Mariners of Gor

Chapter Three

“Keep your head down,” said the voice.

I stared at the flooring.

This was now my fourth day on the great ship. I knew, as yet, little about the ship. I did not know her course. I had not been on the main deck. I had been entered into the ship, naked and freezing, my ankles unbound, to permit me to walk, as I could, by means of a side port, of a size and sort with which I was utterly unfamiliar. The galley was nested within the hull itself, which opened to accommodate her, the galley being lifted and swung inboard by means of lines and davits. I suppose this, in its way, is not that much different from the common beaching of Gorean galleys at night, drawn ashore by their crews, as many Gorean seamen do not care to be at sea after the fall of darkness. I would later learn there were six such side ports, three on each side, each accommodating a light galley. In this fashion the light galleys were concealed within the great ship, in such a way that they would not be exposed to missile fire and might be expeditiously launched. For example, in this fashion, the great ship could use them as concealed, surprise weapons, releasing them on a side not visible to an enemy, or, say, applying them at night; similarly, such ships might facilitate reconnoitering, facilitate communication with the shore, provide vessels for obtaining supplies, and such. Indeed, shore-bound intelligence might not realize a mother ship existed, let alone one such as the great ship. There were many applications for such vessels. They could be used for fishing, by line, or net and trident, for boarding, looting, enslaving, and such. Also, they might be launched, if one wished, to dispose of witnesses, a practice favored by some pirates, or, as noted, to pick up survivors, following an action.

Once I had been lifted over the rail of the galley and handed to others, my ankles had been unbound, and I had been blindfolded. I was then led, supported by two fellows, for I could barely walk, through a maze of passages, and then descended for two levels. I heard a variety of accents, several of which I could not place. Several were clearly those of the islands, though some were more akin to those of the continent. I recognized, too, the accents of Ar, as I was familiar with them, from my time in the Ar, during the occupation. I had feared that my captors might have been of cities hostile to Cos and Tyros, but now, as the accents of all, those of the islands and the continent, seemed those of free men, and lacked the softness, deference, and submissiveness of slaves, I gathered that my captors were of diverse origins. I was thus, I supposed, the captive of pirates, for pirate crews are often diversely origined, often recruited from a medley of cast-offs, fugitives, ruffians, murderers, brigands, and such. This surmise, as it turned out, was substantially correct, but was inexact, and over simple. Better put, they were lost men, scattered men, hunted men, men with few resources, outlaws, vagabonds, wanderers, many without a Home Stone, perhaps even having dishonored or betrayed it, rude men, rough men, dangerous men, mercenaries, of a sort, recruited by mysterious leaders, in an obscure cause, which few understood. Why had they not left me to drown? Had they been of vengeful Ar, would they not have cut my throat and put me, bleeding, over the side of the galley? What could they want of me? I could not pretend to be of background, a fellow replete with rich connections, for whom a splendid ransom might be paid. Clearly my hands were roughened from the oar. And, as an oarsman, I would have little if any information pertaining to rich cargoes and secret schedulings. Clerks would know more of that than I. Perhaps they wanted news of the world. Surely it seemed they had their own world, their own city, a floating island of wood. Perhaps they knew as little of the world as the world knew of them. Given the treatment to which I had been subjected, my stripping, and binding, and blindfolding, it seemed clear that I would not be offered the opportunity to sign articles with them, and make one with them, even were I willing, even eager, to do so. And would they not view me as their enemy, for did our ship not fire upon their mountain of wood when it trod, however unwittingly, upon our vessel? I had heard the harsh crackings, marking the launching of sets of javelins, doubtless ignited. We had tried to burn their ship, and how fearsome and dangerous is fire at sea! Too, how could I betray the Home Stone of Jad, or forswear my allegiance to my Ubar, mighty Lurius of Jad? And how could I serve with those of Ar or, say, Port Kar, sworn enemies? Of what value could I be to these men? What might they want of me? Perhaps there were free women on board, and one or another wished to amuse herself with a male silk slave. But I was not such a slave. I heard a metal gate open, and I was conducted within. There was straw underfoot. They sat me down and unbound my hands. Two blankets were pressed to me and I clutched them gratefully. The blindfold was then removed. I was in a small cell, but not the sort of stall, kennel, or cage in which a female slave is kept. In it I might stand upright, and move about. It was not, then, the sort of device, or housing, in which a female slave, designedly, is well apprised of her bondage. Outside the cell, there was a tiny tharlarion-oil lamp, which swung with the motion of the ship. The cell was in some sort of hold, or division of a hold. It was not the only cell in the hold, but it was the only one with an occupant. I wrapped myself in the two blankets and, shivering, burrowed down in the straw.

I had not been killed, as yet, at least. What might they want of me, if anything?

I do not know how long I slept.

I heard no bars, marking the four watches, each of five Ahn, into which the day of a round ship is often divided. A bar signifies the beginning of a watch, struck once, twice for the second Ahn of the watch, and so on. The first watch begins with the commencement of the day’s first Ahn, the second with the sixth Ahn, the third with the eleventh Ahn, and the fourth with the sixteenth Ahn. The final division of the fourth watch commences with the twentieth Ahn. Interestingly, at least to those unaccustomed to the routine of the round ship, the bars which do not pertain to one are scarcely noticed, no more than the creaking of timbers, the wash of waves against the hull. One is not likely to much notice, and may easily sleep through, bars which do not pertain to one’s watch, but note, and even awaken to, a bar pertinent to one’s own watch. The bars are usually unobtrusive. The consistent, repetitive ringing of a bar is a signal of alarm, a sound much dreaded. To be sure, not all round ships regulate their day in this fashion. Some differences occur, port to port, Ubarate to Ubarate. Some round ships do not have recourse to bars, at all, but use clepsydras, sand glasses, and such, to mark watches, and use watch keepers to alert or rouse the pertinent watch. In this way the ship may move in silence. For example, watch bars are not used on a long ship, a ship of war. On such ships bars may, however, serve other purposes, signaling and such. On some ships they time the stroke of oars, but this is more commonly done by mallets on a copper-headed drum, or, if silence is in order, by calling the beat, from amidships. As mentioned, I heard no bars. This suggested to me, but did not prove, that this mysterious, monstrous vessel in which I found myself encelled, despite its size, was not a round ship, or, better, not a round ship as one usually thinks of such ships. At that time I understood neither its purpose nor nature. I did know it was capable of destroying a long ship, riding over it as though it did not even exist.

“Master?” I heard.

I opened my eyes, and rose to a sitting position, cross-legged, in the straw, the blankets down, so that my arms were free. The gate to the cell was open, swung back. I saw nothing beyond it but the wall of the hold, the steps which had led down to this level, the small tharlarion-oil lamp on its chain, moving a bit with the rhythm of the ship. There was no guard behind her, but I did not doubt that one had opened the gate for her, and had then withdrawn. Such as she are not trusted with keys. The gate would lock, if swung shut. It would have been nothing to strike her aside and exit the cell, but there was, in effect, no point in doing so. The vessel at sea, flight would be foolish. Where would one go? Where would one hide? I would remain where I had been placed, at least for now. I must learn more. I must have more information. Those who had incarcerated me, I realized, assumed my likely judgment in this matter. I found this gratifying. In its way, it said they did not think it likely that I was stupid. In its way, it was a token of respect. I had been given enough time to sleep, to recuperate, to become better aware of my position, and my dependence on the will of others. I might have taken her in hand, but she would have little value as a hostage, as she was an animal, and not one of particular value. Her loss could be replaced indifferently with that of any one of a dozen, or hundred, similar beasts. It would be much like trying to bargain with a verr or vulo in hand. Who would take one seriously?

“Master,” she said, seeing my eyes upon her, “may I approach? I bear nourishment.”

“Yes,” I said.

In her two hands she bore a bowl.

“Broth,” she said.

“There,” I said, brushing some straw aside, and indicating where she might place the bowl, before me.

She approached, insufficiently humbly I thought.

She bent down.

She started. The bowl had suddenly jerked, and broth had leapt in the bowl, some of it running down the side of the bowl, some spilling to the wood. She looked suddenly frightened. Such as she could be whipped for clumsiness.

“There,” I said again, indicating, again, the place before me.

She placed the bowl before me. She now looked down, and to the side, hiding her face from me.

She then rose up, and facing me, for she knew that much, backed away. She seemed eager to withdraw.

“Wait,” I said, as one speaks to such as she.

She then stood back from me, facing me, her head down.

I had no interest in punishing her. She was not even mine. I supposed she was part of the ship’s furniture, so to speak. I was curious as to why she had started so.

“You know me?” I asked.

“Surely I could not know you,” she said.

I looked up at her. Something seemed familiar about her. Was it her voice?

“May I withdraw, Master?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

Her body stiffened, but she remained in place.

“Stand as what you are,” I said.

“Please, Master!” she protested.

“As what you are,” I repeated. “You have been taught, have you not?”

She then stood well, lithe and lissome, supple and graceful, her back straight, her shoulders back, her hip turned.

I examined her lines. I would have guessed a silver tarsk and change.

In such as she slovenly posture is not accepted. Before men such as she must stand well, move well, and such. If they do not the lash will see to their correction.

“Lift you head,” I said.

She complied, but with obvious reluctance. Surely she knew that in such as she acquiescence was to be unquestioning and instantaneous.

“Do I not know you?” I asked.

“Surely not, Master,” she said.

She must remain before me, of course, as she was, as I had placed her.

