Explorers Of Gor

13
I Return To The Golden Kailiauk

"Do not fear," I said to Pembe. "It was only a passing indisposition."

His hands shook.

"Look," I said. "See. I do not have the plague."

"Your skin," said he, "is truly clear, and, too, your eyes."

"Of course," I said.

"You are well?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Of course," I said.

"Welcome to the Golden Kailiauk," he said, relieved. "I shall return to the counter in a moment," I said. I went to the wall against which I had placed the blond-haired barbarian. I had told her to put her belly and the palms of her hands, lifted, against the wall. She remained, of course, as I had placed her.

"Kneel here," I said to her. "Back on your heels," I said to her.

She did so, by the wall.

"Now grip your ankles in your hands," I said, "and put your head down."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And do not break that position." I said, "until given permission."

"Yes, Master," she said. "Master!" she said.

"Yes," I said.

She spoke with her bead down, her ankles gripped.

"Who are you?" she said. "Who owns me!"

"Be silent," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then returned to the counter. "Do you have a white-skinned paga slave here," I asked, "a barbarian girl?"

"Yes," he said. "I obtained one only tonight, for four tarsks. I have not yet even put her on the floor."

"I threw him a copper tarsk. "Paga," I said, "and the slave."

"You must know the askaris of Msaliti," he said.

"I have made their acquaintance," I said.

He turned to one of the paga attendants. "Bring the new paga slave to the floor," he said. "Excellent," he said, to himself, "already there is a call for her."

I saw the girl, naked, in her collar, even the bit of yellow slave silk which had been tied to her collar gone, thrust through the beaded curtain by the paga attendant.

"Ah," I said. She had not yet seen me. "I think," I said, "you will soon make back your four tarsks on her."

"But one must figure in, too," said he, "the cost of the paga."

"That Is true," I said.

"She is a new girl," he said. "If she is not entirely satisfactory, let me know, and I will have her whipped and have your money refunded."

"Very well," I said. "I will be at that table," I said, indicating a table in the rear of the tavern, not far from a red-curtained alcove.

"Yes, Master," said Pembe.

I went and sat down, cross-legged, behind the table. I had thought it wise not to go directly back to my room. If someone were to follow me, he would have quite a wait. My stop at the paga tavern, I thought, would make it easier to elude pursuit. I had stopped at this tavern, of course, because of Pembe's new paga slave. When she thought she had been pretending to serve us in the headquarters of Shaba and Msaliti she had, of course, whether she intended it or not, much aroused me. I desired her. So I would now have her. Too, I thought that it might be to the girl's advantage to be broken in by me, one more aware than would be most Goreans of the limitations of Earth girls. Usually it is the first two or three nights which are the most difficult for a girl to survive in a Gorean paga tavern. After the first two or three nights she has usually learned, and well, what she is, a paga slave. If she has not learned it in that time it is likely that her throat will have been cut by some customer, her sales price being then paid to her owner, plus a token tarsk or two, of copper, for good will.

The girl was thrust, her arm in the grip of the paga attendant, on the far side of the room, to the counter. He released her before the counter. Pembe placed a goblet of paga in her hands. He then pointed in my direction.

She turned about. She nearly spilled the paga, trembling. It was well for her that she did not spill it.

Slowly, alone, a paga slave, naked and collared, she approached my table.

She then knelt there, before me.

"Press the cup to your belly," I told her.

She did so. She then held it there, in both hands. "Paga, Master?" she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

She sobbed.

"Kiss the cup," I told her.

She lifted the metal cup from her belly and, turning her head to the side, pressed her lips against it. She then kissed it. She then, her knees wide, her arms extended to me, her head down, between her arms, proffered the paga to me. "Your paga, Master," she whispered.

I did not yet take the paga. "Has Pembe given you a name yet?" I asked. she said.

"No, Master,"

"For purposes of your service to me tonight," I said, "I name you Evelyn."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Use now to me," I said, "the second of the two formulas, personalized, which you. earlier used to me, when you had so foolishly thought yourself a free woman."

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

"Very well," I said.

She knelt back, about a yard from the table. I looked at her. I sipped the paga.

"You are a pretty slave, Evelyn," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"Are you white silk?" I asked.

"I amvirgin," she said.

