coming up from behind, catching her by surprise, another male seized her about the waist and held her, while she screamed in mock fear. But in a moment it was determined, to the rage of all save the girl, that she wore an iron belt. "Kajuralia!" she laughed, wiggled free and sped away.

I dodged a hurled larma fruit which splattered on the wall of a cylinder near me.

The wall itself was covered with writing and pictures, none of it much complimentary to the masters of the area.

I heard some breaking of pottery around the corner, some angry cries, the laughing of girls.

I decided I had better return to the House of Cernus.

I turned down another street. Here, unexpectedly, I ran into a pack of some fifteen or twenty girls who, shrieking and laughing, surrounded me in a moment. I found myself wishing that masters belled their girls of Kajuralia, so that they might be heard approaching. Their silence in the street a moment before I had turned into it told me they had been hunting. They had probably even had spies, advance scouts. Now they crowded about me, laughing, seizing my arms.

"Prisoner! Prisoner!" they shrieked.

I felt a rope thrown about my throat; it was drawn unpleasantly tight.

It was held in the hand of a black-haired girl, collared of course, long-legged, in brief slave livery.

"Greetings," said she, "Warrior." She jerked menacingly on the rope. "You are now the slave of the girls of the Street of Pots," she informed me.

I felt five or six more ropes suddenly looped about me, drawn tight. Two girls had even, behind me, darted unseen to my ankles, and in an instant had looped and drawn tight ropes on them. My feet could be thus jerked from beneath me should I attempt to run or struggle.

"What shall we do with this prisoner?" asked the black-haired girl of her fellows.

Numerous suggestions were forthcoming. "Take off his clothes!" "Brand him!" "The whip!" "Put him in a collar!"

"Now look here," I said.

But they had now set off down the street, dragging me along amongst them.

We stopped when I was pushed stumbling into a large room, in which there were numerous baskets and harnesses hanging about, apparently a storeroom of sorts in an unimportant cylinder. A wide area had been cleared in the center of the room, on which, over straw, had been spread some rep-cloth blankets. Against one wall there were two men, bound hand and foot. One was a Warrior, the other a handsome young Tarn Keeper. "Kajuralia," said the Warrior to me, wryly.

"Kajuralia," I said to him.

The black-haired girl, the tall girl, walked back and forth before me, her hands on her hips. She also strode over to the other two men, and then she returned to me.

"Not a bad catch," said she.

The other girls laughed and shrieked. Some leaped up and down and clapped their hands.

"Now you will serve us, Slaves," announced the black-haired girl.

We were freed, save that two ropes apiece were kept on our throats, and a rope on each ankle, each rope in the care of one of the girls.

We were given some small cups of tin, containing some diluted Ka-la-na that the girls had probably stolen.

"After we have been served wine," announced the girl, "we will use these slaves for our pleasure."

Before we were permitted to serve the wine, garlands of talenders were swiftly woven about our necks.

Then each of us gave some of the girls wine, asking each "Wine, Mistress?" to which each of the girls, with a laugh, would cry out, "Yes, I will have wine!"

"You will serve me the wine, Slave!" said the long-legged, black-haired girl. She was marvelous in the brief slave livery.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, as humbly as I could manage.

I reached out to hand her the small, tin cup.

"On your knees," she said, "and serve me as a Pleasure Slave!"

The girls gasped in the room. The two men cried out in anger.

"I think not," I said.

I felt the two ropes on my throat tighten. Suddenly the two girls on the ankle ropes jerked on their ropes and I fell heavily forward, spilling the wine to the stones.

"Clumsy slave," jeered the long-legged girl.

The other girls laughed.

"Give him more wine," ordered the long-legged girl.

Another small tin cup was placed in my hands. I no longer much cared for their foolery. The long-legged girl, doubtless a miserable slave most of the year, seemed intent on humiliating me, taking revenge probably on her master, for whom I now stood as proxy.

"Serve me wine," she ordered harshly.

"Kajuralia," I said, humbly.

She laughed, and so did the other girls as well. My eye strayed to a room off the storeroom, in which I could see some boxes, much dust.

Then the room was very still.

I put down my head, kneeling, and extended the small tin cup to the girl.

The other girls in the room seemed to be holding their breath.

With a laugh the long-legged girl reached for the tin cup, at which point I seized her wrists and sprang to my feet, swinging her off balance and, not releasing her, whirled her about, tangling her in the ropes, preventing them from being drawn tight. Then while the girls shrieked and the long-legged girl cried out in rage I swept her into my arms and leaped into the small room, where I dropped her to the stones and spun about, throwing the door shut and bolting it. I heard the angry cries of the girls and their fists on the door for a moment, but then I heard them suddenly begin shrieking, and crying our, as though slavers might have fallen upon them. I glanced about the room. There was one window high in one wall, narrow, barred. There was no escape for the girl locked within with me. I removed the ropes from my body, coiled them neatly, and dropped them inside the door. I put my ear to the door, listening. After about five Ehn I heard only a number of sobs, frustrated noises of girls in bonds.

I opened the door and, not to my surprise, discovered that the Warrior and Tarn Keeper, preventing the girls from escaping, and having freed themselves in the moment of surprise and tumult in which I had seized the long-legged girl, had, probably one by one, while the other girls had looked on miserably, cuffed away if they tried to interfere, bound the girls of the Street of Pots. A long rope, or set of ropes knotted together, fastened them by the throat, as in a slaver's chain. The long-legged girl was pushed into the larger room to observe her helpless cohorts.

The black-haired girl sobbed.

There were tears in the eyes of several of the girls.

"Kajuralia!" said the Warrior, cheerfully, getting to his feet, after checking the knots that bound the wrists of the last girl on the ropes.

"Kajuralia!" I responded to him, waving my hand. I took the black-haired, long-legged girl by the arm and dragged her to the line of bound girls. "Behold the girls of the Street of Pots," I said.

She said nothing, but tried to turn away. I permitted her to go to the center of the room, where she stood, facing me, tears in her eyes, near the rep-cloth blankets spread over straw.

Then she looked down, defeated. "I will serve you wine," said she, "Master."

"No," I said.

She looked at me, puzzled. Then she nodded her head, and, reached to the disrobing loop on her left shoulder.

"No," I said gently.

She looked at me, startled.

"I," I said, "will serve you wine."

She looked at me in disbelief while I filled one of the small tin cups with diluted Ka-la-na and handed it to her.

Her hand shook as she took the cup. She lifted it to her lips, but looked at me.

"Drink," I said.

She drank.

I then took the cup from her and threw it to the side of the room, and took her into my arms, that lovely, long-legged, black-haired beast, provocative in the brevity of her slave livery, and kissed her, and well, and at length.

Then she was lying on the rep-cloth blankets, spread over the straw, beneath me, kissing me helplessly.

"Do not let me escape," she begged.

"You will not escape," I told her, reaching to the loop on her left shoulder.

I heard one of the girls bound in the line whisper to the Warrior, and another to the Tarn Keeper, "Do not let me escape, Master."

They removed these girls from the line, later returning them to it.

The Warrior, the Tarn Keeper and I remained the greater part of the day with the girls of the Street of Pots. When I had finished with the long-legged girl I had bound her hand and foot and put her to one side. When we were preparing to leave, she begged again to be used, and was.

This time when I finished with her I did not bind her but stood her before me, my hands on her arms above the elbows. I would not truss her, that she might free her fellows.