She wore a brief ship’s tunic, sleeveless, brown, slit at the hips, with a deep neckline, a feature by means of which certain aspects of her value might be the more helpfully assessed.

“Come here,” I said to her, “kneel before me.”

“Please, Master!” she protested.

“Now,” I said.

“Good,” I said.

She knelt with her knees closely together, clenched together. The palms of her hands were down, on her thighs.

“Now lean forward.”

“Master,” she protested.

“Must a command be repeated?” I asked.

“No,” she said, frightened. The repetition of a command is often cause for discipline.

She leaned forward, and, as I gestured, even more so, and I took her chin gently in my hand and then, I, too, leaning forward, lifted her head, and then turned her head from side to side.

I then released her, and sat back.

I laughed, and she drew back, and buried her face in her hands and wept.

“I thought I recognized your voice,” I said. “Too, as I recall, you were occasionally careless in your toilette, your veil, more than once, as though inadvertently, being disarranged. You did that to torment us, the lower soldiers, did you not?”

She was silent.

“What do they call you here?” I asked.

“Alcinoe,” she said. “I hate the name! I hate it! It is a Cosian name.”

“It is a lovely name,” I said. “And I am Cosian. My Home Stone is that of Jad.”

She before me was the former Lady Flavia of Ar, who had been one of the inner circle of the Ubara, Talena of Ar. I recognized her, from my duties in the Central Cylinder, during the occupation.

“I suspect,” I said, “you were on the proscription lists posted in Ar, following the restoration of Marlenus.”

The fear in her face confirmed this speculation.

“Do not betray me,” she begged.

“I shall have to think about it,” I said.

“I was of high caste, of high family, of position and importance, of influence, wealth, and power, and now,” she sobbed, “I have this!” Her eyes filled with tears, and she put the fingers of her right hand to the flat, sturdy, metal band which closely encircled her throat.

How lovely such devices are, closely clasping and locked, on the neck of a female! How they enhance a woman’s beauty!

What she said was surely true, and she, in the company of the Ubara, Talena of Ar, was an arch collaborator with the occupation forces in Ar. She, and many others like her, both men and women, had been involved in the conspiracy by means of which Ar had fallen, in the opening of Ar’s gates, in the razing of her walls, in the machinations by means of which Ar had been subdued and looted for months. She, as others who were confidantes of the Ubara, had become rich in the profiteering attendant on the occupation, as in controlling the supply and distribution of goods, in private marketing, in illicit trade, in the peddling of influence, and the selling of favors. Bribery and corruption had been rampant and those with the ear of the Ubara, those on whom she might choose to smile, prospered, while the common citizenry suffered, struggled to live, knew fear and uncertainty, peril and want, and must endure the contumely and abuse not only of undisciplined, garrisoning soldiers but of wandering bands of uncontrolled, wayward youths who, scorning their own Home Stone, affected the habits, accents, and styles of Ar’s masters. Too, Talena, in the name of due tribute, the meting out of justice, the garnerings of recompenses for Ar’s alleged crimes, and such, had used her power to bring many of the free women of Ar into the collar, to be transported abroad, to Cos, Tyros, and elsewhere, as slaves. Indeed, the Ubara had used this device to avenge herself on many free women, who might have scorned her during her sequestration under Marlenus, or might merely have been alleged as rivals to the Ubara in the way of beauty. Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, once the daughter of an Administrator of Ar, was one such. She was given as a slave to Myron, the polemarkos of Temos, who, behind the throne, was the actual power in Ar. Other beauties of Ar were put in the taverns and brothels, several of which the Ubara owned and managed under the false name of Ludmilla. The Lady Flavia, too, I knew, had, by means of her influence with the Ubara, seen to it that various of her peers, perceived enemies or rivals, were publicly stripped and consigned to the chains of slaves. During the course of the uprising, the restoration, even in the midst of fighting, angry crowds had sought out traitors and collaborators, and brought them, bound and screaming, to improvised impaling spears. Proscription lists were publicly posted, containing the names of many traitors and collaborators yet to be caught and brought to the justice of the spear. I had no doubt but that the name of the Lady Flavia occurred on more than one such list.

“You were close to the Ubara,” I said. “Doubtless you know her fate.”

“Doubtless there is a reward for her,” she said.

“Very much so,” I said.

“And you would like to obtain the reward.”

“Who would not?” I asked. Actually I thought it highly unlikely that a single individual could bring Talena to Ar. It might require negotiation, and the backing of a city. Otherwise the Ubara, captive, might change hands, from brigand to brigand, a dozen times before being brought before the Ubar’s throne.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward?” she asked.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward-what?” I said.

“May I inquire the extent of the reward-Master?” she said.

“No,” I said.

Her body tightened and a flicker of annoyance flashed upon those somewhat haughty, but exquisite features.

I gathered she did not yet know what she was, except doubtless in some practical or legal sense. It was not yet understood in every fiber of her body, and, helplessly, profoundly, as it would eventually be, in the most remote recesses of her heart. She did not yet think herself, regard herself, recognize herself, know herself, and feel herself, as what she now was, wholly, and truly. She thought of herself as a free woman in a collar, and not yet as a natural, rightful slave, at last appropriately, publicly collared.

“You were close to the Ubara,” I said.

“None closer,” she said.

“You were her confidante?”

“Yes,” she said.

“You were, I gather, the dearest of friends,” I said.

“I hated her,” she said.

“But doubtless you dissembled friendship, and such,” I said.

“I do not know her whereabouts,” she said.

“Would you tell me if you knew?” I asked.

“I do not know her whereabouts,” she said.

“You do not know her fate?”

“No,” she said, “-Master.”

I picked up the bowl of broth, and sipped some. It was still warm, and I was grateful for it. I regarded her over the brim of the bowl.

“May I withdraw?” she said.

“No,” I said. Such as she does not leave the presence of a free person without permission, either implicit or explicit.

“Tell me the last you know of the Ubara,” I said.

I saw she was reluctant to speak. I supposed that she would be one of a small number of individuals, the inner circle, who might have been in the vicinity of the Ubara, prior to her escape, or disappearance. I did not doubt, really, that she was ignorant of the location of the Ubara, as she proclaimed. Had she not been, she might have tried, foolishly, to barter that information for her freedom. So little she knew of the import of her collar! One does not bargain with slaves. In a Gorean court the testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture. A slave who attempts to bargain is commonly punished, usually with the lash. If a slave possesses information of interest to masters she is expected to communicate it promptly. Failure to do so is cause for discipline. A slave who has had the insolence and temerity to attempt to bargain with masters may hope, after her punishment, which is likely to be severe, that her life may be spared.

“Where did you see her last?” I asked.

“Must I speak?” she asked.

My eyes conveyed my answer.

“You will not believe my words,” she said. “I scarce credit them myself, and I saw, or seemed to see, what occurred.”

“Continue,” I said, taking another sip of the broth.

“It was on the fourth day of the uprising,” she said. “Those of Ar had risen, everywhere, it seemed, from doorways and cellars, from within the cylinders and on the bridges, rushing forth, seizing up as weapons things so simple as clubs, poles, staves, and rocks, overwhelming in their numbers even armed men.”

We had done our best, of course, we of the occupation, to disarm the populace, pretending this to be in their own best interest, that in this way they would be better protected, that in this way they would be assuring their own safety, security, and welfare. And so might the small, yellow, single-horned tabuk be persuaded to abandon its one weapon, that it might thus be safer amongst prowling sleen. It is important that the subject population be as helpless as possible, that it be unable to defend itself, that those sovereign in the state may thus impose their will, their exactions and abuses, with impunity upon it, having then nothing to fear from the weak, the disarmed, the unprotected, and defenseless. But we had not reckoned with Marlenus of Ar, that he might return. What had been begun by the Delta Brigade, that hated, secret band of subversives, the resistance, implacable to the occupation, came openly alive and flaming with the sudden reappearance of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars. It was as though the Delta Brigade had spread an anticipatory terrain of tinder and oil throughout the streets of Ar, into which great Marlenus, come somehow to the city, flung the torch of revolution. His hand seemed visible everywhere. Truly had the banner of Ar been unfurled.”

I myself, with my unit, had been withdrawn from the Central Cylinder on the second day of the uprising. It would have been madness to have stayed longer, certainly in the Cylinder, which, given its location, could be easily cut off from reinforcements. We would be besieged in an alien citadel, without support, in the midst of enemies. Who could one trust? We would have been outnumbered by dozens to one, hundreds to one. The camp of the polemarkos had already been overrun. Initially it had been surmised the rebellion would be easily suppressed, but soon its extent and power became fearfully obvious. This was no sporadic thing, easily put down with a few blows. This was no simple riot, spontaneous and disorganized, as one protesting the burning of a shop, a scarcity in the markets. Happily the occupation had overseen the dismantling of the walls of Ar. We avoided, as we could, the avenues and boulevards, and sought small streets, away from the shouts of men and the sounds of war, the ferocity of rude battle, and made our way to the pomerium, no longer marked by walls and towers. By dusk we were in the countryside. Only later were we to reconstruct what had occurred, the pockets of our resistance, overcome one by one, the decimated retreats, the slaughterings, the terror, the blood, the hunting of traitors and collaborators, the joining of the forces of Ar, maintained during the occupation, to the uprising, the appearance of never-surrendered, concealed weapons, many brought back from the delta, by returning veterans of the Delta Expedition, the contributions of Peasants, masters of the great bow, who had apparently unwittingly sheltered Marlenus prior to the uprising, the numerous proscriptions, the reenthronement of Marlenus, and such.