"Then you are white silk," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Have you ever been curious," I asked, "about what it would be to be a slave?"

She looked at me.

"Beware," I said. "You are naked and kneeling. You wear a slave collar. It will not be easy to lie."

"Yes," she said, putting her head down, "I have been curious to know what it would be to be a slave."

"You will learn," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then gave my attention to the paga, and to my thoughts. In time I sent her back for another cup. The price for the second cup, in the tavern of Pembe, was only a tarsk hit. I paid it to the paga attendant, who collected it at the table. The girls in Pembe's tavern, as in many taverns, are not permitted to touch coins. Evelyn, of course, who had come with the higher price of the first cup, was mine until I chose to leave the tavern or in some other way release her.

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

"Yes," I said.

"Is it Master's intention to use me?" she asked.

"Perhaps," I said, "and perhaps not. I will do what I please."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I nursed the second cup of paga. Then, after a time, I thrust it from me.

"Is Master going to leave?" she asked.

"Go to the alcove," I said.

She looked at me, agonized. She rose to her feet and, scarcely able to move, numbly, went to the alcove. She could not bring herself to enter, through the red curtains.

I took her by the left arm and thrust her within, onto the furs at my feet. I then turned about and drew shut the curtains, hooking them shut.

I then turned about, again, to face her.

She sat, numbly, on the furs, her knees drawn up. I took the ankle ring and chain which lay at the right corner of the alcove, as you enter. The chain is about a yard long and runs to a ring bolted in the floor. There are similar chains in the four corners of the room, and in the center of the wall, near the floor, opposite the red curtains. In the left-hand corner of the room, as you enter, of course, on its chain, is another ankle ring. At the far corners of the room, of course, the chains terminate with wrist rings. In the center of the wall, near the floor, opposite the curtains, the chain terminates with a collar. There are provisions for lengthening and shortening the chains. All these devices work from locks, answering to a common key, which hangs high on the wall, toward the back and left, as you enter. Needless to say that key cannot be reached by the prisoner if even one of the chains is fastened upon her. Near that common key, which hangs on a peg, there is a second peg. From the second peg hangs a slave whip.

I locked the girl's left ankle in the first ankle ring. She looked, wonderingly, at the steel locked on her ankle. She lifted the chain, leading to the locked ankle ring on her left ankle. She looked at me. "You have chained me," she said. "Oh," she said. I thrust her to her back on the furs. I then fastened her left and right wrists in their respective wrist rings. I then put the alcove collar on her, shortening its chain, fitting it over Pembe's collar. She could not then rise more than a few inches from her back. I then went to her right, and shortened the chain there. I then took her right ankle. "Oh!" she said, as I pulled it far to her right. I then locked it in the ankle ring, on its shortened chain, which is at the left of the alcove entrance, as one enters.

She looked up at me, terrified. I looked down at her. "Do you now begin to understand," I said, "what it might be to be chained as a slave?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Look now to your right, high on the wall," I said. "What do you see?"

"A slave whip," she said.

"Do you now begin to understand what it might be to be a slave?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"This is an alcove," I said. "But you may think of it as a very special sort of place."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"As a chamber of submission," I said.

"Yes, yes, Master," she said.

"Think of it now," I said, "think of it deeply and keenly, with every fiber and particle of your lovely body, as a chamber of submission, a chamber in which you, a slave girl, must bend in all respects, a chamber in which you, only a female slave, must submit, in every bit of you, totally, completely, to the will of men."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"I will now touch you," I said.

"I am frigid," she wept. "Do not kill me, I beg of you."

"Think deeply now, fully," I said. "You are in the chamber of submission."

"Yes, Master," she wept.

I then touched her, with exquisite gentleness.

Her haunches leaped, the chains shook. She looked at me, startled.

"Do you submit, fully?" I asked her.

"Yes, Master," she said. Then she lifted her body, piteously. "Please touch me again," she said.

I let her wait for a time. Then, again. I touched her, very gently.

"Aiii!" she cried out, squirming. I continued to touch her for a bit. "Oh, oh," she began to moan.

Then I stopped touching her.

She looked up at me. "What are these sensations? she asked.

"Apparently you should be whipped," I said.

"Why?" she asked. "Why, Master?"

