Explorers Of Gor

12
Business Is Discussed In Schendi; I Acquire A New Girl

"I have come to negotiate for the ring," I said.

"Do you have the false ring, and the notes with you? asked Shaba.

"No," I said.

"Are they in Schendi?" asked Shaba.

"Perhaps," I said. "Do you have the ring with you?

"Perhaps," smiled Shaba.

I did not doubt that he had the ring with him. Such an artifact would be far too valuable to leave lying about. Having the ring with him, too, of course, he was terribly dangerous.

"Do you come to us as an agent on behalf of Bejar, a captain of Port Kar?" inquired Shaba.

"Perhaps," I said.

"No," said Shaba. "You do not, for you know of the ring's value and Bejar would know nothing of it." He looked at me. "A similar argument would demonstrate," he said, "that you are not a simple speculator, interested in the resale of the notes."

I shrugged. "You could always wait, in such a case, for their cancellation and reissue," I said.

"Yes," he said, "providing they would be reissued, and we had months in which to daily."

"You have a project afoot?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Shaba.

"And you wish to move ahead on it quickly?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"It is perhaps imperative for you to move quickly?" I asked.

"I think so," said Shaba. He smiled.

"'What is your project?" I asked.

Msaliti was looking at him, curiously.

"It is personal business," said Shaba.

"I see," I said.

"Since," said Shaba, "you come neither from Bejar nor as a simple speculator, I think we may infer that you come to us from one of two sources. You come to us either from Kurii-or from Priest-Kings."

I glanced uneasily at the two large fellows, those with the shields and stabbing spears, who stood near us.

"Do not fear," said Msaliti, "my askaris do not speak Gorean." The word 'askari' is an inland word, which may be translated roughly as 'soldier' or 'guardsman.

"Regardless from which camp I come," I said, "you have what we wish, the ring."

"The ring," said Msaliti, "may not be returned to Priest-Kings. It must go to Kurii."

"I will bring with me, when I return, of course," I said, "the false ring that it may be borne to the Sardar."

"He is with us," said Msaliti. "No agent of Priest-Kings would wish the ring conveyed to the Sardar."

This confirmed in my mind the soundness of the speculation of Samos that the false ring involved some serious threat or danger.

"You will then, of course," I said, to Shaba, "as an agent of Priest-Kings, bear the ring to the Sardar."

"Do you not think it is a little late for that now?" inquired Shaba.

"We must try,"

"That is the plan," said Msaliti, earnestly.

"You must carry out your part of the bargain," said the dark-haired girl.

Shaba looked at her.

"Be silent," said Msaliti, angrily, to her, She drew back, angry.

"You do not look like one who would serve Kurii," said Shaba to me, smiling.

"You do not look like one who would betray Priest-Kings," I said to him.

"Ah," he said, leaning back. "How difficult and subtle are the natures of men," he mused.

"How did you find us here?" asked the girl.

"He followed you, of course, you little fool," said Msaliti "Why do you think you were kept another night at the tavern of Pembe?"

"You could have told me," she said.

Msaliti did not respond to her.

"How did you know I was on the roof?" I asked. The askaris had been waiting for me.

"It is an old Schendi trick," said Shaba. "Look, up there. Do you see those tiny strings, those little threads?"

"Yes," I said. There were several, about a foot in length, dangling from the ceiling. At the end of each there was a tiny round object.

"It is not uncommon for burglars to enter houses through these grilles," said Shaba. "Those are dried peas on threads. They are inserted under certain boards and in certain cracks in the ceiling. When the roof is stepped on the tiny movements in the ceiling boards, and the pressures, release the peas. It is then known that someone is on or has been on the roof."

"It gives a silent warning," I said.

"Yes," he said. "The house owner may then, if he wishes, warn the intruder away or, if he wishes, fall upon him when he enters the house."

"What if the dwellers in the house are asleep?" I asked.

"Small bells are attached to the grille slats," said Shaba, "which dangle down, near the ears of the sleepers. If one attempts to cut the strings or draw the bells up, of course, a noise is made, one usually sufficient to waken the occupants of the house."