The Warrior, followed by the Tarn Keeper, was moving down the line of bound girls, lifting their heads, taking their final wages for the sport, saying "Kajuralia," to each and moving to the next.

Once more I kissed the black-haired, long-legged girl, and she me.

"Kajuralia," I said to her gently, and turned, and with the Warrior and the Tarn Keeper, arm in arm, with garlands of talenders, which had been several times replaced, woven about our necks, left the Street of Pots.

"Kajuralia!" called the girls to us.

"Kajuralia!" we responded.

"Kajuralia!" I heard the long-legged girl call after me. "Kajuralia, Warrior!"

"Kajuralia!" I responded, well satisfied with the day's sport.

The Kajuralia, or the Holiday of Slaves, or Festival of Slaves, occurs in the most of the northern, civilized cities of known Gor once a year. The only exception to this that I know of is Port Kar, in the delta of the Vosk. The date of the Kajuralia, however differs. Many cities celebrate it on the Twelfth Passage Hand; the day before the beginning of the Waiting Hand; in Ar, however, and certain cities, it is celebrated on the last day of the fifth month, which is the day preceding the Love Feast.

It had been a strange and eventful summer, fantastic in many ways. Week by week Ar became ever more wild, ever more lawless. Gangs of men, often armed, roamed the streets and bridges, apparently undisturbed by Warriors, their depredations not curbed; and, startlingly, when captured and sent to central Cylinder, or to the Cylinder of Justice pretexts would be found for the release, customarily on legal technicalities or alleged lack of evidence against them. But, as this lawlessness grew, and it become such that men would not walk the bridges without arms, the frenzy over the races and the games grew more rabid; it became more rare on the streets and bridges to pass a person who would not, either for himself or for someone he knew, wear a fraction patch, even on those rare days in which the Stadium of Tarns stood empty. People seemed to care little for anything save the races and the games. Their neighbor's compartment might be despoiled by ruffians but, if they themselves were unharmed, they would think little of it and hasten to their chosen entertainment, fearing only that they might be late.

The duel for the lead in racing hung suspended among three factions, the greens, the Yellows, and the Steels, the new faction. The progress and startling rise of the Steels as a faction dated from the first day of the races, when in the eleventh race, Gladius of Cos, astride a great tarn, initiated the Steels as a faction with a surprising, but resounding, win over a strong field of competitors. The great bird he rode was no racing tarn but its size, its swiftness, its sureness, its incredible power of ferocity made it a terrible foe in the wars of the suspended rings: indeed, never had it lost; many of the other tarns of Steels, as well, were not bred racing tarns, but war tarns, ridden by unknown riders, mysterious men hailing supposedly from far cities; the excitement of a new faction not only competing but dangerously challenging the established factions of Ar provided a spectacle that thousands of fans, for one reason or another, discouraged with their factions, or seeking novelty, or wishing to feel a part of the great battle of the races, sewed or pinned on their garments the small rectangle of a bluish-gray cloth, faction patch of the Steels.

I, masked in a leather hood, wearing bluish-grey silk, had again and again ridden the great black tarn for the Steels. The name of Gladius of Cos was a watchword in the city, though surely few knew his identity.

I rode with the Steels because my tarn was there, and Mip, whom I came to know and like, wished it to be so. I knew myself involved in games of a dangerous sort, but I had agreed to play, not clearly understanding the object or the goal of what I did.

Relius and Ho-Sorl often assisted me. I gathered that it had not been coincidence that had brought them to the house of Cernus. After each race Mip, in detail, would discuss my riding, making suggestions; before each race, he would explain to me what he knew of my habits of the riders and tarns I faced, which was almost invariably a great deal; he taught me to recognize for myself certain faults in other riders, certain exploitable characteristics in the fight patterns of the birds they rode; one rider, for example had a tendency to take the third corner ring at the three-strap point, thus permitting a probable block at that point without slackening speed near the ring to effect it; one bird, a swift, reddish tarn, which raced for the blues, flown at least twice every ten days, would, in approaching its perch, brake with its wings an instant before necessary, thus making it possible, if following it closely, to strike the very perch it intended to take, rather than the next perch below it, as one would normally do.

Equaling and perhaps exceeding the fame of Gladius of Cos was that of the swordsman Murmillius, of the cruel games observed in the Stadium of Blades. Since the beginning of En'Kara he had fought more than one hundred and twenty times, and one hundred and twenty foes had fallen before him, which, following his unusual custom, he had never slain, regardless of the will of the crowd. Some of the best swordsman of Ar, even Warriors of High Caste, eager to be the one to best the mysterious Murmillius, had dared to enter the arena against him, but each of these bold gentlemen he seemed to treat with more scorn than his common foes, playing with them and then, it seemed when he wished, disabling their sword arm, so cruelly that perhaps they might never be able to lift the steel. Condemned criminals and men of low caste, fighting for gold or freedom in the arena, he treated with the harsh courtesies obtaining among sword brothers. The crowd, each time he fought, went mad with pleasure, thrilling to each ringing stroke of steel, and I suspected that that man most adored in Ar was the huge, mysterious Mermillius, superb and gallant, a man whose very city was unknown.

Meanwhile the intrigues of Cernus, of the House of Cernus, threaded their way through the days and events of the spring and summer in Ar. Once in a Paga tavern I heard a man, whom I recognized to be one of the guards from the iron pens, though now in the tunic of a Leather Worker, declaring that the city needed for its Administrator not a Builder but a Warrior, that law would again prevail.

"But what Warrior?" inquired a fellow at the table, a silversmith.

"Cernus, of the House of Cernus," said the disguised guard, "is a Warrior."

"He is a Slaver," said one.

"He knows the business and needs of Ar," said the guard, "as would a Merchant, but he is yet of the Caste of Warriors."

"He has sponsored many games," said a Tharlarion Keeper.

"He would be better than a Hinbrabian," said another fellow.

"My admission to the races," said another man, a Miller, "has been paid a dozen times by the House of Cernus." He referred to a practice of handing out passes, dated ostraka bearing the print of the House of Cernus, outside the gate of the Slaver's house, which were dispensed on a first-come-first-served basis, a thousand a day, each day of the races. Some men spent the night at the walls of the house of Cernus, that they might obtain their ostrakon at dawn.

"I say," said the disguised guard, "Ar could do worse than have such a man as Cernus on the throne!"

To my amazement, several about the table, who were undoubtedly common citizens of Ar, began to nod their heads.

"Yes," said the Silversmith, "it would be good if a man such as Cernus were Administrator of the city."

"Or Ubar?" said the guard.

The smith shrugged. "Yes," he said, "or Ubar."

"Ar is at war with itself," said one man, who had not spoken before, a Scribe. "In these times perhaps what one needs is truly a Ubar."

"I say," said the guard, "Cernus should be Ubar of Ar."

The men about the table began to grunt affirmatively. "Bring paga!" called the disguised guard, summoning a belled slave girl to him, one carrying a large vessel of Paga, that drinks might be dispensed yet once again. I knew the moneys spent so lavishly by the guard had been counted out carefully from the office of Caprus, for such information I had from Elizabeth. I turned and left when I heard the men at the table, led by the guard, lifting their cups to Cernus, of the House of Cernus. "May Cernus, of the House of Cernus," said they, "become Ubar of Ar!"

I saw one other man rise up when I did, and also leave the tavern.

Outside I stopped and turned, regarding Ho-Tu.

"I thought you did not drink paga," I said.

"I do not," said Ho-Tu.

"How is it that you are in a Paga tavern?" I asked.