“You were still in the city, on the fourth day of the rebellion?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why would I not believe what you might say?” I asked.

“It was the fourth day of the uprising,” she said. “We had sealed off the upper floors of the Central Cylinder. We were on the roof of the Central Cylinder. Seremides, master of the Taurentians, the palace guard, was in command. There were some forty of us, men and women. Many of the Taurentians had fled, been killed, or captured. Seremides was attempting to negotiate with the rebels. They seemed little interested in his proposals. There were tarns on the roof, by means of which Seremides, and some of his men, might attempt their escape, a hope meager but not forlorn, for the sky is wide and deep. We had been told there would be tarn baskets for the women, but when I emerged on the roof, I saw no such baskets. Seremides had so bespoke himself, it seems, to calm our fears. His power of bargaining, as he saw it, was vested in his control of the Ubara herself. He intended to trade her for the escape of himself and his men. You should have seen the proud Ubara on the roof. Seremides had had her don a slave tunic, and you know what such things are.”

“Yes,” I said, “I see one.”

She perhaps referred to the extraordinary brevity of such a garment, its capacity to cling to a slave’s body, its brazen scantiness, its shameful display of the slave’s body as that of the animal she is, the lack of a nether closure, that she may know herself at the pleasure of masters, and such.

“And he knelt her, roped, at his thigh, barefoot, with her head down. It much pleased me to see the Ubara on her knees, beside a man, helpless in ropes, her head down, refused permission to raise it, as though a submitted slave.”

“Why would he so shame the Ubara,” I asked, “remove her robes of state, her veiling, and such?” I asked.

“I think for two reasons,” she said. “”First, he wanted it to seem that he understood the uprising, even favored it, even shared its views, and was thus discountenancing the Ubara and her policies, for which he had held a secret animus for months, and, to show his allegiance to the uprising, had taken the tyranness prisoner, and was now willing, for certain considerations, his life, and that of his men, and perhaps a bag of gold, to surrender her, clad and shamed as she was, to the justice of Ar.”

She had paused.

“And there was perhaps a second reason,” I said.

“I think so,” she said. “Are not men beasts?”

“It is true they are men,” I said.

Are not women beautiful, and desirable? Who has not seen them in the paga taverns, stripped or silked? Who has not admired them in an exposition cage, on the auction block, under torchlight? Is it not pleasant to see them slave clad and collared, in the parks, on the boulevards, in the markets? Is it not delightful to see them being walked, back-braceleted and leashed, or chained at slave rings, awaiting the return of their masters? What man, truly, does not want to own a beautiful woman, to have her in his collar and at his feet?

“The negotiations, I take it,” I said, “did not go well.” Certainly, it seemed clear that Talena was not in the custody of the authorities of Ar.

“They might have gone well,” she said. “But they did not even begin. Those of Ar did not care to deal. There were mobs in the streets. There was no discipline. They wanted blood.”

“Were you not tunicked, knelt, and bound, on the roof?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” she said. “I was in my fullness of regalia, in robes, hoods and veils. It was Talena, not I, who was shamefully exhibited, as might have been a slave. Indeed, it was I who found the Ubara cowering in her quarters and led the men to her. It was I who, at the behest of Seremides, cast her the rag of a slave, and bade her don it, and expeditiously, or the men would see to the matter. It gave me pleasure to scorn her pleadings and refuse her piteous supplications for succor. Did she truly think I was her friend? When, to her shame she divested herself of her robes, hoods, veils, and sandals, and was slave clad, I called to the men, ‘She is ready. Bring your ropes!’ On the roof, we knew the rebels were approaching. We could see rebel tarnsmen in the sky. ‘Where is the tarn basket?’ I cried to Seremides. ‘What is to become of me?’ He answered not. I seized his sleeve, but he brushed me aside, and I fell to the flooring of the cylinder’s roof. We could hear the anthem of Ar in the streets below. We knew that rebels within the cylinder would shortly reach the roof. ‘Slay the Ubara!’ called a man, holding tarn reins, to Seremides. ‘Show thus your allegiance to Ar!’ Seremides drew his sword. But then the strangeness took place, which I doubt that you will believe.”

I addressed myself again to the broth.

“It could only have been the intervention of Priest-Kings,” she said.

I did not speak.

“There was a sudden darkness,” she said, “as though a dark cloud had suddenly enveloped the cylinder, or its roof. We cried out in consternation. Two of the tarns screamed and one broke away, in flight. ‘Where is the Ubara?’ cried Seremides. He seemed to be casting about. It could have been a moonless midnight, suddenly precipitated. I felt my robes seized, wildly, and sensed a blade at my cheek. ‘I am Flavia!’ I cried. ‘Flavia!’ I was thrust back down. Then there was a sudden blast of light, obliterating the darkness, blinding us, and it seemed, when we could see, that a large metal object, I think thick and circular, was disappearing in the distance.”

“And the Ubara?” I asked.

“Gone,” she said.

I have attained to the Second Knowledge, but this made little sense to me. It seemed obvious that such an ensuance could be explained, if at all, only in terms of a sky ship, and, such, if it existed, would presumably emanate from the Sardar, allegedly the abode of Priest-Kings. Her story was so untoward and bizarre I thought it not likely she would be lying. If it were a lie, it would be a most improbable lie. Too, such as she could be punished severely for lying. They are not free women, who may lie with impunity. Too, to such an event, there must have been a number of witnesses, not only on the roof, but in the sky, tarnsmen, others in cylinders and on bridges, the crowds in the street below, and such.

“When it became clear that Talena was gone,” she said, “Seremides and his men, finding their situation critical, took to desperate flight. I reached for the mounting ladder of Seremides’ tarn, but it was jerked away, and, in a moment, I was in the shadow of those great beating wings, the bird lifting itself, scarcely able to keep my footing, my robes and veils whipping about me, and then the monster was in flight, and Seremides, and his men, were streaking away, scattering, pursued by tarnsmen.”

“Did Seremides escape?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said.

“How is it that you are here?” I asked. “How did you escape from Ar?”

“I found myself alone on the roof,” she said. “The other women, knowing themselves not so highly placed as I, the high confidante of the Ubara, and thus less likely to be borne to safety, and there being no tarn baskets, as noted, had fled the roof, descending into the cylinder to meet whatever fates might be theirs. I resolved to put into action a bold plan, one I had conceived as a last, fearful resort, if all seemed lost, to be executed before the upper levels of the cylinders were attained. I descended to my apartment, but two levels below. I summoned my five sandal slaves, ordered them into an open side compartment, and had them bind, gag, and blindfold one another, I attending to the last. They would not be able to see what I did, nor would they be able to speak, until relieved of their gags. I then went to a small panel in my chamber of couching, slid back the panel, and removed from it a tiny, secret chest, which I feverishly unlocked. Within this chest, as a last, desperate resort, I had placed a slave tunic and collar, the key to which I might conceal in the tunic’s hem. I shuddered to even touch such things, the garment tiny and flimsy, the collar light but so imminently practical and efficient, with its tiny, sturdy lock, which went at the back of the neck. I removed the small handful of jewels from my pouch, which treasure I had intended to bear with me in my escape, and concealed them, together with the collar key, within the tunic, in a specially prepared, interior sleeve. I smoothed them about, so their presence would not be evident. I heard pounding at an outer door. I tore away my robes and veils and thrust them beneath the covers of the couch. I dared to look upon myself in the mirror, and I recognized, though not with my customary pleasure and composure, that I was quite beautiful. Momentarily I feared I might never be able to pass as a slave, being far too beautiful.”

“Continue,” I said.

“In moments I had donned the tunic. I snapped the collar about my neck. I shuddered as I did so. How meaningful must that sound be to a woman who realizes she is now collared, truly. I reassured myself, pressing it with my fingers, against my leg, that the key was at hand, concealed within the tunic. Again I looked into the mirror, and the thought crossed my mind, horrifying me, that I might be found of interest by men. How worthless and disgusting are slaves! How lustful men seek them so! I was profoundly disturbed, terrified, to see my neck in a collar. I seemed transformed, to be something totally other than I had been. How men might see a woman in such a device! I feared I knew! I was terrified, and furious, that I, a free woman, might be seen as a slave, but, at the same time, I was terrified that I might not be seen as a slave, for my life itself might well depend on the success or failure of this deceit. How could I, with my beauty, so far beyond that of a slave, pass as a slave? But I must do my best. Such was my only hope. On the fourth day of the uprising we were well aware of affairs in the streets below, and the proscription lists, and I had learned my name stood high on the lists, not far below those of Talena, Seremides, and others.”

“Surely,” I said, “you had concealed funds, weightier, more ample treasures, coffers of gold, or such, about the city, to provide you with a larger wherewithal of escape?”

“No,” she said. “We did not anticipate the return of Marlenus, the uprising. Too, as it turned out, I would not have been able to reach them, and, had I been able to reach them, it would have been difficult, or impossible, to transport them from the city.”

“True,” I said.

“Jewels,” she said, “must do, what I could easily carry, place in a pouch.”

“Or conceal in a tunic,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“So you would escape in the disguise of a slave,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Who would note me? I feared only that my beauty would betray me, that men, if perceptive, might note that it was far beyond that of a mere slave.”

I found her views interesting. One of the highest compliments one can pay a free woman, though perhaps not to her face, is that she is “slave beautiful.” Commonly it is only the most beautiful of women who are brought into the collar. After all, one wants to sell them.