"Because you have lied," I said. "You told me that you were frigid."

She looked up at me, frightened.

"But you are not," I said. "You are only another hot slave."

"No, no," she said. "Not a hot slave, not I!"

"Let us see," said I.

"Oh, oh," she moaned, softly.

She looked up at me. "How can you respect me? she asked.

"You are not to be respected," I told her. "You are only a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You no longer have any pride to guard," I said. "A slave is not permitted pride."

"Yes, Master," she wept. "Oh, oh." Then she threw her head to the side, on the furs. "I want to respect myself!" she cried.

"Your obligation is not to respect yourself," I told her, "but to be yourself."

She looked at me, tears in her eyes. "I dare not be myself," she whispered.

"Is it wrong for a woman to be a woman?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "yes! It is wrong, and demeaning!"

"Interesting," I said. "What should a woman be?" I asked her.

"She should be a man!" she said.

"But, quite simply, you are not a man," I told her.

"I dare not be a woman," she wept.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," she said, "I sense, in my heart, that a woman is a slave."

"Is it not permissible for a slave to be a slave?" I asked.

"No!" she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I do not know!" she wept. "I do not know!"

"Can it be wrong to be what one truly is?" I asked.

"Yes, yes!" she said.

"It is wrong for the tree to be a tree, the rock a rock, the bird a bird?" I asked.

"No, no," she said.

"Why, then," I asked, "is it wrong for a slave to be a slave?"

"I do not know," she said.

"Perhaps it is not wrong for a slave to be a slave," I said.

"I dare not even think that," she said. Then she said, "Please do not stop touching me, Master."

"Does a slave beg?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Evelyn begs Master not to stop touching her."

I kissed her, softly, about the breasts, but did not stop touching her.

"Thank you, Master," she breathed.

Then, suddenly, she tore at the chains, trying to free herself, but could not, of course, do so.

"What is wrong?" I asked her.

"I must resist you!" she cried. "I must not yield! I must not yield!"

"Why not?" I asked.

"I sense the thing in me," she said. "I have never felt it before, but this must be it. It is like waves, from so deep in me. It is beginning to overwhelm me. It is fantastic. It is unbelievable. No! No! You must stop touching me!"

I stopped touching her. "Why?" I asked.

"I was beginning to come to you," she said.

"So?" I asked.

"You do not understand," she said. "I was beginning to come to you-as a slave to her master!"

"But you are a slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"And you are in the chamber of submission," I said.

"You give me no choice," she said.

I smiled at her. "This time, and this time alone," I said, "I will give you a choice."

"A choice?" she said.

"A slave's choice," I told her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You may yield-or die," I told her.

She looked at me with terror. "I choose to yield, Master," she said.

"Of course," I said, "you are a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Next time," I said, "you will not even be given that choice. It will not be necessary. Your slavery has now been confirmed. You will thenceforth be accorded no choice whatsoever, no alternative, however dire, to the enforcement of your submission upon you."

"Yes, Master," she said.

Then I began again to touch her, lifting her to the heights she had chosen, the degrading joys of bondage, the humiliating ecstasy of the chained slave girl.

"Aiii!" she cried, throwing her head back. "I yield me yours, my Master!" she cried.

I had not even, this early in the evening, elected to enter her.

"Please touch me, hold me," she wept, helplessly. I did so. How piteous were her small hands, opening and closing, In the wrist rings.

"I did not know it could be anything like that," she said.

"It was nothing," I told her.

"Nothing!" she wept. "It was the most incredible experience of my life."

"It was only a minor slave orgasm," I said.

"When I came to you," she said, "I was submitting, and owned. It is the most beautiful and glorious feeling I have ever had."

Then, after a time, I began to touch her again.

"What is Master going to do now to his girl?" she asked.

"I am going to teach her a little more of her slavery," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

This time, in less than ten Ehn, she began to squirm and cry. Then, suddenly, she looked at me, frightened. "It is coming," she said. "It is greater than the first. I will not be able to stand it. It will kill me. I will die!"

"No, you will not," I told her.

"Aiii!" she cried out, head back. Then she wept, "I'm chained. I'm chained. Hold me, please. Do not let me go. Stay warm, and near to me. Please, Master. Please, Master."