"I saw Falarius leave the house," said he, "in the garb of a Leather Worker. I was curious."

"It seems he was on the business of Cernus." I said.

"Yes," said Ho-Tu.

"Did you hear them speak of Master Cernus," I asked, "as a possible Ubar?"

Ho-Tu looked at me sharply. "Cernus," he said, "should not be Ubar."

I shrugged.

Ho-Tu turned and strode away between the buildings.

While the men of Cernus did their work in the Paga taverns, and on the streets and in the market squares, and on the ramps and in the tiers of the games and races, the gold of Cernus, and the steel of Cernus, was apparently plied elsewhere. His loans to the Hinrabians, a wealthy family in itself but surely unable to carry the incessant burdens of supporting games and races, became fewer and then stopped. Then, with great reluctance, claiming need, Cernus petitioned for the repayment of certain minor, but significant, portions of his loans. As these might be repaid from the private treasuries of the Hinrabians, he required ever larger payments, greater and greater portions of the moneys owed to his house by the Hinrabians. Further, games and races which they had jointly sponsored ceased to bear the name of the Administrator. The name of Cernus, as patron and benefactor, was now what appeared on the placards and the boards of announcements.

Then, interestingly, minor omens, recorded by the High Initiate, and others, began to turn against the Hinrabian dynasty. Two members of the High Council, who had spoken out against the influence of Merchants in the politics of Ar, presumably a veiled reference to Cernus, were found slain, one cut down by killing knife and another throttled and found dangling from a bridge near his home. The first sword of the military forces of Ar, Maximus Hegesius Quintilius, second in authority only to Minus Tentius Hinrabius himself, was relieved of his post. He had shortly before expressed reservation concerning the investiture of Cernus in the Caste of Warriors. He was replaced by a member of the Taurentians, Seremides of Tyros, nominated by Saphronicus of Tyros, Captain of the Taurentians. Shortly thereafter Maximus Hegesius Quintilius was found dead, poisoned by the bite of a girl in his Pleasure Gardens, who, before she could be brought before the Scribes of the Law, was strangled by enraged Taurentians, to whom she had been turned over; it was well known that the Taurentians had greatly revered Maximus Hegesius Quintilius, and that they had felt his loss perhaps as deeply as the common Warriors of Ar.

I had known Maximus Hegesius Quintilius only briefly several years ago, when he had been a captain, in 10,110 from the founding of Ar, in the time of Pa-Kur and his horde. He had seemed to me a good soldier. I regretted his passing. He was given a full military funeral; his ashes had been scattered from tarnback over a field where, as a general some years before, he had led the forces of Ar to victory.

The demands of Cernus for repayment of moneys owed to him by the Hinrabians became increasingly persistent and unavoidable. Claiming need, he was implacable. The citizens of Ar, generally, found it distasteful that the private fortunes of the Hinrabians should be in such poor state. Then, as I would have expected, within the month, there were rumors of peculation, and an accounting and investigation, theoretically to clear the name of the Hinrabian, was demanded by one of the High Council, a Physician whom I had seen upon occasion in the house.

The Scribes of the Central Cylinder examined the records and, to their horror, discrepancies were revealed, in particular payments to members of the Hinrabian family for services it was not clear had ever been performed; most outstandingly there had been a considerable disbursement for the construction of four bastions and tarncots for the flying cavalry of Ar, her tarnsmen; the military men of Ar had waited patiently for these cylinders and were now outraged to discover that the moneys had actually been disbursed, and had apparently disappeared; the parties, presumably of the Builders, to which the disbursements had been made were found to be fictitious. Further, at this time, the Odds Merchants of the Stadium of Tarns made it known that the Administrator was heavily in debt, and they, not to be left out, demanded their dues.

It seemed almost to be a foregone conclusion that Minus Tentius Hinrabius would surrender the brown robes of office. He did so late in spring, on the sixteenth day of the third month, that month which in Ar is called Camerius, in Ko-ro-ba Selnar. The day before he surrendered his robes the High Initiate, reading the liver of a sacrificial bosk, had confirmed what all by then were anticipating, that the omens stood strongly against the Hinrabian dynasty.

The High Council receiving the promise of Minus Tentius Hinrabius to depart from the city, did not inflict officially the penalty of exile. He, with his family and retainers, left the city on the seventeenth day of Camerius. By the end of that month the other Hinrabians of Ar, in the face of widespread public anger, hastily liquidated their assets at considerable loss and fled from the walls of Ar, joining Minus Tentius Hinrabius some pasangs beyond the city. Then, together, the Hinrabians, with an armed retinue, set forth in caravan for Tor, envoys of which city had granted their petition for refuge. Unfortunately the caravan, not more than two hundred pasangs from the Great Gate of Ar, was attacked and plundered by a large armed force, but of unknown origin. Strangely, with perhaps one exception each of the Hinrabians had had his throat cut, even the women; this was unusual, for the women of a captive caravan, regarded as portions of its booty, are almost always enslaved; the one Hinrabian whose body was not found among the dead, scattered on the plains and among the burning remains of the wagons, was, interestingly, Claudia Tentia Hinrabia.

On the twentieth day of Camerius the great signal bars suspended about the walls of the city rang out the enthronement of a Ubar of Ar. Cernus had been proclaimed, as the Taurentians lifted their swords in salute and the members of the High Council had stood on the tiers of the Council Chamber and cried out and applauded, Ubar of Ar. Processions took place on the bridges; there were tournaments of the game organized; poets and historians vied in praising the day, each more ecstatically than the last; but, perhaps most importantly, holiday was declared, and great games and races were sponsored without cessation for the next ten days, extending even through the Third Passage Hand.

I saw more in this, of course, than the work of Cernus. I saw in his elevation a portion of the plan of Others being unfolded; with one of their own on the throne of Ar, they would have a remarkable base in Ar for the advancement of their schemes, in particular the influencing of men, the recruitment of partisans in their cause; as Misk had pointed out, a human being, armed with a significant weapon, can be extremely dangerous, even to a Priest-King.

There was one point, however, in this strange summer which seemed to give me clear and adequate reason to rejoice. Elizabeth, with Virginia and Phyllis, would be extricated from the house and carried to safety. Caprus, who had become more affable, and apparently somewhat bolder, following the enthronement of Cernus, perhaps because Cernus was less often then in the House, informed me that he had made contact with an agent of Priest-Kings. The girls, even though I had not yet received the documents and maps, would be rescued.

His plan was a simple one, but ingenious. The plan was to arrange to have the girls purchased by an agent of Priest-Kings on the Love Feast, which began tomorrow, an agent who would have the resources to outbid any conceivable competition. They would then be as naturally and neatly removed from the House as Elizabeth had originally been introduced into it. It was true that Elizabeth was no longer needed in the House, nor had she been for a long time; Caprus had located the important materials and was copying them; I was needed, of course, to take the documents and Caprus from the house. Elizabeth, predictably, did not care to leave without me, but she recognized the plan as a good one; if she could be independently removed from the House there would be less for Caprus and me to worry about; further, she naturally wished Virginia and Phyllis to have the opportunity they might not be likely to obtain elsewhere; further, of course, she recognized that it might well be complex and difficult for me to attempt to convey the documents, Caprus, herself and myself, and two others as well, from the house.