“So,” she said, “well disguised, and bearing riches, I would make my way to freedom.”

“I see,” I said.

I wondered if she knew that that ruse, feigning bondage, was not unprecedented amongst free women in straits, for example, in a burning city, being sacked, and such. And I supposed that she did not know that tunics were removed routinely and examined for such articles, jewels, rings, coins, keys, and such, as well as the body of the female.

“The pounding at the door grew more insistent. Too, there was shouting. And I then heard heavy blows against the wood, the striking of some tool.”

I supposed this would be siege hammer, or possibly a hand ram, swung by one or more men.

“‘Wait, wait, Masters’ I cried, using the word ‘Masters’ as an aspect of my disguise. ‘The Mistress is not here!’ I said. ‘She has fled! I will open the door!’ I lifted away the bars, and the door burst inward, striking me to the side. I was bruised. I kept my head down. They must not see how beautiful I was. They must think me a mere slave! ‘Whose compartments are these?’ demanded a man, with a sharpened half-staff. ‘Those of my Mistress, the Lady Flavia of Ar, Master!’ I responded. ‘Excellent, the slut Flavia!’ he cried. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘I do not know, Master,’ I said. ‘Fled!’ ‘She has been proscribed,’ he said. ‘She no longer has slaves. Report to the vestibule below. You will be reallotted.’ ‘Yes, Master!’ I said. ‘What is your name?’ demanded another man. ‘Publia, Master,’ I said. ‘-if it pleases Master?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘-if it pleases Master.’ ‘‘Publia’ is too fine a name for a slave,’ said a fellow. ‘She is a sandal slave,’ said another. ‘Consider the length of her tunic, and the fineness of its material.’ ‘Let her belong to a man,’ said another, ‘and she will find out what it is to be a slave.’ More than one man laughed at this. Some of the men then, after briefly looking about, exited the compartments, to pound on other doors, and some of them began to ascend the stairs, leading to the next level. Of those still in the compartments, I heard one say, ‘Ho, what have we here?’ ‘Tethered verr!’ said another. ‘Tastas!’ said another. ‘Trussed vulos!’ laughed another. ‘Well-prepared puddings,’ laughed another, ‘ready for delectation!’ My prone, or supine, sandal slaves had been discovered, bound hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded. Unnoticed, I slipped through the door. The attention of the brutes, I was sure, as I had some sense of the interests of men, would be occupied for a time with the sandal slaves. How frightful it must be for the slaves, I thought, to find themselves helpless, even blindfolded, in the hands of men. I did not think it likely they could betray me, as they did not know what I had done, or where I might be. I would soon, if all went well, be well away. I had been an excellent Mistress to the slaves, not merely in demanding a meticulous perfection in their many duties as a lady’s serving slave, which is to be expected, but in regulating and supervising their behavior, demeanor, speech, posture, and such. I had been much concerned to improve them, for they were, of course, a reflection on me. Accordingly, I rigorously supervised their deportment, and saw to it that they did not stray from the paths of virtue. The standards for a lady’s serving slave, you see, are quite high. Such must be refined, dutiful, humble, undefiled, unsullied, and pure. Even to look upon men is forbidden them. Did I not once see Althea, in the market, look over her shoulder, and smile at a handsome drover? I switched her all the way home, across the back of the thighs, and back in the compartments I gave her a whipping she would never forget! Such behavior embarrasses me. Many slaves are hard to tell from a she-sleen in heat. Have I not seen the tears in their eyes, and how they brush against their masters, how they, on their leashes, lift their lips hopefully to his? Who knows what goes on at a slave ring? How tragic I thought, that my lovely sandal slaves might now fall into the hands of men. But I could no longer protect them and preserve their purity. I was not far from the compartments when I heard Althea cry out, as though in joy, ‘Masters!’ Perhaps she belongs at a man’s slave ring, I thought. She could never manage even the secret interior fastenings of my robes of concealment, and a kaiila might have draped my veils more tastefully.

“I descended, level by level. When I reached the vestibule I was horrified to see a number of slaves, doubtless from the lower floors, mostly tower slaves and sandal slaves, naked and on all fours, fastened together, like beads on a string, by a single long rope, successively tied and knotted about the neck of each. ‘Take off your tunic,’ said a man, ‘and go to the end of the rope.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I said, but, as no one was looking, I went to the end of the line, but then slipped to the side and exited the cylinder. I was outside, on the plaza. I was startled that the fellow who had spoken to me had not been more careful, or more suspicious. It seems he had, without a second thought, taken me as a slave. I found this incomprehensible, and annoying, but I was grateful that he been so negligent, so undiscerning.”

“Taking you for a slave,” I said, “it never occurred to him that you would not obey.”

“But I was a free woman,” she said.

“True,” I said.

“Why would he suppose that a slave would obey?” she asked.

“Were you more of a slave,” I said, “you would understand.” The obedience of a slave is to be unquestioning and instantaneous. It does not take an intelligent woman long to learn this, usually no more than a first hesitation, following which they are apprised of their lapse by the switch or lash.

“What would they do with the gathered slaves?” she asked.

“I would suppose,” I said, “as confiscated goods, they would become the property of the state, later to be distributed, put on sale or such.”

“Suitable for slaves,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“How meaningless and worthless they are,” she said.

“They have their uses,” I said.

“Though there were many in the streets,” she said, “almost no one paid attention to me. It was almost as though I might have been a loose verr.”

“Or tarsk,” I suggested.

“I made my way through crowds,” she said. “There was only one untoward incident. Most unpleasant! Only a hundred yards from the walls, I was accosted by a large female slave. ‘High slave!’ she sneered. ‘Give me your sandals!’”

“You wore sandals?” I said.

“Of course,” she said.

I nodded. It was not that unusual for a favored slave, a high slave, a spoiled slave, or such, to be granted sandals.

Most masters, subject, of course, to conditions of weather and terrain, keep their girls barefoot. This is because they like to see the feet of slaves bare, as they like, generally, bareness in slaves. Too, the feet of slaves are often attractive, small, and pretty. Too, of course, being barefoot helps the slaves to keep in mind that they are slaves. The barefootedness of the slave also tends to draw a further distinction between her and the free woman, for the free woman, even of low caste, almost always has footwear of one sort or another, even if it is only a wrapping of cloth. Too, who would put sandals, slippers, or such, on verr, tarsks, kaiila, or such?

“Did your girls have sandals?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” she said.

I raised the broth, again, to my lips, surveying her over its brim. She seemed uneasy, my eyes upon her.

“Master?” she said.

She seemed uncertain, as to whether she might continue to speak. I found that encouraging. She was not sure of herself before me. That was appropriate. It seemed clear she wished to speak, but was reluctant to ask permission to do so, for what that might signify, not so much to me, as to her.

I put the bowl to the floor, beside me, with its residue of fluid.

“Master?” she said, again.

I suspected it had been long since anyone had listened to her, long since her hunger, that of a woman, to be heard had been satisfied. To be denied speech is a torment for them. Indeed, the control of their speech, as that of their food, and garmenture, muchly impresses on them what they are. It leaves them in little doubt that they are in a collar. They want so much to speak! I think that we should indulge them in this. Certainly it is another pleasure, that of listening, derivable from them. So put one such as she, a highly intelligent, articulate, aware, sensitive, literate woman, such as obviously belongs in the collar, before you, and listen to her, and with care. She is, of course, to be naked and kneeling, with her hands braceleted or thonged behind her. There is, I assure you, a special flavor or ambiance to such a conversation. Afterwards, when one wishes, one terminates the conversation, and does with her what one wishes.

“Continue,” I said.

“This monstrous female,” she said, eagerly, gratefully, “perhaps a discipline slave in a pleasure garden, used to keep smaller, more beautiful females in line, or a female draft slave, or a laundress, at best, said, ‘Give me your sandals!’ ‘Never,’ cried I, ‘slave!’ ‘Slave?’ she said. ‘Get out of my way,’ I cried, ‘slave, or I will have the flesh lashed off your large, ugly bones!’ She looked at me, suddenly, warily. ‘Is Mistress free?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not. I am only a poor slave, as yourself.’ ‘Truly?’ she said. ‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘you can see I am tunicked and collared. Now let me pass!’ ‘You high slaves,’ she said, ‘think you are better than the rest of us!’ ‘We are superior,’ I informed her. Was that not obvious? ‘But we all lick the feet of men!’ she said. ‘Get out of my way!’ I demanded. ‘Your sandals!’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘No!’ I said. After all, how could I walk without them? ‘You would deny me,’ she asked, ‘you bauble, you small, well-turned, meaningless morsel of collar meat, you plaything, you caressable little she-urt!’ And then she leaped at me and seized me by the hair, and twisted her hands within it, and shook my head, and I screamed with misery, blind with pain. Then she forced me down to my knees, I, actually a free woman, and, without relinquishing her hold on my hair, still hurting me, terribly, went behind me, and jerked my head up. ‘I am going to tear the tunic off your little man-pleasing body!’ she snarled. ‘Please, no, Mistress!’ I cried, terrified, in pain, for in my flank there was no iron burn. Lacking that I feared the impaling spear was imminent. ‘Mistress, mistress, please, no!’ I wept. I was then thrown forward, to my stomach, and, simultaneously, thankfully, she released my hair. I dared not move. I felt my sandals stripped off. When I dared I turned to my side, and looked up, fearfully, and saw her, through tears, standing almost over me. She dangled the sandals from her hand, looked at me, and laughed. She was so large, and strong. I could not have begun to match strength, nor try force, with her. No longer did men, and society, stand behind me. She disappeared in the crowd, and I rose, painfully, to my feet. I pulled down the tunic, for it had come high on my thighs. ‘Pretty kajira,’ laughed a fellow, passing, and made a noise which frightened me. I must remember that I was in a collar! I shuddered, and drew down the tunic even more. My feet were now bare. How strange it seemed for my feet to be bare, to feel grit beneath them, sand, a pebble, the smoothness of street stones. I did not know if I could walk. Could I do more than hobble, painfully? And might this not attract attention, as, say, a crippled kaiila might attract the attention of tawny prairie sleen? Might it suggest that I might be an unshod free woman? But none about seemed to notice me, other, of course, than as a slave might be noticed. More than once I found myself, a free woman, under the appraising glances of men. How slaves are looked upon! I dared not confront them. I dared not reprimand them. I dared not object. I realized, to my astonishment, that despite my remarkable beauty, that of a free woman, I was being seen, and without a second thought, as no more than another slave, perhaps only another ‘pretty kajira.’ This angered me, but at least my disguise was effective.