I held her, and kissed her. Again I had not even elected to enter her.

She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Please come in me," she begged. "I want to be fully yours, had without mercy by my master. Take me, I beg you. Have me!"

"Later," I told her. "I have not yet begun to warm you."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened.

Later, toward morning, near dawn, I awakened, Evelyn's lips so intimate upon me.

During the night I had unchained her, save for the steel and chain on her left ankle.

She awakened me as I had instructed her. It is pleasant to be awakened in that fashion. I put my hands down to her hair, as she pleasured me.

During the night I had taught her some small things, some techniques, little, simple things, for her mouth and hands, and breasts, her hair, her lips, and feet, and tongue. They might help her, I thought, to survive in Pembe's tavern. Most importantly I had tried to impress upon her the fundamental importance of submission, and that she was a slave girl. All else, for most practical purposes, follows from that.

I cried out, softly, and she looked up, pleased that she had made me do that.

"Finish your work, Slave," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

My hands knotted in her hair, tightly, holding her helplessly to me. Then I released her.

I pulled her up to me, and, in the dim light of the alcove, filtering through the red curtain from the slatted grilles in the roof of the main room, wiped her mouth with her hair.

"It is morning, Master," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

I held her arms, as she looked down at me.

"Speak," I told her.

She then, whispering, said the following. I had taught it to her last night.

He is Master, and I am Slave.

He is owner, and I am owned.

He commands, and I obey.

He is to be pleased, and I am to please.

Why is this?

Because he is Master, and I am Slave.

I took her and put her to her back, beside me. I looked down into her eyes.

"Good morning, Slave," I said.

"Good morning, Master," she said.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked.

"In the little time you permitted me to sleep," she said, "I never slept better before in my life."

"Did you dream?" I asked.

"I dreamed I was a slave," she said. "And then I awakened, and found that it was true."

I smiled at her.

"I am a slave," she said, "you know."

"Yes," I said.

"When I awakened this morning," she said, "I knew that it was true. You taught it to me last night."

"Do you think free women could have felt what you felt?" I asked.

"Never," she said, "for they are not slaves." She looked up at me. "What I felt were the feelings of a slave in the arms of her master. Those are feelings no free woman will ever know."

"Unless she is put in bondage," I said.

"Yes, Master," she smiled. Then she said, "How I pity them, those poor free woman, such as I was. How ignorant they are. No wonder they are so hostile to men. Would not any woman hate a man who did not have the strength to put her in a collar?"

"Perhaps," I said. I thought of a girl once known, one who once had been my free companion. I thought of her cruelty to me once, in the house of Samos, when she had thought me helpless and crippled. She had once been the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, but he had disowned her, for once, when she had been the helpless slave of the forest girl, Verna, she had begged to be purchased, a slave's act. Rather than submit to this stain upon his honor he, the Ubar of glorious Ar itself, had sworn against her, upon his sword and upon the medallion of his office as well, the fierce oath of disownment. She lived now, free, but deprived of citizenship, sequestered in Ar. Her left thigh would still bear the brand of Treve, for once, long ago, she bad fallen slave to Rask of Treve, a captain and tarnsman. I wondered if he had made her yield well as a slave, when he had owned her. I did not doubt it. I thought the brand of Port Kar might look well upon her body, placed above that of Treve. I wondered how she might look in scarlet silk, dancing as a slave before any men.

"We belong in collars," said Evelyn.

I heard, outside the curtain, the sounds of the early morning. Tables were being moved aside, that the floor might be cleaned. This work is usually done by paga attendants. The girls, at this time, are usually asleep, chained in their kennels.

"It is morning," I said.

"You are going to go in a moment, aren't you," she asked, "leaving me behind, a chained slave?"

"Of course," I told her, "paga girl."

"Don't go yet," she said. "I beg you, Master."

"Very well," I said.

"I wear Pembe's collar," she said, touching the encircling steel on her neck. "I would wear yours."

I looked at her.

"Surely what you did to me last night," she said, "means something to you?"

"It was only a night's pleasure with a paga girl," I said.

"Oh," she said.

"Any Gorean male could do it to you," I said.

"Make me yield like that," she asked, "as such a slave?"

"Of course," I told her, "Slave Girl."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What do you think now of your collar?" I asked.