All things considered, Caprus' plan seemed not only suitable, but ideal. Neither Elizabeth nor I, of course, said anything to Virginia or Phyllis. The fewer people who knew of the plan the better. Surely, if kept in ignorance, their behavior would be more natural. Let them think that they were to be sold from the block. It would be a fine surprise for them later to discover that they were actually being whisked to safety and freedom. I chuckled.

I was further cheered by the thought that Caprus had informed me his work was coming along very well and he hoped to have the documents and maps copied by the beginning of Se'Kara; I gathered that now with Cernus spending much of his time in the Central Cylinder as Ubar, Caprus' opportunities for work had been substantially increased. Se'Kara was, of course, a long wait. Still it was better than nothing. Other dates he had set similarly, I reminded myself, had not turned out. But still I was pleased. Elizabeth, with Virginia and Phyllis, would be rescued. And Caprus seemed in good humor; that perhaps was significant, betokening an end in sight for my mission. In thinking about this I realized what a brave man Caprus was, and how little I had respected his courage and his work. He had risked much, probably much more than I. I felt ashamed. He was only a Scribe, and yet what he had done had taken great courage, probably more courage than that possessed by many Warriors.

I found myself whistling. Things were working out. I regretted only that I had not yet learned who it was that had slain the Warrior from Thentis.

Cernus, upon occasion, though Ubar of Ar, would return to sit table in his own house, where, as he had invariably done before, he would play with Caprus, losing himself in the movements of the red and yellow pieces on the large board of red and yellow squares.

This was the evening of Kajuralia.

There was much hilarity in the hall of the House of Cernus, and, though it was early in the evening, Paga and full-strength Ka-la-na were flowing.

Ho-Tu threw down his spoon in disgust, grinning at me wryly.

His gruel had been salted to the point of being inedible; he stared disgustedly down at the wet mash of porridge and salt.

"Kajuralia, Master," said Elizabeth Cardwell to Ho-Tu, smiling sweetly, as she passed by with a pitcher of Ka-la-na. Ho-Tu seized her by the wrist.

"What is wrong, Master?" inquired Elizabeth innocently.

"If I thought it was you," growled Ho-Tu, "who dared to salt my porridge, you would spend the night sitting on a slave goad."

"I would never think of such a thing," protested Elizabeth, wide-eyed.

Ho-Tu grunted. Then he grinned. "Kajuralia, Little Wench," said he.

Elizabeth smiled. "Kajuralia, Master," said she, and turning quickly about, still smiling, went on with her work.

"Little pock-face," called Relius. "I would be served!"

Virginia Kent, with her pitcher of Ka-la-na, ran light-footedly to Relius, guard in the House of Cernus.

"Let Lana serve Relius wine," said another girl, a Red Silk Girl, first to the guard, leaning toward him, lips parted.

Relius put out his cup but before the girl could pour the wine she seemed suddenly to fly off the back of the dais, the seat of her tunic firmly grasped in the small hand of Virginia Kent. Lana landed with a considerable bump on the stones of the hall, the wine flying backward.

"Relius guards Virginia," the young slave girl from Earth informed collared, Red Silk Lana.

Lana scrambled to her feet, angry, her pitcher of wine set aside on the wet, red stones. The two girls stood facing one another.

"I wear the leash of Relius," said Virginia. "I wear his bracelets!"

Lana looked at Relius. "Leash Lana," she said. "Lana is Red Silk." She extended her wrists provocatively to Relius. "Put your bracelets on Lana. She is Red Silk. She will serve you better than a silly little White Silker."

"No!" cried Virginia.

Lana turned and faced her contemptuously. "Why should you," she asked, "wear the leash of a man such as Relius?"

"He has chosen to guard me," said Virginia.

Lana turned and looked at Relius. "Guard Lana," she said.

At this point Virginia Kent put down her pitcher of wine, seized Lana by the shoulder, spun her about and struck her a rather severe blow near the left eye. Several of the men and girls at and about the tables approvingly observed the two girls rolling and scratching, biting and tearing on the floor, first White Silk on top, and then Red Silk, and then White Silk again. At last Virginia Kent, to the cheers of several of those present, sat atop Lana and was pummeling her mercilessly, until Lana, throwing up her arms and shrieking, crying out, begged for mercy.

"Who wears the leash of Relius?" demanded Virginia.

"Ginia!" screamed Lana.

"And who his bracelets?"

"Ginia!"

"And who does Relius guard?"

"Ginia! Ginia!" wept Lana, trying to cover her face. "Ginia!"

Then Virginia Kent, breathing hard, climbed to her feet.

Lana scrambled up and stood some feet from her, tears in her eyes. "You will be sold tomorrow!" cried Lana. "Then Relius will guard another!" Then the girl looked at Relius. "I hope it will be Lana who will wear the leash of Relius," she said, and then, as Virginia Kent cried out and leaped toward her, Lana turned about and sped as though for her life from the room.

"It seems I am not going to be served," said Relius, as though rather bored with the whole matter.

Virginia Kent straightened herself, bent down and picked up her pitcher of Ka-la-na, smiled shyly, and approached her guard.

He put forth his goblet but, suddenly, unexpectedly, she drew back the pitcher.

"What is the meaning of this?" he cried.

"Kajuralia!" she laughed.

"Will you not serve me?" asked Relius in anger.

Virginia Kent, to my amazement, put aside the pitcher of wine.

"I would serve you," she said, and put her hands behind his neck and suddenly pressed her lips, to the delight of those present, boldly to his.

"Kajuralia," she whispered.

"Kajuralia," mumbled he, closing his arms upon her, devouring her.

But when he permitted her to draw back her lips there were tears in her eyes.

"What is wrong, little pock-face?" asked Relius.

"Tomorrow," she said, "I will be sold."

"Perhaps you will find a kind master, Little Slave," said Relius.

The girl put her head to his shoulder and wept. "I do not want Virginia to be sold," she wept, "unless it be Relius who will buy her."

"Do you wish truly to be my slave, little pock-face?" asked Relius.

"Yes," wept Virginia, "yes!"

"I cannot afford you," said Relius, holding her head against him.

I turned away.

Near the pit of sand several slave girls, dancers, in Pleasure Silk were kneeling back on their heels and clapping their hands with glee. In the pit of sand one of the guards, utterly drunk, was performing a ship dance, the movement of his legs marvelously suggesting the pitch and roll of a deck, his hands moving as though climbing rope, then hauling rope, then splicing and knotting it. I knew he had been of Port Kar. He was a cutthroat but there were drunken tears in his eyes as he hopped about, pantomiming the work of one of the swift galleys. It is said that men once having seen Thassa are never willing to leave it again, that those who have left the sea are never again truly happy. A moment later another guard leaped into the pit of sand and, to the amusement of the girls, began a dance of larl hunters, joined by two or three others, in a file, dancing the stalking of the beast, the confrontation, the kill.

The man who had been dancing the ship dance had now left the pit of sand and, over against one wall, in the shadows of the torchlight, largely unnoted, danced alone, danced for himself the memories of gleaming Thassa and the swift black ships, the Tarns of the Sea, as the galleys of Port Kar are known.

"Serve me wine," Ho-Sorl ordered Phyllis Robertson, though she was far across the room, and there were several girls nearer. This was not unusual, however, for Ho-Sorl invariably demanded that the proud Phyllis, who professed to despise him, serve him as table slave, which service she would ultimately, irritably, head in the air, have to render him, whether it be merely the pouring of his wine or the offering of a grape held delicately between her teeth.

I heard Caprus say, as though marveling, "I shall capture your Home Stone in three moves!"