“I was in the vicinity of the ruins of the walls when I had been halted, abused, and robbed. This was a place of most danger for men patrolled the perimeter of the city, to prevent the flight of those whom the risen, vengeful citizens sought. I thought of trying to hide until darkness, but where would I hide? There was a collar on my neck. And buildings were being searched, room to room. And I feared the perimeter would be illuminated at night, not only by the moons, for two would be full, but by torches and kindled fires. Then, too, I had a sudden, fearsome thought. What if my robes, which I had thrust beneath the covers of my couch, were found, and understood. I had had no time to dispose of them. Even now, perhaps, their scent taken, eager sleen might be straining on their leashes, eyes blazing, salivating in anticipation, their fangs wet, their claws scratching on the stones, pulling their way toward me. And I had no men to protect me! I was as vulnerable as what I was pretending to be, a female slave!”

“Yet you are here,” I said, “wherever this may be.”

“We are both prisoners,” she said.

“I am a prisoner,” I said. “You are something other than a prisoner.”

“Do not so think of me,” she said.

I said nothing.

“Perhaps we can be of assistance to one another,” she said.

“You speak as though you might be a free woman,” I said.

She regarded me, frightened. I did not give her the “thigh” or “brand” command, but I had little doubt she was now marked. In response to such a command those such as she must kneel on the right knee and extend the left leg gracefully, bared to the hip. The most common marking site on such as she is high on the left thigh, under the hip.

One does not bargain with such as she of course, nor are they permitted to bargain. The very suggestion of such a thing can be cause for discipline. One would not bargain with a verr, kaiila, a tarsk, or such.

“How did you escape from Ar?” I asked.

“I resolved upon, and put into immediate execution, a bold plan,” she said. “I walked, as I could, openly, purposefully, to the nearest fellow at the perimeter, one who seemed to be first amongst his fellows. I knelt before him, shamed to do so, but such comported with my deception. ‘Master,’ I said. ‘I and other sandal slaves of the hated Lady Flavia of Ar, traitress to the Home Stone of Ar, have been sent to the perimeter, that we might identify our former mistress, should she attempt to elude the justice of Ar.’ ‘What is wrong with your feet?’ he asked. ‘My feet are sore,’ I told him. ‘I am not used to being barefoot. My sandals were stolen.’ ‘What is your name?’ he asked. ‘Publia,’ I said, adding, ‘if it pleases Master.’ ‘To whom do you belong?’ he asked. ‘To the state of Ar,’ I told him. ‘You are pretty for a sandal slave,’ he said. I did not know what to say. My own sandal slaves were lovely. Certainly I had seen men admire them in the markets, and on the boulevards. Then he added, ‘You have been complimented.’ ‘Thank you, Master,’ I said. ‘Split your knees,’ he said. ‘Master?’ I said. ‘You are before a man,’ he said, ‘split your knees.’ ‘I am a sandal slave!’ I protested. ‘Now,’ he said. Then he said, ‘That is better.’ I feared I might die of mortification, to be so before a man. Fortunately, the tunic of a sandal slave, which I had adopted, was ample enough to permit the assumption of such a position without any undue compromising of my modesty. Still, even within the heavy, opaque, shielding of my garmenture, the position was obviously that of a female, recognized as a female, before a man. ‘You are no longer a sandal slave,’ he said. ‘You had best accustom yourself to kneeling so before a man.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I whispered. I thought of my poor sandal slaves, having fallen into the hands of men, those rude beasts who had entered my compartments. Doubtless they were learning how to kneel so before men. What a pitiable fate had befallen them. I forced from my mind what might be the meaning, the symbolism, of such a position before men. ‘How might I be of service to Master?’ I asked. He smiled. ‘In apprehending the hated traitress, Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I said quickly. ‘I think,’ said he, ‘you have already been of much assistance in that respect.’ ‘Master?’ I asked. ‘Seize her,’ he said. I tried to spring to my feet, but a hand in my hair, twisted, held me on my knees. ‘I think,’ said he, ‘it is you who are the Lady Flavia.’ ‘No, Master!’ I wept. ‘Sandal slaves are not sent to the perimeter,’ he said. ‘A free woman, so disguised, might then be in a position to make away. And not all sandal slaves may be depended upon to identify a former mistress, given the looming of the impaling spear, not even one as imperious and cruel as a Lady Flavia. Too, one does not need spies at the perimeter. All unknowns who try to cross the perimeter are to be detained, to be examined later.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I cried. ‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘That may be determined later.’ ‘Let us lift the tunic,’ said a fellow, ‘and see if she is marked.’ ‘No!’ I cried. ‘No,’ said the fellow before whom I was being held. ‘That is for a free woman to do. If this is the Lady Flavia, she is still a free woman, and her modesty is to be respected.’ ‘You made me kneel before you with my knees spread!’ I screamed at him. ‘You needed not obey, if you were a free woman,’ he said, ‘but you did obey, and you looked well, with your knees split. Too, it seems reasonably clear that beneath that cumbersome tunic you may have slave curves, which might be of interest on an auction block.’ ‘Tarsk!’ I cried. ‘Let us make a determination,’ said a fellow. ‘Detunick her,’ said another. ‘No,’ I cried, ‘my modesty!’ ‘It is hard to preserve one’s modesty,’ said a fellow, ‘when writhing naked on an impaling spear.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I insisted. ‘That will be determined later,’ said the fellow before whom I knelt, my hair held. Then he said, ‘Bind her, hand and foot.’ As might be supposed, I, a possible free woman, possibly even the Lady Flavia of Ar, had, to my misery, become a center of attention. Several of the perimeter guards had gathered about me. I was put to my belly and one man was holding my wrists, crossed, behind me, and another was holding my ankles together, crossed. I felt a cord being put about my ankles, and knotted. But then, suddenly, one of the fellows cried out, alarmed. ‘Corso, Corso, mercenaries!’ Corso, I gathered, was the fellow to whom I had first presented myself, he whom I took to be in command at this point of the perimeter. It seems that a group of mercenaries, perhaps fifteen or twenty, with some women in tow, roped together by the neck, had determined to take advantage of the distraction my presence had brought about at the perimeter. They were already within fifty yards of the perimeter. I heard the ringing of an alarm bar, the sounding of battle horns. The fellows about me abandoned me, rushing to interpose themselves between the fugitives and the cleared ground outside the perimeter. They were not professional soldiers and I did not think they could stand before well-armed, desperate mercenaries, though they might hold them long enough for more effective troops, summoned by the bar and the horns, to arrive, even tarnsmen flighted from the city. I heard the clash of weapons, and cries of pain. I fought the knots binding my ankles together. In moving a female captive across open country, it is common, when stopping for a repast, or such, to bind her ankles. In this fashion she cannot run and her hands are free to feed herself. One can see, of course, if she tries to untie her ankles. When the repast is done, one can untie her ankles and put her back on a leash or neck rope, her hands perhaps bound behind her. At night, naturally, she may be put to the side, bound hand and foot. Looking up, frenziedly, I saw some other mercenaries, several, rushing toward the perimeter, and, some hundreds of yards away, guardsmen of Ar, regulars, hastening to the perimeter. This was, it seems, a serious attempt to break out of the city, one now involving perhaps more than a hundred men, accompanied by women, mostly stripped, and on ropes. I did not know if the women were free women or slaves. I suspected that many were proscribed free women who had stripped, knelt, and embonded themselves before mercenaries, perhaps only shortly before, that they might be saved, that they might be taken from the city, if only as nude slaves. Fighting was then about me. I could not undo the knots. I took the key to the collar, which I had hidden in my tunic, and, using it as a wedge, and then as a tiny saw, attacked the knots first, and then the cord itself. The cord was not the ropage which might be used to bind a man, but much smaller, and weaker. A strong man might have snapped it in two, but it was quite sufficient, as might have been a lace, to bind a woman, and with perfection. I wept with misery that we could find ourselves so easily, and so helplessly, in the power of men. We belong to them, I thought. Nature has made us theirs! But we have our beauty, our wit, our sensitivity, our intelligence! Have not more men been conquered with a kiss than steel? It is no wonder, I thought, that they make us their slaves! The key’s teeth cut, frayed, and severed a bit of the cord, and I whipped it away from my ankles. I crawled away from the city, sometimes covering my head, as men fought about me. More than once I saw the wild, terrified eyes of women, pulling at the ropes on their neck. I concealed myself behind them, and then I rose to my feet, and ran toward the open country. I was not alone, as neck-roped women, and warriors, singly, and in prides, fled the city. There were tarns in the sky and their shadows seemed to race across the grass. More than one mercenary had a crossbow bolt half through his brass-bound shield, formed of layers of bosk hide. The crossbow, even the stirrup variety, loads slowly, and there is little danger from the quarrel if one need only defend oneself from a single direction. Should the tarnsman dismount he fights evenly with his foe, and the more skilled warrior is most likely to survive. I soon realized that the bolts flighted from the crossbows had the mercenaries as targets, and not the women. I realized, again, a difference between ourselves and men. We could be left for later, to be rounded up, like verr or kaiila, and roped at a victor’s leisure. We were not contestants; we were loot, prizes.