"That is clever," I said.

"Actually," said Shaba, "you did extremely well. Only a few of the threads have been dislodged. Your step was light. Indeed, none were dislodged apparently until you withdrew from the roof."

I nodded. To be sure, I had withdrawn from the slatted grille with less care than I had approached it. I had feared little in my retreat. I had thought it secure. I had not known about the simple device of the threads and peas.

"Why was I not told that I was to be followed?" asked the girl.

"Be silent," said Msaliti.

She stiffened, angrily.

"You eluded me brilliantly in the tavern of Pembe, the Golden Kailiauk," I told Msaliti. "The exchanging of the girls was ingenious."

He shrugged, and smiled. "It required, of course," he said, "the aid of Shaba, and the ring."

"Of course," I said.

"I did my part well, too," said the girl.

"Yes, you did," I said.

She looked triumphantly at the men.

"You took the girl into the tavern," I said, "and covered her with your aba, that she might not move. Shaba, under the cover of the ring, drugged the paga which I drank. When my attention was distracted he, under the cover of the ring, carried away the blond girl, and this female, by prearranged plan, took her place."

"Yes "said Shaba.

"My pursuit of you was foiled," I said, "by the results of the drug you placed in my paga."

"The drug," said Shaba, "was a simple combination of sajel, a simple pustulant, and gieron, an unusual allergen.

Mixed they produce a facsimile of the superficial symptoms of Bazi plague."

"I could have been killed," I said. "by the mob."

"I did not think many would care to approach you," said Shaba.

"It was not your intention then that I be killed?" I asked.

"Certainly not,". said Shaba. "If that was all that was desired, kanda might have been introduced into your drink as easily as sajel and gieron."

"That is true," I said.

"We only wished to make certain that you did not contact us before our own determinations were made. You see, we did not know who you were. We wished to find out first what we could from the girl. Perhaps it would not be necessary to contact you at all."

"The stupid slave," said the dark-haired girl, "knew nothing."

"Had I not found your headquarters tonight, then," I said, "you would have contacted me?"

"Of course," said Shaba, "tomorrow. But we speculated that you would find us tonight. We speculated that you would discover or reason out the girl's role in our business and try to use her as a lead to find us. This possibility was confirmed when you made inquiries of Kipofu, the beggar, in the Utukufu square."

"You were there," I said.

"Of course," he said, "under the cover of the ring, but I could not approach as closely as I desired. Kipofu has unusually keen hearing. When my presence was detected I simply withdrew."

"Why did you not just contact me directly?" I asked.

"For two reasons." said Shaba. "We wished, a second time, to interrogate the blond-haired slave, before making contact, and, also, we were curious to see if you could find us by yourself. You did so. You have our congratulations. You are obviously worthy of conducting business on behalf of the Kurii."

"How long have you known I was in Schendi?" I asked.

"Since the arrival of the Palms of Schendi," he said. "We could not be certain, at first, that your arrival was not a coincidence. Soon, however, it became clear that you were an object for our concern. You appeared at the market of Uchafu. You trailed Msaliti from the market You waited in the Golden Kailiauk."

"I have been under surveillance since arriving in Schendi," I said.

"Yes," said Shaba, "from time to time."

"You know, then, doubtless, my new residence," I said, "that which I acquired following my departure from the Cove of Schendi."

I had taken a large. room on the ground floor, behind a cloth-worker's shop, just off the Street of Tapestries. Wearing the aba taken from Msaliti, hooding myself with it, that my face and eyes.not be seen, Sasi on my shoulder, rolled in a blanket tied tightly closed with ropes, I had acquired the lodging. The free woman who rented me the room asked no questions. When I had given her a copper tarsk as a tip she had looked down at the tightly tied blanket, containing its helpless burden, and had looked up at me, grinning. "Enjoy yourself," she had said, slipping the tarsk into a pouch tied at her hip.

"If we knew it," said Shaba, "men, even now, would be ransacking it for the ring and notes."