Cernus grinned and clapped his hands on the Scribe's shoulders. "Kajuralia!" he laughed. "Kajuralia!"

"Kajuralia," mumbled Caprus, rather depressed, making the first essential move, but now without zest.

"What is this?" cried Ho-Sorl.

"It is bosk milk," Phyllis informed him. "It is good for you."

Ho-Sorl cried out in rage.

"Kajuralia," said Phyllis, and turned and moved away, with a triumphant twitch that might have shocked even Sura.

Ho-Sorl bounded over the table and caught her four paces from the dais, spilling the milk about. He threw her bodily over his shoulder, her small fists pounding on his back, and carried her to Ho-Tu's place.

"I will pay," said Ho-Sorl, "the difference between what she will bring as Red Silk and White Silk."

Phyllis shrieked in fear, wiggling on his shoulder, pounding.

Ho-Tu apparently gave the matter very serious thought.

"Don't you want to be Red Silk?" he asked Phyllis, who, from her position, could not see him.

"No, no, no!" she cried.

"By tomorrow night," pointed out Ho-Sorl, neatly, "she may be Red Silk anyway."

"No, no!" wept Phyllis.

"Where would you make her Red Silk?" asked Ho-Tu.

"The pit of sand will do," said Ho-Sorl.

Phyllis shrieked with misery.

"Would you not like Ho-Sorl to make you Red Silk?" asked Ho-Tu of Phyllis.

"I detest him!" she screamed. "I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!"

"I wager," said Ho-Sorl, "I can have her leaping to my touch in a quarter of an Ahn."

That seemed to me like not much time.

"An interesting wager," mused Ho-Tu.

Phyllis shrieked for mercy.

"Put her in the sand," said Ho-Tu.

Ho-Sorl carried the struggling Phyllis Robertson to the square of sand, and flung her to his feet. He then stood over her, hands on hips. She could roll neither to the left nor right. She lay on her back between his sandals, one knee slightly raised, as though she would flee, and lifted herself on her elbows, terrified, looking up at him. He laughed and she screamed and tried to escape but he took her by the hair and, crouching over her, pressed her back weeping to the sand.

His hand moved to the disrobing loop and she shuddered, turning her head away.

But instead of tugging on the loop, he simply, holding her under the arms, lifted her up, and then dropped her on her seat in the sand, where she sat foolishly, bewildered, looking up at him.

"Kajuralia!" laughed Ho-Sorl and turned, and to the laughter of all, returned to his place at the table.

Ho-Tu was laughing perhaps the loudest of all, pounding the table with his fists. Even Cernus looked up from his game and smiled.

Phyllis had now struggled to her feet, blushing a red visible even under the torches, and, unsteady, trembling slightly, was trying to brush the sand from her hair, her legs and her slave livery.

"Don't look so disappointed," said a Red Silk Girl passing near her, carrying Ka-la-na.

Phyllis made an angry noise.

"Poor little White Silk slave," said another Red Silk Girl passing between the tables.

Phyllis clenched her fists, crying out in rage.

Ho-Sorl regarded her. "You are rather fat," he said.

That was an appraisal I surely did not agree with.

"I'm glad I'm going to be sold," cried Phyllis. "It will take me from the sight of you! You black-haired, scarred-tarsk!" There were tears in her eyes. "I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you!"

"You are all cruel!" cried Virginia Kent, who was standing now a bit behind Ho-Tu.

The room was extremely silent for a moment.

The, angrily, Virginia Kent picked up Ho-Tu's bowl of gruel and, turning it completely upside down, dumped it suddenly on his head.

"Kajuralia," she said.

Relius nearly leaped up, horror on his face.

Ho-Tu sat there with the porridge bowl on his head, the gruel streaming down his face.

Once again there was an extremely still moment in the room.

Suddenly I felt a large quantity of fluid, wine, surely at least half a pitcher, being poured slowly over my head. I began to sputter and blink. "Kajuralia, Master," said Elizabeth Cardwell, walking regally away.

Now Ho-Tu was laughing so hard that his eyes were watering. He took the bowl from his bald head and wiped his face with his forearm. Then he began to pound the table with his fists. Then everyone in the room, amazed at the audacity of the slave girl, to so affront one of the black caste, after a moment, began to roar with amusement, even the slave girls. I think so rich a treat they had never expected on Kajuralia. I maintained a straight face, and tried to frown convincingly, finding myself the butt of their laughter. I saw that even Cernus had now looked up from his board and was roaring with laughter, the first time I had ever seen such amusement in the person of the Master of the House of Cernus. Then, to my horror, I saw Elizabeth, her back straight, her step determined, walk straight to Cernus and then, slowly, as his mouth flew open and he seemed scarcely to understand what was occurring, pour the rest of the contents of the vessel of Ka-la-na directly on his head.

"Kajuralia," said Elizabeth to him, turning away.

Ho-Tu then, to my great relief, rose to his feet, lifting both hands. "Kajuralia, Ubar!" he cried.

Then all at the table, and even the slaves who served, stood and lifted their hands, laughing, saluting Cenrus. "Kajuralia, Ubar!" they cried. And I, too, though the words nearly stuck in my throat, so acclaimed Cernus. "Kajuralia, Ubar!" I cried.

The face of Cernus relaxed, and he leaned back. And then, to my relief, he, Ubar of Ar, smiled, and then he, too, began to laugh.

Then the slave girls about the table began to go wild, throwing things and where possible pouring liquids on the heads of the guards and members of the staff, who, leaping up, seized them when they could catch them, kissing them, holding them, making them cry out with delight. And more than one was thrown to the love furs under the slave rings at the wall. Revel filled the hall of the House of Cernus. I made sure I got my hands on Elizabeth Cardwell, though she dodged well and was a swift wench, and taking her in my arms carried her to one side. She looked up at me.

"You did well," I said.

"It was a close one," she said.

"Closer than I like," I admitted.

"You have captured me," she said.

I kissed her. "You will be free tomorrow night," I said.

"I'm happy," she said.

"Was it you," I asked, "who salted the gruel of Ho-Tu?"

"It is possible," she admitted.

"Tonight," I said, "will be the last night together in our compartment."

She laughed. "Last night was," she informed me. "Tonight I am to be sent to the Waiting Cells, where girls are kept who will be sent to the market tomorrow."

I groaned.

"It is easier than rounding them up all over the House," she pointed out.

"I suppose so," I said.

"Between the tenth and the fourteenth Ahn," she pointed out, "we can be examined nude in the cages."

"Oh?" I asked.

"It is sometimes difficult to make an appraisal from the high tiers," she said.

Beyond us, as though in a world apart, we could hear the laughter and shrieks of the men and girls sporting in the hall, celebrating Kajuralia.

"Are you frightened?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"It should be quite thrilling," she said, "the lights, the sawdust, being so utterly naked, the men bidding for you."

"You are a little mad fool," I told her.

"Every girl," she said, "should be sold at least once in her life."

"You are utterly, utterly mad," I told her, kissing her again.

"I wonder what I'll bring," she mused.

"Probably two copper tarn disks," I said.

"I hope I will be purchased by a handsome master," she said.

I kissed her irritably to silence.

We heard the voice of Ho-Tu booming in the hall. "It is past the eighteenth bar," he called. "Slaves to cells!"

There were cries of disappointment from both men and women in the hall.

I kept kissing Elizabeth. "Slaves to cells," she mumbled. When I released her she lifted her head to me, standing on her toes, and kissed me on the nose. "Perhaps," she said, "I will see you even tomorrow night."