“‘Here, kajira, here!’ called a mercenary. I fled gratefully to his side. At last I had a man to defend me. I had a champion. I realized then, as I had never before, when I had been sheltered within the arrangements, laws, and customs of a civil order, which I had taken so much for granted, how thin, and possibly transitory, such things were, and what might lie at their elbow, or nigh, on the other side of that lovely curtain, separating comfort and security from the cruelties and hazards of a perilous nature.

“Some think the jungle is faraway, that it is east of Schendi, as distant as the valley of the Ua, but it is not. It is here. It is with us, patient, and waiting. It is as close as the hearts of men.

“‘Stop!’ I heard, and spun about. A fellow, from Ar, I supposed, had called out. He had not been at the perimeter. I doubt that he thought me free. I think, merely, he wanted to pick up a slave. How fearful, I thought, to be a slave, to be an object, a property, a possession, an animal, something which might be bought and sold, or given away, or, as here, something which might be simply gathered in, simply acquired. Put a rope on her neck and she is yours! But I must not be brought back to Ar! As soon as I was stripped, as I would be, as a slave, my lack of a brand would be obvious, and then there would be inquiries, and the proscription lists would be certain to be examined. I must not be returned to Ar!

“‘Begone,’ said the mercenary, stepping between me and the fellow. The fellow looked at the mercenary, in his helmet, with his shield, and a spear whose reddened blade had recently drunk the blood of a foe, and then backed away. In a few moments he had disappeared.”

I said nothing, but I supposed that the mercenary, before approaching the fellow, would have examined the sky behind him. The woman would not have been aware of this, as she would have been facing her pursuer. Occasionally a warrior on foot and a tarnsman collaborate on a kill. The warrior on foot engages the target, and the tarnsman, unseen, glides in, silently, placing a bolt in the adversary’s unprotected back. This act is scorned in the codes, of course, but it is not without precedent in the field. It is common amongst outlaws and rogue tarnsmen.

“‘Should you not have killed him?’ I asked, frightened. ‘I am not a butcher,’ he said.

“‘Continue to protect me,’ I said. ‘Turn about,’ he said, ‘and put your wrists behind you.’ ‘Master?’ I said. ‘You are to be braceleted,’ he said. ‘But then, here, outside the city, in the fields, I would be utterly helpless,’ I said. ‘Such as you, pretty kajira,’ he said, ‘are to be utterly helpless.’ I trembled, to think myself so much in the power of men, as much as a kajira.”

I smiled.

“I turned and fled away from him, and I discovered, some hundred yards away, gasping, turning about, my feet now raw, that he had not pursued me. Were such as I so common that we were not worth our pursuit? I was elated to be free of him, but frightened, as well, for who would now protect me? And, oddly, my vanity was offended. Surely I was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, and yet he did not pursue me, throw me to the ground and fasten my wrists behind me! Standing in the gentle, green, wind-moved grass, alone, looking about, I saw, here and there, in the fields, small groups, moving away from the city. I could see her towers in the distance. Some of these groups had small strings of stripped, neck-roped women with them. Here and there I saw a tarnsman in the sky, almost certainly one of Ar. I saw no pursuits from the city. I did not know where to go or what to do, and I was suddenly aware that I was hungry. I felt the hem of my tunic, reassuring me of the jewels sewn there, and the small key ensconced in its tiny sleeve.”

“You were fortunate to escape Ar,” I said.

“I set out in the direction others were moving,” she said. “I could not go back to Ar. I thought I might reach Torcadino, from whence I might purchase wagon passage to Brundisium, Besnit, Harfax, or Market of Semris. I would avoid Ko-ro-ba and Thentis as they did not favor those of Ar. Too, one would not seek Port Kar, as it is a den of thieves and cutthroats, and Tharna was out of the question. There is only one free woman in Tharna, Lara, her Tatrix. All others are held in the most severe of bondages. No free woman may even enter the gates of Tharna without being temporarily licensed and placed in the custody of a male. Those of Tharna wear in their belt the two yellow cords, each eighteen inches in length, suitable for binding females, hand and foot.”

I knew little of Tharna, but I did know it was a city muchly feared by free women. And yet, interestingly, free women not unoften underwent considerable hardship and peril to enter her gates.

“And I feared, too,” she said, “to seek the major islands, for during the occupation many of the women of Ar had been collected and sent there on slave ships.”

That was true. In my time in Ar I had seen several coffles of the women of Ar leave the city, to be marched overland to Brundisium, there to be disembarked for Cos or Tyros.

“Perhaps Teletus, Tabor, or Chios, of the farther islands,” I suggested.

“I fear the islands,” she said.

“There are pirates,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

It was not unheard of for women to be seized at sea, to be later disposed of in the markets, sometimes, eventually, as far south as Schendi or Turia.

“Brundisium,” she said, “seemed an optimum choice.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

Brundisium, as many merchant ports, large and small, was in theory neutral. To be sure, it had been the port at which the invasion fleets of Cos and Tyros, unopposed, even welcomed, had made their landfall on the continent, thence to rendezvous with numerous companies of mercenaries, for the march to Ar.

“But I was alone,” she said, “a woman, ill-clad, half crippled, and hungry, unfamiliar with the stars, without guidance, only vaguely aware of where Brundisium might be, or how far away she might be.”

“Presumably you would need assistance,” I said.

“I was well prepared to pay for it,” she said. “Night fell. I hobbled on, in the moonlight. Once I stopped, in terror, frozen, for I noted the sinuous passage of a prairie sleen. It passed within a dozen yards of me, rapidly, its snout to the ground.”

“It was not on your scent,” I said. Sleen can be terribly dangerous to humans, but the human is not its familiar prey. The sleen, in the wild a burrowing, largely nocturnal animal, is a tenacious, obsessive, single-minded hunter, a supreme tracker. On one scent it will often pass by, even ignore, more ample or superior prey.

“When it passed,” she said, “I was overjoyed, for I was still alive, but I was then, almost immediately, sick with fear, for such a beast or beasts, I thought, might even now be following my tracks, from Ar, having been given my scent from my discarded robes.”

Her apprehension was well-warranted. Indeed, it is not unknown for sleen to have discovered and followed tracks which are several days old.

“I walked much of the night,” she said, “keeping to the direction others had taken. The terrain seemed to change, and there were now trees here and there, sometimes groves. Toward morning I could go no further and lay down in the grass, and fell asleep. I awakened late in the afternoon, weak, and starving. I staggered to my feet, and stumbled on. I went almost blindly, putting one foot before the other. As it grew dark I felt a sudden piercing, a fierce, doubled puncturing, in the calf of my right leg and I screamed in pain. I thought ‘ost,’ but it was the twin, hollow thorns of a leech plant which had struck me. I heard the hideous noise of the pulsating pods sucking blood, pumping it to the roots, and, screaming, I tore the fangs from my leg and fled away, and then stopped, afraid to move, lest there be more such things about, lest I stumble and fall into a writhing patch of such plants. Entangled amongst them, they swarming about me, enwrapping me with their vines and tendrils, it was possible I would not have been able to rise to my feet. I could hear them rustling about, on the sides, like whispers. Then, step by step, with great care, I moved away from the stirring, agitated growths, and continued my journey. My throat, too, was parched. I had been raised in luxury and power. I had wanted for nothing. Never had I been hungry and thirsty like this. Even as a child I had had serving slaves. Now I was alone, my beauty briefly and shamefully garbed, my feet bleeding, blood drying on my right calf, weary, without food or water, without protection, with little idea as to where I might be, what I should do, or where I might go.”

I swirled the bit of broth remaining in the metal bowl.

“Then, perhaps near midnight, in the darkness, for clouds obscured the two moons then in the sky, when I thought I could go no further, to my joy, I glimpsed a small light, in the distance. It was, I took it, a small camp. Gratefully, unsteadily, I stumbled toward it. ‘Masters!’ I called out. The light then disappeared. Surely I had more than enough to hire men, to buy protection, a safe conduct, to Brundisium. ‘Masters!’ I called out, again. I stumbled in darkness, lamely, toward the point at which I had seen the point of light. ‘Masters,’ I cried, ‘I am a poor starving slave, separated from her master. He will want me returned to him! I am not a runaway! Please be kind to a poor slave. Please help her!’ Then I thought myself close to the point at which I had seen the bit of light, but it was dark. It had been here somewhere, surely. Then a powerful hand, from behind, closed itself over my mouth, and my head was pulled back, and I felt the razor’s edge of a blade at my throat. ‘Make no sound, kajira,’ I heard, a fierce whisper at my ear, ‘and do not struggle.’ I could not speak in any event, my mouth held tightly shut, nor would I have dared to resist, or struggle, with the blade at my throat. One swift motion of that blade and my neck would have been half cut through. I sensed two or more men moving about me and he in whose grasp I was. The hand was then slipped from my mouth to my hair, and my head was then held back by the hair, painfully. I winced. The blade was still at my throat. ‘Where are the others?’ he asked. ‘How many are there?’ ‘I am alone,’ I whispered, scarcely daring to speak. He held me thusly for several Ehn. I scarcely dared to breathe, for fear I might cut my own throat. After a time, seven or eight fellows were about. ‘We found no one,’ said one of them. I almost fainted, as the blade was removed from my throat. ‘On all fours, kajira,’ said the fellow who had held me.”