"Of course," I said.

"You moved quickly," said Shaba. "By the time I had brought the blond slave here and returned to the cove of Schendi, you had already made your departure."

"I see," I said. I was pleased that I had made the haste I had.

"But now," said Shaba, "we are all friends."

"Of course," I said.

"When will you deliver the notes?" he asked.

"And the false ring," pressed Msaliti.

"Tomorrow evening," I said.

"You choose to move under the cover of darkness?" asked Shaba.

"I think it might be wise," I said.

"Very well," said Shaba. "Tomorrow evening, at the nineteenth Ahn, meet us in this place. Bring the notes and the false ring. I will have the true ring ready then for exchange.

"I shall be here," I promised.

"Our business then," said the dark-haired girl, flushing with pleasure, "will at last be well consummated."

"Let us have a drink," said Shaba, "to celebrate this long-awaited rendezvous." Then he smiled at me. "You do not fear to drink with us, I trust," he said.

I smiled. "Of course not," I said. "Do you have the paga of Ar, of the brewery of Temus?"

"Woe," smiled Shaba. "We have here only Schendi paga, but I think it is quite good. It is, of course, a matter of taste."

"Very well," I said.

"You will find it is better without sajel and gieron in it," he said.

"That is reassuring," I said.

"The symptoms induced by the paga tendered to you at the Golden Kailiauk," he said, "should have disappeared by the following morning."

"They had," I said.

"My dear," asked Shaba, of the dark-haired girl, "would you bring us paga?"

She stiffened.

"Fetch paga, Woman," said Msaliti. "You are least among us."

"Why am I least among your' she asked.

"Forgive us, my dear," said Shaba.

"I will bring the paga," she said.

In a few moments she returned with a bottle of Schendi paga and four cups. She filled these cups.

"Forgive me," I said to Shaba, taking the cup which she had placed before him.

He smiled and extended his hands. "Of course," he said.

Then the four of us lifted our cups, touching them, one to another.

"To victory," said Shaba.

"To victory." we said, and drank. I had little compunction about drinking this toast. Each of us may not have had in mind the same victory, of course.

"I have not been introduced to this lovely agent," I said, regarding the dark-haired girl.

"Forgive me," said Shaba. "It was careless of me. I did not wish to be rude." He looked at me. "You are going by the name of Tarl of Teletus, I believe," he said, "if my inquiries in Schendi have served me properly."

"That is correct," I said. "That name will do. It will serve to cover my true identity."

"Many agents use code names," said Shaba.

"Yes," I said.

"Tarl of Teletus," said he, "may I introduce Lady E. Ellis? Lady E. Ellis, Tarl of Teletus."

We inclined our heads to one another.

"Is 'E' an initial or a name?" I asked her.

"Any initial;" she said, "It stands for Evelyn. But I do not like that name. It is too feminine. Call me 'E. "

"I will call you Evelyn," I said.

"You may do as you wish, of course," she said.

"I see that you know how to treat a woman," said Shaba. "You impose your will upon her."

"Is Evelyn Ellis your real name?" I asked, smiling.

"Yes," she said, "it is. Why do you smile?"

"It is nothing," I said.

Msaliti and Shaba, too, smiled. It amused me to see that the girl thought she had a name.

"I must admire the perception of Kur recruiters," I said. "You are obviously highly intelligent and very beautiful."

"Thank you," she said.

"She has been well trained," said Msaliti.

"I have been not only well trained," she said, "but thoroughly and intensively trained, even brilliantly trained. Nothing has been left to chance. The smallest details have been attended to. In order to play my role more effectively here I have even permitted my body to be branded."

"I recall," I said. I had seen her in the Golden Kailiauk, of course, in pleasure silk.

She looked at me, angrily.

"My awe at the cleverness and thoroughness of the practices and techniques of Kur espionage knows few limits," I said, "and I must admit that my admiration for the products of their schooling, as in the present case, exceeds almost all bounds."

She flushed with pleasure, flattered and mollified.

I threw down the last of my paga.