I doubted it, but it was possible. I assumed the agent of Priest-Kings, who would purchase the girls, might be eager to take them to the Sardar, or perhaps to Ko-ro-ba. Yet again he might wait, and perhaps I could learn of her whereabouts in the city before she took flight, and see her once more. After the work of Caprus and myself was finished I would be able to join her, probably in Ko-ro-ba, for a time, before we arranged to return her to Earth; I assumed, naturally, she would wish to return to her native planet. Gor is harsh and cruel. And surely no woman bred to the civilities and courtesies of Earth would care to remain on a world so barbaric, a world perhaps beautiful but yet threatening and perilous, a world in which a woman is seldom permitted to be other than a woman, a world in which even the exalted Free Companion sleeps upon a couch with a slave ring set at its foot.

She kissed me one last time and turned about and ran off. She would spend the night in the Waiting Cells, and, at dawn, with hundreds of others, be sent as slave cargo to the pens of the Curulean.

"You there, Slaves," called Ho-Tu, "to your cells!"

He was speaking to Virginia Kent, and to Lana, who had both lingered in the vicinity of Relius, who was finishing a cup of wine.

"You there, little White Silker," said Ho-Tu, "who are so adept with the porridge bowl, hasten to the Waiting Cells. You will need your sleep. You are to ascend the block tomorrow. You must make a good showing for the House of Cernus."

Virginia choked back a tear. "Yes, Master," she said.

Lana laughed and went to Relius, taking his arm, looking at Virginia. "Tomorrow, White Silker," she said, "you will be sold but Lana will still be in the House of Cernus." She looked at Relius, snuggling up to him, kissing him on the side of the neck. "If Lana is permitted to leave the House tomorrow," she wheedled the guard, "Lana wants to wear the leash of Relius."

Virginia stood there, helpless, her fists clenched, fighting back tears.

"What is your name?" demanded Ho-Tu of the Red Silk Girl.

"Lana," she said, "if it pleases Master."

"Lana," said Ho-Tu, "you will indeed leave the House tomorrow."

"Thank you, Master," said Lana, looking up thin at Relius.

"Now, Lana," said Ho-Tu, "go to the Waiting Cells."

She spun about. "The Waiting Cells!" she cried.

"Yes," said Ho-Tu, "you will be sold tomorrow on the Love Feast."

"No!" she cried. "No!"

Virginia laughed and clapped her hands with joy.

"No!" cried Lana.

"To the Waiting Cells, Slaves!" commanded Ho-Tu. He slapped the slave goad that hung at his belt.

Terror came into the eyes of the girl. She threw one wild look at Relius and then, as Ho-Tu removed the slave goad from his belt, she ran weeping from the room.

Virginia Kent dropped to her knees before Ho-Tu, in the position of the Pleasure Slave, and lowered her head. "Thank you, Master," she said.

He shook her head with his heavy hand. "You are a brave little wench," he said. "And you are very dangerous with a bowl of porridge."

She dropped her head even more.

"Hurry, Slave!" barked Ho-Tu. "To the Waiting Cells!"

Virginia Kent, who had taught classics and ancient history in a college on Earth, leaped to her feet, and, barefoot, a slave girl, raced from the room, hurrying to the Waiting Cells, whence at dawn, with others, she would be sent to the Curulean, where, in the evening, she would, with Elizabeth and Phyllis, ascend the block, her purchased flesh, like theirs, to bring gold to the House of Cernus.

Ho-Tu looked after her and grinned. "A very brave little wench," he muttered.

"And dangerous with a bowl of porridge," I reminded him.

"Yes," said he, "that is true."

I looked about the room. Now only guards and members of the staff remained in the room. I supposed I might as well return to my compartment. I would miss Elizabeth.

Suddenly two guards entered the room, thrusting a woman before them.

I saw Ho-Tu look up and turn white. His hand moved to the hook knife at his belt.

The woman stumbled to the place before the table of Cernus, where she stood. A bit of scarlet cord had been knotted about her waist, into which was thrust a long rectangle of red silk; her hair hand been unbound; her wrists were braceleted behind her back; the key hung on a string about her neck; the slave bells were still locked on her left ankle, but her finery was gone; no longer did the slave goad dangle from her wrist.

"Kajuralia, Sura," said Cernus to the woman.

"Kajuralia, Master," said she bitterly.

Ho-Tu spoke. "Let her return to her compartment," said he. "Sura has served us well. She is the finest trainer in Ar."

"She will be reminded," said Cernus, "that she is only a slave."

"I beg your favor," cried Ho-Tu.

"It is denied," said Cernus. "Let the gambling begin."

A number of men crowded between the tables then and some dice, inked knucklebones of the verr, were soon rattling in a metal goblet. Sura knelt before the table of Cernus, her head down. One of her guards snapped a slave leash on her collar. The leash key was on a tiny loop of wire. The guard twisted this wire about the red-enameled steel of her collar. Behind her the men began crying out, watching the tumbling of the knucklebones on the stones of the floor. I understood to some extent what was taking place. It was merely another of the turnabouts of Kajuralia, but in it was perhaps more; Sura's pride and position in the House, though she was slave, had been resented by many of the men and staff; perhaps even Cernus felt she had overstepped herself; surely he seemed pleased that she would now be humbled, now used as a common Red Silk Girl.

"I use her first!" cried one man.

Then there were more shouts and the men continued to gamble. I had not understood until then that the beautiful, proud Sura would, in order of the gambling, serve each of the men in that room.

I looked to Ho-Tu. To my astonishment there were tears in his fierce, black eyes. His hand was on the hilt of the hook knife.

I looked to Sura. She was kneeling on the stones, bent over, her head down, the hair falling forward, clad only in the bit of red silk, her wrists braceleted behind her back. I saw her shoulders move, and, startled, realized that she wept.

I then moved into the center of the gambling men and, not speaking, as they looked up, angry at the intrusion, I took the metal goblet containing the knucklebones from the man who held it.

Bitterly, yet not daring to object, he surrendered it.

I looked from face to face, and then I shook the knucklebones and scattered them, the four of them, on the stones at my feet.

It had been a low cast, not high. Several of the men laughed with relief. But then my sword was out of the sheath and delicately, turning each bone with the tip of the blade, I placed the side marked with the highest number on each of the bones facing the ceiling.

The men looked on angrily. One or two of them muttered in rage. On their knees from the gambling, they looked up at me, in fury.

"I will use her," I said. "And I alone will use her."

"No!" cried a guard, springing to his feet.

I looked at him and he stepped back, turned, and angrily left the room.

"Dispute her with me who will," I said.

Angrily the men rose to their feet, and, muttering, dispersed.

I turned to face Cernus. He smiled and expansively lifted his hand. "If none dispute you," said he, "she is surely yours." He laughed and grinned down at Sura. "Kajuralia, Slave," said he.

"Kajuralia, Master," said Sura, whispering.

I spoke harshly to Sura. "Lead me to your quarters, Slave."

She struggled to her feet, the leash dangling from her collar. I did not pick up the leash and she moved past me, tears in her eyes, leaving the room, the sound of bells marking her movements. But she did not walk as a trained Pleasure Slave. She walked numbly, her head down, a defeated woman. I heard Cernus laugh. "I have heard," jeered Cernus, "that the Killer knows well how to use slaves!"

Sura stopped at that moment, and put her head back, though she did not turn to face him, and then she hurried through the door.

"Killer," I heard.