A slave is sometimes put to all fours, that she may move thusly, accompanying masters. In this posture she cannot suddenly run, or dart away. In the situation described the posture was doubtless imposed as a security measure, on an unknown slave, mysteriously arrived from the darkness. In other situations the posture may be imposed upon her as a discipline, to position her for animal usage, to remind her that she is a slave, and so on.

“I resented being on all fours amongst men,” she said, “forced to look up at them from such a position, and such. ‘Come along, kajira,’ he said, moving away. I followed him, on all fours. In a few moments the small fire had been rekindled, and I was permitted to kneel, where the firelight played upon me, the men, eleven as I now counted, sitting back from the fire. I could see some small tents, and some paraphernalia of the camp, to my left. I also saw six women, stripped, their hands tied behind them, on a single neck rope, stretched between two stakes, to which each end was fastened. ‘I am the slave Publia,’ I said, ‘separated from my master, Flavius of Brundisium, in the troubles at Ar, seeking to be returned to him.’”

The name Flavius is a common name in the middle latitudes of Gor, at Ar, and elsewhere. I supposed the name had come to her mind, given her name, Flavia, which name, as would be expected, is similarly well known in such areas. It is not unknown, of course, that a slave might strive desperately to be returned to her master. A love unknown to a free woman, in its helplessness, its need, its depth, profundity, beauty, and passion, is often felt by a woman for the man whose collar she wears. Owned, she is his, wholly.

“‘What troubles in Ar?’ asked a fellow. I was sure the question was not candid, but a test of sorts. The catastrophes in Ar had begun some days ago, hundreds of fugitives from Ar had scattered from the city, presumably most to seek the coast, and eventual security in the islands; and the six women in the camp might well have been from Ar, perhaps proscribed women, begging passage from Ar, even at the cost of the collar. Indeed these fellows in the camp, I supposed, might well have been amongst those who fled from Ar. Who would not know, truly, of the miseries and changes in Ar? But I responded, innocently, as though granting that the question had been asked, as well, in all innocence. ‘The uprising,’ I said, ‘the rebellion, the ending of the occupation, the expulsion of foreign troops from Ar.’ ‘Who is this Flavius?’ asked another. ‘A minor Merchant of Brundisium,’ I said. I did not wish to claim status for him, as some about the fire might be familiar with the merchantry of the great port.’ I knelt with my knees together. Also, it occurred to me that I had not requested permission to speak. Perhaps, I thought, they are permissive with slaves here. But I glanced at the stripped, bound women beyond the firelight and that did not then seem to me likely. ‘May I inquire,’ I asked, ‘what Home Stone Masters revere?’ This could, of course, make a great deal of difference in what might then ensue. They looked at one another, and more than one laughed. Although this made me somewhat uneasy, it also reassured me that I was not amongst those who favored either Ar or the island Ubarates. If they were of Ar I might fear being returned to the city with the likelihood of impalement. If they were of the island Ubarates, they would have come, over the time of the occupation and the looting of the city, to think of the women of Ar as suitable only for slaves. ‘It seems,’ I said, ‘that you are independent of fee, and thus open to prospects of considerable gain.’ ‘Certainly,’ said he whom I took to be their leader, he whose knife had been at my throat. ‘We may speak freely then,’ I said, ‘but first, as I have been in the wild for two days, and am weak from hunger, and am exhausted and thirsty, I need food, and drink, bolstering ka-la-na, and rest.’ ‘Of course,’ said the leader, kindly. He nodded to one of his men. He went to the rope of women and put she on the rope nearest to the stake to my right in rope shackles. She would barely be able to stand and move. He then loosened the neck rope from the stake to my right and freed her of its collar-like restraint, after which he refastened it to the stake. He then unbound her hands. She rubbed her wrists, regarding me. The fellow then pointed to me, and said, ‘Feed and water her.’ I did not care for this way of putting it, as it sounded as though I might be an animal. But I was thirsting and starving. ‘Why should I, who was a free woman, wait on a common slave?’ demanded the woman. Her hair was then held and she was cuffed brutally, four times. She then, weeping, scarcely able to move for the closely tied rope shackles, hobbled about, to find me food and drink. I took the provender and drink, including ka-la-na, which I doubt she was permitted, from her with the hauteur and disdain of a free woman for the garbages that are slaves. Afterwards I fainted, or fell asleep.

“I awakened several hours later, toward noon, as though I might be in my own compartments, waiting for my girls to open the draperies and bring me steaming black wine and fresh, honeyed pastries, but then, suddenly, flooding back to me were the horrors of the past two days, the roof of the Central Cylinder, my humiliating disguise, the escape, the fields, the sleen, the strike of the leech plant, the knife at my throat, and I opened my eyes on the small camp into which I had stumbled last night, weary, footsore, hungry, thirsting, and miserable. I touched my neck, and felt the collar there, the slave collar. Then I feared the tunic, ample as it might be, might in my sleep have crept up my thighs, and I reached to draw it down, but, even as I thought of this, I became aware of a weight on my left ankle. I sat up, suddenly. I jerked the tunic down, that I might benefit from whatever concession to modesty might be afforded by a slave’s garment. Too, I drew my legs back, closely together. There was a rattle of chain. I considered my left ankle. It was clasped by a heavy band of black iron, to the ring of which a chain was attached. This chain ran behind me, where it was padlocked about a tree. I was chained! I, a free woman of Ar, was chained, as might have been a female slave!

“‘What is the meaning of this!’ I cried, lifting the chain, shaking it.”

The left ankle is the common chaining ankle for a woman.

“The leader of the camp approached me. ‘Do not be concerned, gentle lady,’ said he. ‘We did not wish you to be stolen.’ ‘Stolen?’ I asked. ‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘many women have been gagged in the middle of the night, then bound, and carried off.’ ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Such things may be done with women,’ he said. ‘Free me, now,’ I said. ‘Certainly,’ he said, and shortly thereafter the gross impediment was gone.”

“How did you feel, being on a chain, being so subject to male domination?” I asked. “Did you have any surprising feelings?”

“Feelings?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “any sense of weakness, of openness, of readiness, of hope, of desire, of a yearning to surrender, any inexplicable sense of warmth in your body, any heating or liquidity between your thighs?”

“That is impossible,” she said. “I am a free woman.”

“I see,” I said. “Please, continue.”

“They had remained several hours in the camp,” she said. “I think, now, that was to allow one of their fellows to reach the Brundisium road, and make inquiries at a road village, in the vicinity of an abandoned inn, the Inn of Ragnar.”

“Inquiries?” I said.

“I think so,” she said.

“That is a northern name,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“When it became clear they were preparing to leave the camp, rather toward the fall of darkness, as though they did not wish to be on the road in daylight, I opportuned the leader for a conference, which petition, it seems, he had anticipated. We withdrew a way from the camp, amongst the trees. When we had gone a little way, he pointed to the ground, and said, ‘Kneel there.’ ‘I do not wish to kneel,’ I said. I read his eyes. I knelt. As a man, you probably do not know what it is for a woman to kneel before a man, to be at his feet, to lift your head, to look up at him, or to keep your head down before him, if commanded. It is symbolic of your utter otherness, of your softness before his hardness, your weakness before his strength, your slightness before his might, your beauty and helplessness before his virility and power, your readiness before his command. It is, one fears, as though one were in one’s place, before one’s master. How, I ask, can a woman so situated, one on her knees, speak to a man?”

“As a woman,” I suggested.

“It is a position of petition, or submission, is it not?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I was furious,” she said.

“Much depends on the woman,” I said. “If one is speaking of slaves, it is appropriate, and prescribed, of course.”

“Yes,” she said.

“But many women,” I said, “long for their masters, beseech the world for the man before whom they might kneel, naked and collared, whose feet they might gratefully kiss. Many women, longing to be subdued, longing to submit, longing to be unqualifiedly possessed, longing to be owned, wholly and absolutely, find their social, biological, and cultural fulfillment in this, in thusly daring to reveal their deepest needs and desires to men. In such things we find not only a loving confession of femininity, but its unapologetic petition and expression. It is not wrong for a woman to reveal her deepest heart and needs. Who but an unhappy, ill-constituted madman or tyrant could find gratification in attempting to legislate the values, loves, lives, and hearts of others?”