"I would like to see further evidence of your skills," I said. "I am out of paga," I said.

She reached to the bottle, to refill the cup.

"No," I said.

She looked at me.

"Did they not teach you how to serve paga as a paga slave?" I asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Show me," I said.

"Very well," she said. She drew back, taking the bottle and cup. In most taverns no bottle is brought to the table but the paga is brought to the table, by the paga slave, a cup at a time, the cups normally being filled from a vat behind the counter. She filled the cup there, before me, and left it behind. She returned the bottle then to the table, and went beck again for the cup.

She lifted it in both hands.

"Put it down," I said.

She did so, looking at me puzzled.

"You are garbed strangely for a paga slave," I said, indicating the clogs, the black slacks and the black, buttoned top.

"Do you wish me to put on pleasure silk?" she asked, icily.

"No," I said.

She tossed her head.

"In many Gorean taverns," I said, "the paga slaves serve naked."

"Yes," she said, slowly, "they do."

"Did they not teach you how to do that?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I would see evidence of your skills," I said.

"Very well," she said, angrily, in her vanity, taunted.

She slipped from the clogs, and was barefoot. She slipped from the black slacks, and removed the black, buttoned top. She slipped from the panties and, in a moment, had discarded her brassiere. She was furious, but yet I could see, too, as doubtless could the others, that she was sexually charged. She was naked, before clothed men. This can be sexually stimulating to a woman. It is hard for her, in such circumstances, not to see them as her masters and herself, before them, as an exposed slave. Similarly she knew that, in a moment, she would be, naked, on her knees, serving them. For reasons that have to do with nature these things can be erotically momentous to a woman. The relation of master and slave, of course, in a psychophysical organism, of a high order of intelligence, such as the human being, is a beautiful and profound expression of the fundamental and central truth of animal nature, that of order and structure, and dominance and submission. It is merely the articulated, legalized expression, to be expected in rational organisms, of the biological context in which human sexuality developed, a context which can be betrayed but can never, because of the ingrained nature of genetic dispositions, be fully forgotten or, in the long run, successfully denied. In denying it we deny our own nature. In betraying it we betray no one but ourselves. The master will never be happy until be is a master. The slave will never be happy until she is a slave. It is what we are.

I looked upon the girl. She bit her lip. I saw that she was lovely.

"Wait," said Msaliti, "one more item is needed to complete the effect."

"Of course," said Shaba.

He left the room and, in a moment, returned with the collar. "Oh!" she said, as he, from behind, snapped it about her throat. I noted that he slipped the key into his pouch. I did not think it would be soon removed from the girl.

Msaliti joined us at the table.

The girl stood, loftily, before us. "Do I meet with the approval of Masters?" she asked.

"Serve us paga, Slave," said Msaliti.

She stiffened. Then she smiled. "Yes, Master," she said.

I, too, smiled. I saw that she thought she was playing a role. Did she not know that she had been truly branded and that, in the touch of the iron, as it marked her, she had been made truly a slave? I sensed now that her slavery, latent until now, was soon to be specifically activated. Indeed, it had now been activated, but she did not know it. She thought herself a free woman, serving as a slave. She did not know that she was truly a slave, who, amusingly, still thought herself free. It was a rich joke on the proud girl, one fitting to be played on an insolent slave.

"Paga, Master?" she asked, kneeling before me, the metal cup held before her, in her two hands.

"Yes," I said.

She proffered the cup to me. She knelt back on her heels, her knees wide, and extended her arms to me, the cup in her hands.

"Did you not neglect to kiss it? I asked her.

She drew back the cup and, pressing her lips to it, kissed it.

"Is that how a slave kisses the cup of a master?" I asked.

She again turned her head to the side and pressed her lips softly, lingeringly, against it. Then she kissed it. I saw a tremor course through her body. I think, then, for the first time, she had begun to understand what it might be truly, to kiss the cup of a master. Then again, kneeling back on her heels, her knees wide, extending her arms to me, the cup in her hands, she proffered me the drink.