I turned to face Ho-Tu. His hand was still on the hook knife.

"She is not a common slave," he said.

"Then," said I, "I shall expect from her uncommon pleasures," and turned and left.

Sura proceeded me through the halls of the House of Cernus, and then we passed through her training room, and entered her own quarters were we stopped. As she stood in the room I took the key on its string from about her neck and removed the bracelets. I threw them with the key to one side of the room; then I unlocked the slave leash and threw it, with its key, also to the side of the room.

She stood there, rubbing her wrists a bit. There were red marks on them. The bracelets need not have been fastened so tightly. She looked at me with hatred. I turned about to examine the room. There were several chests there, doubtless containing silks, cosmetics, jewelry; there were also rich furs, on which I gathered she slept; in one corner there leaned a six-stringed kalika, long-necked, with its hemispheric sound box; I knew she played the instrument; on one wall, some feet away, hanging over a hook, I saw her slave goad.

I looked at her. She had not moved, though she now no longer rubbed her wrists. I could still see the red circles on them. Her black hair was quite marvelous, long and unbound, falling as it did over her shoulders; her eyes were black and deeply beautiful; her body, as the slave masters had intended, was tormentingly magnificent; the features of her face and lips showed to my eye, which had become more discerning in the past several months, the breeding lines of the House of Cernus.

I turned away again, wondering if there might be some Ka-la-na or perhaps even Paga, though I doubted the latter, hidden away in the room. I began to rummage through one of the chests, and then another. Still she had not moved.

I came to another chest. "Please do not open that chest," she said.

"Nonsense," said I, thinking that in this one must be the beverage I sought, flinging up the lid.

"Please!" she cried out.

This must be the one, I thought to myself. I poked around in the chest but I could find nothing, so far, but tangles of beads and jewelry, some silks. Sura certainly had a great deal of such things. That I was forced to admit. Were they her own, she would have been the envy of many of the free women of Ar.

"Do not look further!" she cried.

"Be silent, slave," said I, poking about, and then I saw in the bottom of the chest, almost colorless, ragged, not more than a foot high nor a few ounces heavy, a small worn, tattered doll, dressed in faded Robes of Concealment, of a sort little girls might play with on the bridges or in the corridors of cylinders, dressing it or singing to it.

"What is this?" I asked in amusement, lifting it up and turning to face Sura.

With a cry of rage the Pleasure Slave ran past me and tore the slave goad from the wall, flicked it to on. I saw the dial rotate to the end of the red band, to the Kill Point. The tip of the goad, almost instantly, seemed incandescent. I could not even look directly upon it.

"Die!" she screamed, hurling herself toward me, striking with the goad.

I dropped the doll, spun and managed to catch her wrist as she struck downward with the burning goad. She screamed out in frustration, weeping. My hand closed on her wrist and she cried out in pain, the goad falling to the floor, rolling, I hurled her some feet across the room and retrieved the goad, it had stopped rolling and now, burning, had begun to sink through the stone. I rotated the dial back to its minimal charge and then flicked it off.

I let the goad, on its leather strap, dangle from my left wrist and then I went to the doll and picked it up. I approached Sura, who backed against the wall, closing her eyes, turning her head to one side.

"Here," I said. I handed her the doll.

She reached out and took it.

"I am sorry," I said.

She stood there, looking at me, holding the doll.

I walked away from her and then took the slave goad from my wrist and hung it up again on its hook, where she might take it again if she wished.

"I am sorry," said I, "Sura." I looked upon her. "I was looked for Ka-la-na."

She looked at me, bewildered.

"It is in the last chest," she whispered.

I went to the last chest along the wall and opened it, finding a bottle and some bowls. "You are a fortunate slave," I said, "to have Ka-la-na in your quarters."

"I will serve you," she whispered.

"Is it not Kajuralia?" I asked.

"Yes," said she, "Master."

"Then," said I, "if Sura will permit, I shall serve her."

She looked at me blankly, and then, still clutching the doll, put out one hand, trembling, to take the bowl of wine from me. It began to spill, and I steadied it, lifting it with her hands to her lips.

She drank, as had the black-haired girl, the leader of the girls of the Street of Pots.

Then, when she had lowered the bowl, I took my drink, that she should have drunk first.

"Kajuralia," said I to her.

"Kajuralia," she whispered, "-Master."

"Kuurus," I said.

"Kajuralia," said she, whispering, "Kuurus."

I turned about and went back to the center of the room, where I sat down cross-legged. I had taken the bottle with me, of course.

She placed her bowl on the floor near me and then went back to the chest where the doll had been kept.

"How is it," I asked, "that you have such a doll?"

She said nothing, but returned the doll to its hiding place, beneath some silks and jewelry, at the back of the chest, in the right corner.

"Do not answer if you do not wish," I said.

She returned to where I sat and knelt there across from me. She lifted her bowl again to her lips and drank. Then she looked at me. "It was given to me," she said, "by my mother."

"I did not know Pleasure Slaves had mothers," I said. I was sorry I had said this, immediately, for she did not smile.

"She was sold when I was five," she said. "It is all that I have left from her."

"I'm sorry," I said.

She looked down.

"My father," she said, "I never knew, though I suppose he was a handsome slave. My mother knew little of him, for they were both hooded when mated."

"I see," I said.

She lifted her cup again to her lips.

"Ho-Tu," I said, "loves you."

She looked across to me. "Yes," she said.

"Are you often victimized on Kajuralia?" I asked.

"When Cernus remembers," she said. "May I clothe myself?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

Sura went to one of the chests and drew forth a long cloak of red silk, which she drew on. She tied the string at the neck, closing the high collar.

"Thank you," she said.

I refilled her bowl.

"Once," she said, "for Kajuralia, many years ago, I was mated."

"Do you know with whom?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I was hooded." She shuddered. "He was brought in from the streets," she said. "I remember him. The tiny body, swollen. The small, clumsy hands. His whining and giggling. The men at table laughed very loudly. It was doubtless quite amusing."

"What of the child?" I asked.

"I bore it," she said, "but, once more hooded, I never saw it. It was surely, considering its sire, a monster." She shuddered.

"Perhaps not," I said.

She laughed softly.

"Does Ho-Tu visit you often?" I asked.

"Yes," said she. "I play the kalika for him. He cares for its sound."

"You are Red Silk," I said.

"Long ago," said she, "Ho-Tu was mutilated, and forced to drink acid."

"I did not know," I said.

"He was once a slave," said Sura, "but he won his freedom at hook knife. He was devoted to the father of Cernus. When the father of Cernus was poisoned and Cernus, then the lesser, placed upon his neck the medallion of the House, Ho-Tu protested. For that he was mutilated, and forced to drink acid. He has remained in the house these many years."

"Why should he remain here?" I asked.

"Perhaps," she said, "because it is in this house that Sura is slave."

"I would not doubt it," I said.

She looked down, smiling.

I looked about the room. "I am not anxious to return immediately to my compartment," I said. "Further, I am confident that the men of the house will expect me to remain some time here."

"I will serve your pleasure," she said.

"Do you love Ho-Tu?" I asked.

She looked at me, thoughtfully. "Yes," she said.

"Then," I said, "let us find something else to do."

She laughed.

"Your room," I said, "seems to offer little in the way of diversions."

She leaned back, and smiled. "Little save Sura," she admitted.

I, glancing about once again, saw the kalika in the corner.

"Would you like me to play for you?" asked Sura.

"What would you like to do?" I asked.

"I?" she asked, amused.