"I hate it," she said. "And I love it!"

"You love your collar?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "I love it" She looked up at me. "I love being a slave," she said. "I love being enslaved. I love being forced to yield, and to obey men."

"I see that it is appropriate that you wear a collar," I said.

"Yes." she said, defiantly. "It is fully appropriate."

"You know why it is fully appropriate?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, "because I am a true slave."

"Yes," I said, "Slave."

"And yet," she said. "I am an Earth girl." She put her bands at the collar. "How cruel that I should be put in a collar!" She looked up at me. "Will it never be taken off?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"Ah," she said.

"To be replaced with another," I said.

"Oh," she said. She looked up at the wall, to her right, at the slave whip hanging there, on its peg. "You did not whip me," she said.

"Do you wish to be whipped?" I said.

"No," she said, "no!" She had felt the whip. She then looked again at me. "I suppose," said she, "that I will be bought and sold many times."

"Doubtless," I told her.

"Do you think men will ever free me?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"The collar is right on you," I said.

She touched it. "Yes," she said, "it is right on me. And you knew it immediately, didn't you, you beast? That is why you made me, when I thought I was free, serve you as a naked paga slave."

"It seemed fitting," I said, "that your slavery be made manifest."

"Of course," she said. "You are a Gorean master."

"Any Gorean male looking upon you," I said, "whether you wore a collar or not, would see that you should be a slave."

"And now I am a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I do not object," she said.

"It does not matter whether you object or not," I said.

"True," she smiled.

I heard men moving about, outside, cleaning the floor. I sat up.

"Do not go, Master," she begged.

"I must be on my way," I told her.

"Leaving me here?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Please remain but a bit longer," she begged.

"Would you detain me?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "with the charms of a slave."

"You do not speak as an Earth girl," I said.

"I am no longer an Earth girl," she said. "I am now only a Gorean slave," she said.

"It is true," I said.

She slipped down my body and began, piteously, to kiss me.

"I do not have time," I told her.

"Dally, please dally," she begged, "if only for a few moments more."

I saw that she feared to be left behind. She looked up at me, miserably.

"You now begin to understand, do you not," I asked, "something of the meaning of your collar?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Surely now," I said, "you would choose freedom."

She looked up at me, boldly. "No," she said. "I have been a free woman, and I have been a slave. I have known both."

"Is not freedom inordinately precious?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "but more inordinately precious to me is my slavery."

I looked at her.

"I choose the brand," she said, "the collar, and the hands of a master on my body."

I pulled her up beside me, and threw her to her back. "Use me ruthlessly, Master," she begged.

"I shall," I told her.

"Rape me as a slave," she said.

"It will be done," I told her.

In a few moments she screamed her submission and looked at me, unbelievingly.

"I did not know what it would be to be raped as a slave," she whispered.

"It was so swift, and brutal," she said. "Please hold me," she said.

I spurned her with my foot to the side of the alcove, and she lay there, trembling and weeping.

She held out her hand to me. "Please touch me," she said.

"Be silent, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

I began to dress.

She rose to her knees and knelt there, then, by the side wall, the steel ankle ring, with its chain, leading to the floor ring, still upon her ankle. "How you used me," she said. She was still trembling.

"Sandals," I said.

She crept to me and, head down, placed my sandals on my feet. She then tied them, drawing the thongs tight and then fastening them. "How you used me," she whispered. Then she held my legs and pressed her cheek against the side of my left leg, above the knee. I did not kick her from me. She looked up, tears in her eyes. "If one Is a true slave," he said, "it is not wrong to be a slave, is it?"

"No," I said.

She held my legs, looking up at me. "If one is a true slave," she said, "it is right that one should be a slave, is it not?"

"Yes," I said.

"I am a true slave," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"It is thus right that I should be a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said. I lifted her to her feet, holding her by the arms before me.

"It is right," she said, "that a true slave should be en-slaved."

"Of course," I said.

"I am a true slave," she said.

"I know," I said.

"It is thus right," she said, "that I should be enslaved."

"Yes," I said.

"I am enslaved," she said.

"Yes," I said. I then threw her to my feet and, turning, parted the curtains of the alcove.

"Master," she wept.

I turned to look at her.