"Your head should be down, between your arms," I said. She put her head down. Again I saw a small movement in her body, a tremor, subtle. She had put her head down before a man. Another consequence of this position is that the girl's eyes, in the specific act of her serving, do not meet those of the master. They are lowered before his, as one who submits.

This is also reminiscent, in an experienced girl, of her training. Often, in training, a girl is not permitted to look into the eyes of the trainer, unless he should specifically extend this permission. Indeed, in some cities, the girl in training may not raise her eyes above the trainer's belt, unless, again, specifically accorded this permission.

"Speak," I said to her.

"Your paga, Master," she said.

But I did not take the paga. "Do you know other phrases?" I asked. There were many, actually, and they tended to vary from tavern to tavern, and from city to city. There was, really, no standardization in such matters.

She trembled, head down, proffering me the paga.

"Your girl brings you drink, Master," she said.

"Any others?" I asked.

"Here is your drink, Master," she said. "I beg to serve you further in any way I may."

"Another," I said.

"Do not forget I come with the price of the cup," she said. "Use me as you will, Master."

"Another," I said sharply.

"For your pleasure," she said, "I bring you paga and a slave."

"Personalized phrase," I said.

"E.," she said.

"Evelyn," I corrected her.

"Evelyn tenders drink humbly to Master," she said. "Evelyn hopes Master will later find her suitable to give him pleasure."

"Another," I said.

"I am Evelyn," she said. "I serve you, naked and collared. Take me later to the alcove. I beg to be taught my slavery."

I then took the paga. "You may now serve others," I said to her.

"You made her serve well," said Shaba.

"Thank you," I said.

The girl trembled, and then regained her composure. Then, in turn, as a naked paga slave, she served Msaliti and Shaba. I observed her technique. I thought she could probably survive in a paga tavern, under real conditions, not those artificial conditions under which she had served in the tavern of Pembe, the Golden Kailiauk, though doubtless she would be often beaten in the beginning.

When the girl had finished serving Shaba she straightenedup and came about the table, to where her cup rested on the low wood.

She reached for it, but Msaliti moved it out of her reach. She looked at him, puzzled.

"Does a paga slave drink at the table of masters?" he asked.

She laughed. "Of course not," she said.

"You could be whipped for that," he said.

"Yes," she said, "that is true." She smiled. She then went to where her clothing had been discarded, on the floor. She bent to pick it up, to reclothe herself.

"Do not dress," said Msaliti.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Kneel there," said Msaliti, indicating a place about a yard from the table.

"Why?" she asked.

"There," he said.

She knelt there, puzzled. It was about where a paga slave might kneel, close enough to be ready to serve at the merest signal, far enough away to be unobtrusive.

"You see," she said to me, "I have been well trained."

"Yes," I said.

"You were not given permission to speak," said Msaliti to the girl.

She looked at him, puzzled.

"You could be whipped also for that," he said.

"Of course," she laughed. Then she looked over to the blond-haired barbarian. The blond-haired girl, miserable, still blindfolded, knelt by the wall. Her slender ankles were shackled. Her hands were tied behind her back. A rope, looped through her collar, tied her to a slave ring behind her, about a yard off the floor. "Do you want her whipped again?" asked the dark-haired girl.

"No," said Msaliti.

"I thought you said the whip was to be used again tonight," she said.

"I did," said Msaliti.

"Are you going to beat her?" she asked.

"No," he said.

"I do not understand," she said.

Msaliti looked at her. "It is nearly time, my dear," he said, "for you to be returned to the tavern of Pembe."

"No!" she said. "You said that tonight was my last night of feigned service there."

"It was," said he. "But this is also the first night of your true service there."

"I do not understand," she said.

She got up, angrily, and went toward the small anteroom. But the two askaris blocked her way. She turned about, facing us. "I would like to get the key," she said, angrily, "to remove this-this collar!" she indicated the collar.

"I have the key here," said Msaliti, lifting it, he having taken it a moment ago from his pouch.

"Oh," she said. Then she walked toward us.