"Yes," I said, "you-you Sura."

"Is Kuurus serious?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes," I affirmed. "Kuurus is serious."

"I know what I would like," she said, "but it is very silly."

"Well," I said, "it is, after all, Kajuralia."

She looked down, flustered. "No," she said. "It is too absurd."

"What?" I asked. "Would you like me to try and stand on my head or what? I warn you I would do it very poorly."

"No," she said. Then she looked at me very timidly. "Would you," she asked, "teach me to play the game?"

I looked at her, flabbergasted.

She looked down, immediately. "I know," she said. "I am sorry. I am a woman. I am slave."

"Have you a board and pieces?" I asked.

She looked up at me, happily. "Will you teach me?" she asked, delighted.

"Have you a board and pieces?" I asked.

"No," she said, miserably.

"Do you have paper?" I asked. "A pen, ink?"

"I have silk," she said, "and rouge, and bottles of cosmetics!"

In a short time we had spread a large square of silk on the floor between us, and, carefully, finger in and out of a rouge pot, I had drawn the squares that would normally be red on a board, leaving those squares that would normally be yellow blank. Then, between us, we managed to find tiny vials, and brooches, and beads, to use as the pieces. In less than an Ahn we had set up our board and pieces, and I had showed Sura the placing of the pieces and their moves, and had explained some of the elementary techniques of the game to her; in the second Ahn she was actually negotiating the board with alertness, always moving with an objective in mind; her moves were seldom the strongest, but they were always intelligent; I would explain moves to her, discussing them, and she would often cry out "I see!" and a lesson never needed to be repeated.

"It is not often," I said, "that one finds a woman who is pleased with the game."

We played yet another Ahn and, even in that short amount of time, her moves had become more exact, more subtle, more powerful. I became now less concerned to suggest improvements in her play and more concerned to protect my own Home Stone.

"Are you sure you have never played before?" I asked.

She looked at me, genuinely delighted. "Am I doing acceptably?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

I began to marvel at her. I truly believe, also, that she had never played before. I realized, to my pleasure, if danger, that I had come upon one of those rare persons who possesses a remarkable aptitude for the game. There was a rawness in her play, a lack of polish, but I sensed myself in the presence of one for whom the game might have been created.

Her eyes sparkled.

"Capture of Home Stone!" she cried.

"I do not suppose you would care to play the kalika," I proposed.

"No! No!" she cried. "The game! The game!"

"You are only a woman," I reminded her.

"Please, Kuurus!" she said. "The game! The game!"

Reluctantly I began to put out the pieces again.

This time she had yellow.

To my astonishment, this time I began to see the Centian Opening unfold, developed years ago by Centius of Cos, one of the strongest openings known in the game, one in which the problems of development for red are particularly acute, especially the development of his Ubara's Scribe.

"Are you sure you have never played before?" I asked, thinking it well to recheck the point.

"No," she said, studying the board like a child confronting something never seen before, something wonderful, something mysterious and challenging, a red ball, some squares of brightly colored, folded orange cloth.

When it came to her fourteenth move for red, my color, I glanced up at her.

"What do you think I should do now?" I asked.

I noted that her lovely brow had already been wrinkled with distress, considering the possibilities.

"Some authorities," I told her, "favor Ubar's Initiate to Scribe Three at this point, others recommend the withdrawal of Ubara's Spearman to cover Ubar Two."

She studied the board closely for a few Ihn. "Ubar's Initiate to Scribe Three is the better move," she said.

"I agree," I said.

I placed my Ubar's Initiate, a perfume vial, on Scribe Three.

"Yes," she said, "it is clearly superior."

It was indeed a superior move but, as it turned out, it did not do me a great deal of good.

Six moves later Sura, as I had feared, boldly dropped her Ubar itself, a small rouge pot, on Ubar five.

"Now," she said, "you will find it difficult to bring your Ubar's Scribe into play." She frowned for a moment. "Yes," she mused, "very difficult."

"I know," I said. "I know!"

"Your best alternative move at this point," she explained, "would be, would it not, to attempt to free your position by exchanges?"

I glared at her. "Yes," I admitted. "It would."

She laughed.

I, too, laughed.

"You are marvelous," I told her. I had played the game often and was considered, even among skilled Goreans, an excellent player; yet I found myself fighting for my life with my beautiful, excited opponent. "You are simply incredible," I said.

"I have always wanted to play," she said. "I sensed I might do it well."

"You are superb," I said. I knew her, of course, to be an extremely intelligent, capable woman. This I had sensed in her from the first. Also, of course, had I not even known her I would have supposed her a remarkable person, for she was said to be the finest trainer of girls in the city of Ar, and that honor, dubious though it might be, would not be likely to have been achieved without considerable gifts, and among them most certainly those of unusual intelligence. Yet here I knew there was much more involved than simple intelligence; I sensed here a native aptitude of astonishing dimension.

"Don't move there," she told me, "or you will lose your Home Stone in seven."

I studied the board. "Yes," I said at last, "you are right."

"Your strongest move," she said, "is first tarnsman to Ubar one."

I restudied the board. "Yes," I said, "you are right."

"But then," she said, "I shall place my Ubara's Scribe at Ubar's Initiate Three."

I tipped my Ubar, resigning.

She clapped her hands delightedly.

"Wouldn't you like to play the kalika?" I asked, hopefully.

"Oh Kuurus!" she cried.

"Very well," I said, resetting the pieces.

While I was setting them up I thought it well to change the subject, and perhaps to interest her in some less exacting pastime, something more suitable to her feminine mind.

"You mentioned," I said, "that Ho-Tu comes here often."

"Yes," she said, looking up. "He is a very kind man."

"The Master Keeper in the House of Cernus?" I asked, smiling.

"Yes," she said. "And he is actually very gentle."

I thought of the powerful, squat Ho-Tu, with his hook knife and slave goad.

"He won his freedom at hook knife," I reminded her.

"But in the time of the father of Cernus," she said, "when hook knives were sheathed."

"The fights with hook knife I saw," I said, " were contests with sheathed blade."

"That is since the beast came to the house," she said, looking down. "The knives are sheathed now that the loser will survive to be fed to the beast."

"What manner of beast is it?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said.

I had heard it cry out and knew that it was not a sleen, nor a larl. I could not place the roar, the noise.

"I have seen the remains of its feeds," she said, shuddering. "There is little left. Even the bones are broken open and splintered, the marrow sucked out."

"Is it only those who lose at hook knife who are fed to the beast?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Anyone who displeases Cernus might be given to the beast. Sometimes it is a guard even, but normally a slave. Generally it is a male slave from the pens. But sometimes a girl is bloodied and fed to it."

I remembered that the slave who had lost in hook knife had been wounded slightly before being taken to the beast.

"Why bloodied?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said. Then she looked down again at the board, that square of silk marked with rouge. "But let us forget the beast," she said. She smiled looking at the silk, the vials and beads. "The game is so beautiful," she said.

"Ho-Tu," I observed, "seldom leaves the house."

"In the last year," said Sura, "he left it only one time for an extended period."

"When was that?" I asked.

"In last year's En'Var," she said, "when he was gone from the city on the business of the house."

"What business?" I asked.

"Purchases of slaves," she said.

"To what city did he go?" I asked.

"Ko-ro-ba," she said.

I stiffened.

She looked up at me. "What is wrong, Kuurus?" she asked. Then suddenly her eyes widened and she threw out her hand. "No, Ho-Tu!" she screamed.