"But one more kiss, please, Master," she said.

She knelt on the furs, chained by the ankle, and I crouched before her, and took her in my arms. We kissed. Then I thrust her back, and stood up.

"You subjected me earlier to slave rape," she said, soft tears in her eyes, with tender reproach.

"Yes," I said.

"And afterwards spurned me from you."

"Yes," I said.

"Keep me, Master!" she suddenly begged. "Keep me!"

I looked down upon her. She knelt before me. She was so soft and beautiful, her eyes and lashes wet with tears, her hair dark and soft on her shoulders, her lip trembling.

"Keep me," she begged.

She had been an agent of Kurii.

"Take me with you," she begged. "Do not leave me behind in this place."

She had been an agent of Kurii.

"Speak," I said.

Tremblingly, head down, she spoke.

"He is Master, and I am Slave.

He is owner, and I am owned.

He commands, and I obey.

He is to be pleased, and I am to please.

Why is this?

Because he is Master, and I am Slave."

"Each night, for a month," I said, "after you are chained in your kennel, and before you fall asleep, say that"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Similarly, for the same month," I said, "repeat it to yourself many times during the day."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"It may help you to survive," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"Remember to yield well to men," I said.

"I will not be able to help myself. Master," she smiled.

"Remember submission, and that you are a slave girl," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You may now find this difficult to believe," I said, "but the time will come when you will find that you are unable to part these curtains and enter this alcove from the floor outside without being hot and wet. Merely to cross this threshold, that of an alcove, that of a chamber of submission, will make you ready for a man's pleasure."

"I do not find it difficult to believe, Master," she whispered. "Merely to look at the curtains excites me." She touched her collar. "Merely to touch my collar excites me. To kneel on the furs, to feel them on my body, to be kneeling itself, before a man, excites me. To be naked before him, on my knees, makes me miserable with the desire for his touch."

"I think you will survive, Slave," I told her.

"May I kiss your feet but once more, Master," she said.

I permitted this.

I felt her lips, so sweet on my feet, her tears and hair. "Keep me," she begged. "Keep me, Master."

I looked down once more at the slave at my feet, who had been an agent of Kurii.

Then I turned about and left the alcove.

"Master!" she cried.

I looked back at her, once more. She was on her belly, half through the curtains, her left leg extended behind her, held by the ankle ring and chain. She hold out her right hand to me. "Please buy me! Don't leave me here!" she wept.

"How was she?" asked a paga attendant, pausing in his work, buffing goblets.

"I will not demand a refund," I told him.

"Do you think she will work out?" he asked. "Pembe was curious."

"Probably," I said. "It is hard to know about those things. It is my guess that she will prove satisfactory."

"Is her slavery close to the surface?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "Doubtless it will soon become fully manifest."

"Does she have slave fire?" he asked.

I remembered her sobbing in my arms, kissing and licking, and begging for my least touch.

"Yes," I said.

"That is good," he said. "Perhaps there is hope for the wench. I grow weary of carrying bodies to the harbor."

I went to the place, near the rear wall, where I had left the blond-haired barbarian. She had fallen asleep, slumped, blindfolded, there. She had, of course, released her ankles.

I touched her gently, and she, with a little moan of anguish, awakened. She realized then, suddenly, she had dropped off to sleep. Suddenly, fearfully, she assumed the kneeling position in which I had placed her, head down, gripping her ankles.

"No," I told her, softly.

I then took her gently in my arms. How small and light she was. I do not think she weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds.

"I am leaving by the back way," I told the paga attendant.

"As you wish," he said.

Outside I waited for a few moments, to see if the door, behind me, should be moved ajar. I examined, too, the dust of the alley, to see if it moved, or otherwise stirred, as it might have, if a foot had passed. I looked about, at the roofs about. The door did not move. The dust did not stir. The tops of the buildings, as nearly as I could determine, seemed clear.

I looked at the girl in my arms. She was again asleep. For a moment I felt moved to tenderness toward her. Her life, in the past few weeks, had not been easy. She had been a pawn in the cruel games of worlds. Too, it is sometimes traumatic for a proud, free woman of Earth to discover that she has suddenly become an owned slave. I would let the girl sleep. I carried her through the streets of Schendi. I did not take a direct route to my room.