"Do not approach more closely without permission," said Msaliti.

She stopped, about five feet from the table.

"Kneel," he said.

"I do not understand," she said.

"Kneel," he said. I noted that he had repeated a command. Masters do not care to repeat commands.

She knelt. "I do not understand," she said.

I did not think she was unintelligent. It was only that her Earth mind was not quick to grasp that she might, almost unbelievably, almost incomprehensibly to her, be placed in certain categories.

"Give me the key," she said.

"Whose collar do you wear?" he asked.

"That of Pembe, of course," she said.

"What do you wish to do with it?" he asked.

"Remove it, of course," she said.

"But it is Pembe's collar," he said.

"Yes," she said.

"Thus," said he, "if or when it is removed is surely a determination to be made not by you but by Pembe."

"What are you saying!" she cried.

"Are all women on your former world as dull as you?" he asked.

"'What do you mean my 'former world'?" she asked.

"Precisely what I said," said he, "that world which was formerly yours. Surely you must now know that your world is Gor, that it is the Gorean world, and only the Gorean world, which is now yours."

"No!" she cried.

"You are a Gorean slave girl," he said.

"No! No!" she cried. She leaped to her feet.and ran toward the door, but the two askaris seized her and flung her again to her knees, before us.

"You're joking!" she begged.

"No," said Msaliti.

"Take it off!" she cried, yanking at the collar, suddenly. "Take it off! Take it off!"

"No," said Msaliti.

She looked at him. The steel collar remained inflexibly fastened on her throat.

Msaliti, in the speech known to the askaris, spoke briefly. They seized the girl by the arms and dragged her to the side of the room. They put her on her knees, facing the wall. They braceleted her wrists about one of the four slave rings in the wall, the one farthest from the blond-haired barbarian and closest to the door. It was, like the others, about a yard from the floor. Msaliti, standing, leaving the table, shook loose the blades of the slave whip.

"I am not a slave!" she cried, looking at him over her right shoulder.

"You were a slave," said Msaliti, "the instant you were branded, only you did not know it."

"No! No!" she cried. Then she cried, "I served you well!"

"Yes," said Msaliti, "but you are now no longer needed."

"I served you well," she wept.

"It is fitting that a slave well serves her masters," said Msaliti.

"I am your colleague!" she said.

"Never were you anything but our slave, you little white fool," said Msaliti.

"What if our superiors find out!" she cried.

Msaliti laughed. "I act in accord with their instructions," he said. "Surely you do not think women such as yourself were brought to Gor with any object in mind other than to ultimately wear the collar."

"No," she cried. "No!"

He then stepped behind and to one side of her, with the whip.

"Shaba!" she cried. "Shaba!"

"Your services are no longer required, my dear," said he.

"No!" she cried.

"Hear me, Slave," said Msaliti. "I have long been patient with you. But the time of masters being patient with you is now at an end. We shall ignore thousands of infractions and insubordinations in the past, presumptions, and speakings and actions, and consider only the past few moments. But a few Elm earlier you dared to touch a cup on the table of masters, as though it were your own, and would have, if not stopped, drunk from it. Also, you have spoken without permission. Also, once you did not respond to the first issuance of a command, but required its repetition. Also, but a moment ago, you addressed a free man not as Master, but by his name."

"Msaliti!" she begged.

"Ah," said he, "what a dull slave. You have repeated the offense.»

"You would not dare to strike me!" she said.

"Earlier I told you," said he, "that the whip would be later used. You said, as I recall, that you would look forward to it."

"Do not strike me," she begged.

"Prepare to be beaten as what you are, a slave," he said.

"I do not fear the whip," she said.

"Have you ever felt it?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"You will find the experience instructive," he said.

"I am not one of those girls," she said, "who at a touch of the leather will crawl to you and kiss your feet."

"Speak bravely," said he, "after you have felt the whip."

She tensed at the ring, preparing for the stroke. Her eyes were open. She held the ring with her small. braceleted hands.

Then it fell upon her, once, the slash of the five-bladed Gorean slave whip.

I saw disbelief, startled, wild, enter her eyes. Then she shut her eyes, tightly, tears squeezed from between their lids, wetting the lashes and her cheeks. Her knuckles were now white on the ring they clutched. "No," she whispered, "it cannot be."

Msaliti did not immediately again strike her. He knew the whip. He gave her several Ihn, that she might begin to feel the pain of the first stroke.

"I will obey you," she whispered. "Do not strike me again.

Then the second stroke fell upon her and she screamed with misery, her grip lost on the ring, half thrown against the wall, scratching at it with her braceleted hands, the side of her face against the heavy boards. There were now two layers of pain in her body, overlapping, each reinforcing and intensifying the other. Her body, sensitized by the first stroke, helpless, raw, aware, expectant, exposed, felt the second, as was intended, mingling with the burning echoes, the searing, throbbing wounds of the first, a thousand times more cruelly. "It is enough!" she wept, gasping, sobbing. "It is enough! I will do whatever you want!"

Msaliti then began her beating.

"No, Master!" she screamed at the ring, twisting and writhing. But Msaliti administered to her an efficient, though brief, discipline. As beatings go it was not particularly severe. On the other hand, it was genuine. Evelyn had been truly beaten. She had felt the whip.

"Have mercy, Master, on your slave!" she wept.

Msaliti then, after some ten or twelve strokes, lowered the whip. He spoke to the askaris. They unlocked the left slave bracelet of the girl, freeing her from the ring. She fell to her stomach, weeping.

"To my feet," said he.

She crawled to his feet and kissed them. "Yes, Master," she said.

Msaliti again spoke to the askaris and they pulled the girl's wrists behind her back and, refastening her left wrist in the left slave bracelet, the right still locked on her right wrist, secured them there.

Msaliti looked down at her, on her stomach at his feet.

"What a miserable, worthless thing you are," he said.

I recalled that these had been the words the dark-haired girl had used to the blond-haired barbarian, still kneeling blindfolded, but now terribly frightened, to one side. She knew little of what was going on. She did understand, of course, that some sister in bondage, near to her, had just been disciplined.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Behold," said Msaliti, smiling, to Shaba and myself. Then, to the dark-haired girl, he said, sharply, "Nadu!"

She struggled to her knees and, as she could, her wrists braceleted behind her, assumed before him the lovely, elegant position of the pleasure slave.

"Despicable slave," smiled Msaliti to the girl.

"Yes, Master," she said, sobbing.

These words, too, I recalled, had been used by the dark-haired girl earlier to the blond-haired barbarian.

The dark-haired girl now knelt, collared, before Msaliti, herself, too, now only a girl, and slave, at the mercy of men.

Msaliti spoke again to the askaris. He gave one of them the key to the girl's collar.

"Several days ago," said he to the kneeling girl before him, "your sale to Pembe was arranged. Tonight you will be delivered to him."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It seems he has taken a fancy to you," said Msaliti. "He thinks that you may have in you the makings of a paga girl. I do not know if it is true or not. I would, however, if I were you, attempt to do my best to justify Pembe's confidence in you. Pembe is not a patient man. He has taken the hands and feet from more than one girl."

She turned white. "Yes, Master," she said.

The askaris lifted her to her feet, one holding each arm. "Master," she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"May I have permission to speak?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Do I have even a name?" she asked.

"No," he said, "unless Pembe should choose to give you one."

"Master," she said. "Yes," he said.

"What did you get for me?" she asked.

"You have a slave girl's vanity," he said. "Do you not?"

She put down her head. "Yes, Master," she said.

"That is an excellent sign," he said. "Perhaps you will even survive.

She looked at him, piteously.

"Four copper tarsks," he said.

"So little?" she said.

"In my opinion it is more than you are worth," said Msaliti. Then he waved his hand to the askaris, and they turned the slave about and thrust her, ahead of them, from our presence, out into the anteroom. There, in the anteroom, one of them retrieved the tiny scrap of yellow pleasure silk the girl had brought with her, wadded in her hand, when she had come earlier to the building. He tied this, snugly, on her collar. She looked back at us, frightened. Then she was thrust stumbling though the outside door, and into the street.

I stood up, near the table. "I shall see you, then, tomorrow evening," I said.

"Bring with you," said Shaba, "the false ring and the notes."

"And you," I said, "do not neglect to bring the genuine ring with you."

"I shall have it with me," he averred. I did not doubt it.

Msaliti, to one side, had begun his transformation into the beggar, Kunguni. He had already slipped the padded hump beneath his tunic and adjusted the straps by which it was held in place. He was now, at a mirror, with paste and ocher, attending to the matter of the simulated scar.

"What of this slave?" I asked Msaliti, indicating the blond-haired barbarian.

Msaliti shrugged. "She Is now worthless to us," he said.

"What did you pay Uchafu for her?" I asked.

"Five silver tarsks," he said.

"I will give you six," I said.

"She is hot," admitted Msaliti.

"Have you subjected her to rape test? I asked.

"No," said he. "Only to the touch of the owner's hands."

"That is usually a reliable test," I said.

"I will take six tarsks for her," said he, "if you are serious in the matter."

I gave Msaliti six silver tarsks for the girl. She was then mine. In the situation, as I assessed it, either she should have been given to me, upon my expression of interest, or I should have paid something for her in increments of silver tarsks, something over the price Msaliti had paid. Things turned out much as I had expected. I did not think Msaliti, truly, whom I took to be a shrewd, clever fellow, and one concerned with matters of wealth and power, would wish to give a girl away. Too, since he had paid for her in silver tarsks he would wish to sell her in the same denomination and, presumably, at some profit. My offer of six seemed perfect. It permitted him to satisfy his sense of venality and yet not appear excessively mercenary. Had I tried to obtain her for less than six tarsks or he tried to obtain more for her I think the situation could have become unpleasant.

Msaliti, his scar now affixed, and his disguise intact, bent down and removed the shackles from the blond barbarian's ankles. He then removed the collar from her and, with it, the rope which had tethered her to the wall. He then jerked her to her feet and unbound her hands. He then thrust her stumbling, blindfolded and naked, but otherwise unbound, to me. She stood against me, clutching me, frightened.

"I now own you," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She lifted her hands to remove the blindfold.

"Do not remove the blindfold," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said, her lip trembling.

"You may have the blindfold," smiled Msaliti. "Keep her in it until she is well away from here."

"Very well," I said. He did not wish her, of course, to be able to find her way again to this place.

"You are not to touch the blindfold without permission," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said, standing quietly beside me. So simply, she a slave had been placed in the shackles of my will.

"Until tomorrow night," said Msaliti, lifting his hand.

"Until tomorrow night," I said.

He then left.

"We are now alone." I said to Shaba. The presence of the girl, of course, did not count. She was a slave.

"Yes," said Shaba, rising from behind the table.

I measured the distance to him.

"Who are you truly?" he asked.

"I think," I said, "you have the ring upon you, and would not leave it elsewhere."

"You are a shrewd man," said Shaba. He lifted his left hand, on the first finger of which was a fang ring. He folded his left hand into a fist and, with his thumb, pressed a tiny switch on the ring. The fang, of hollow steel, springing up, was then exposed.

"It contains kanda?" I asked.

"Yes," said he.

"It will do you little good," I said, "if you cannot strike me with it."

"A scratch will be sufficient," he said.

"One must, upon occasion, take risks," I said.

"I think I may easily multiply the risks," said he. He reached into his robes with his right hand. In a moment he had seemed to swirl and then, the light-diversion field activated, had vanished from my view.

"Tomorrow," I said, "I shall bring the false ring and. the notes."

"Excellent," said Shaba. "I think that we now understand one another quite well."

"Yes," I said.

"It is a pleasure to do business with such an honest fellow," he said.

"I entertain a similar sentiment toward yourself," I said.

I then turned about and, taking the slave girl by the arm, left the room.

Soon I was in the street, outside.