“‘You may speak,’ he said, as though I, a free woman, required such permission. ‘I wish passage to Brundisium,’ I said, ‘and I am prepared to pay for it, as might a Ubara herself. I have riches.’ ‘You speak as a free woman,’ he said. ‘I am a free woman,’ I said. ‘That is fortunate,’ he said, ‘for were you a slave, and spoke as you do, you would be muchly lashed. The lesson of suitable speech, of deference, and such, for a slave is quickly learned.’ ‘I lied to you,’ I said, ‘for such may a free woman do. I am not a slave, and, of course, I have no master, a Flavius or anyone else. I am Publia, a free woman of Ar, not proscribed, but fearful, and thus in flight from the city. I pretended to be a slave, until I might speak privately with you. The myth of Flavius was to dissemble before your men, for why should you share great wealth with them? Rather reserve it, secretly, for yourself. In Brundisium we may pretend you have found a Flavius and have received a reward for my return, commensurate with what a minor Merchant, our alleged Flavius, might afford. Then, you can share a pittance with your men, and reserve the large, unsuspected bounty for yourself.’ ‘You have holdings, wealth, family, in Brundisium?’ he asked. ‘Certainly,’ I said. I thought that, as things were going well, there would be little need to part with more than the least of the jewels sewn within my tunic. ‘The men will wonder at our absence,’ he said. ‘We must not allow them to grow suspicious.’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘We are breaking camp,’ he said. ‘I want to reach the Brundisium road by dark, and road village of Ragnar, near the old inn.’ ‘That is on the road to Brundisium, is it not?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Good’, I said. ‘You wish to pretend, before the men, to be a slave, do you not?’ he inquired. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘otherwise they may suspect our plan.’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘with all due respect, I think you should accompany us as a slave, bound and leashed.’ ‘Surely that is not necessary,’ I said. ‘Am I not yearning to be returned to the arms of my master?’ I asked. ‘Some of the men,’ he said, ‘suspect that you are a runaway.’ ‘I see,’ I said.”

“You were not curious,” I asked, “that an evening stop was scheduled at a road village?”

“Doubtless they had some business there,” she said. “I did not inquire.”

“Continue,” I said.

“My wrists were bound behind me,” she said, “and other ropes were looped about my upper body, and tightened. Then I was put on a leash, as though I might be a slave. Thankfully, before the charade of my binding and leashing was accomplished, I had asked for sandals, and had been given them. They doubtless had several pairs, from the women in tow. With the sandals I could keep up with them on the road, without much pain. To be sure, our progress would not be rapid, as our party included its animals, the six slaves, bound, tethered in their rope coffle. Although the switch was occasionally used with them one can do only so much with women and the switch, as, despite their earnestness and fear, they lack the stamina and speed of men. I myself, of course, was not switched. I would not have stood for it. About the eighteenth Ahn we reached the road, and, shortly thereafter, we reached what I took to be the village of Ragnar, no more than some small buildings, mostly dark, some little more than shacks, on both sides of the road. I supposed some of the residents had fields nearby, vineyards, orchards, or such. The village was probably a market at times, for I saw dark stalls, and doubtless, to some extent, it catered, in one way or another, to the traffic on the Brundisium road. There was, for example, from the signs, a wainwright’s shop, mostly for repair, I supposed, a Leather Worker’s shop, probably for harnesses and traces, a Metal Worker’s shop, probably mostly to furnish wagoner’s hardware, and such. It must have once had better times, for, I learned, the Inn of Ragnar, for which the village was named, was dilapidated, and closed. Its auxiliary buildings, its stables, its stable yard, and such, like the main building, seemed similarly fallen into a state of forlorn desuetude. Apparently, its well was still in use, as I saw a girl drawing water.

“The leader then conferred briefly with one of his men, he whom I suspected had been absent from the camp earlier, for several hours. I heard the fellow say, ‘The twentieth Ahn,’ but could make out nothing else. The slaves were then put between two of the small buildings, and the men sat near them, in various attitudes of repose, some fetching food and drink from their packs. To my disgust I saw one of the slaves whimpering for food, and bending forward. A fellow held out a scrap for her, and she bent forward, gratefully, and, hands bound behind her, took it from his hand. The other slaves, too, then, importuned the men for bits of food. Some were fed by hand. At other times scraps were tossed to the ground, which the slaves, sometimes fighting for them, might retrieve as they could, in the moonlight. The leader and I remained standing, outside the group, at the edge of the road. Then he drew on my leash and I followed him, and found myself brought into a small building, one of those few in which a lamp had been burning, visible through the window. It was a Metal Worker’s shop, and it was empty. There was a fire in the forge. I thought this strange, for the Ahn. A bell hung at one side of a door, leading through the back, perhaps to the proprietor’s private quarters. The leader then removed the leash from my neck. ‘Thank you,’ I said. I then turned about, that he might undo the ropes that bound me, but he spun me about, rudely, and pointed to the floor, and said, ‘Kneel there.’ It was a command such that a woman, despite her status, whether slave or free, could not but obey instantly. I was frightened. ‘You are from Brundisium?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Describe its Home Stone,’ he said. I was silent. ‘You have holdings in Brundisium, treasure, high family,’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes!’ ‘Then it is clearly in my best interest to hold you for ransom,’ he said. ‘No!’ I cried. ‘List your holdings, and the streets,’ he said. ‘Name your family, its members and their wealth.’ ‘I lied!’ I said. ‘I do not have family in Brundisium, but I have great wealth, placed with coin merchants!’ ‘Name them,’ he said. I was again silent, frantic. I twisted in the ropes. Tears burst from my eyes. He then ruthlessly demanded from me information upon information, information which would be common knowledge to anyone from Brundisium, things as obvious as to where lay her Street of Coins, her largest markets, how many gates she had, and such. ‘I invested through agents, from Ar!’ I cried. ‘Name them,’ he said. ‘It will be easy to examine your claims.’ ‘I lied!’ I wept. ‘I lied!’ ‘And you are a liar from Ar,’ he said. ‘Do you think I do not know the accents of Ar? You may deny being of Ar but you are belied by the very words in which you enunciate your denial, for they proclaim you of Ar. You are no more from Brundisium than Talena of Ar. Indeed, perhaps you are Talena of Ar.’ ‘No,’ I cried, ‘no!’ It is strange but one is almost always unaware of one’s own accent. Is it not the others who always have an accent? ‘No’, said he, ‘I do not think you are Talena of Ar. I think, rather, you are the Lady Flavia of Ar.’ ‘No,’ I wept. ‘No!’ ‘Stay on your knees, Lady Flavia,’ he said. ‘I am not Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I said. ‘But before I return you, naked and bound, to Ar,’ he said, ‘something is to be done to you. You have been annoying.’ He then went behind me and removed my sandals. ‘You will not need these any longer,’ he said. He put them to the side, on a shelf. ‘What are you going to do?’ I said. He then went to the cord dangling from the bell which hung near the door leading from the shop, presumably to the private quarters of the Metal Worker. He rang it once, decisively. Shortly thereafter three men emerged from the rear, one the Metal Worker, a brawny fellow in a leather apron, and two others, strapping young men who, I took it, were his sons. The Metal Worker began to stoke the coals at the forge, and thrust two irons into the coals. ‘Get up,’ said the leader, and I struggled to my feet. The two young men stood behind me. They held my arms. I struggled. I was helpless, in their power. ‘What are you going to do?’ I cried. He did not respond to me, did not grant me his attention, but addressed himself to the Metal Worker. ‘Strip and brand her,’ he said.

“In moments I lay supine, head down, ankles elevated, in the rack, my limbs held in the clamps. I wept and squirmed, save that I could not move, in the least, my left thigh. In double clamps, it was held utterly motionless. I looked up at the leader, turning my head to the left. ‘Desist!’ I wept. ‘Desist! I am a free woman!’ ‘That was determined while you slept,’ said the leader. ‘You dared to draw back my tunic in my sleep, you dared to examine me?’ I cried. He laughed. So, too, did three or four of his men who had now entered the shop. He held the tunic now in his hand. He dangled it. ‘And we ascertained,’ said he, ‘as we had anticipated, further discoveries. What fine lady, such as a Lady Flavia, would flee from Ar without resources?’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I cried. He reached into his pouch and drew forth a handful of small objects, which he held where I might see them. They were the jewels I had concealed in the tunic. They sparkled in the light of the lamp. Amongst them was the small key, as well, which fitted my collar lock. I felt sick, helpless, discovered, ruined, and destitute. I no longer had the wealth which I had brought with me, with which I might have hired men and brought myself again to power, and, without the key, I could not remove the collar. It was now fixed on me with the same understated, flawless efficiency with which it might have encircled the neck of a slave. ‘Please, let me go, have mercy!’ I begged. Then I shouted, angrily, squirming before him, ‘Do not look upon me in that way!’ He smiled. ‘I am a free woman, a free woman!’ I cried. ‘Is the iron ready?’ asked the leader, of the Metal Worker. I heard an iron moved amongst coals, then lifted from them, and thrust again amidst them. I did not look. ‘Nearly,’ said the Metal Worker. ‘You have everything,’ I said to the leader. ‘Let me go!’ He turned to a sand glass on a nearby shelf. I could not well see it. I remembered someone had spoken of the twentieth Ahn, the fellow whom I thought had earlier absented himself from the camp. ‘Let me go!’ I begged. ‘I will let you kiss me!’ ‘But you are a free woman,’ he reminded me. ‘No matter!’ I said. To be sure, it is an inestimable privilege, to be permitted to kiss a free woman. ‘If you are a free woman,’ he said, ‘you should not be locked in a shameful collar.’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not!’ He then turned the collar on my neck, so that the lock was upward, at the front of my throat, inserted the key, moved back the bolt, and removed the collar from me. He then handed the collar, the key left inserted in the lock, to one of the young fellows, one of those I thought likely to be a son of the Metal Worker. The young man looked at the device approvingly. It was, I knew, a quality collar, finely tooled and attractive. I had seen to that in preparing my disguise, which I began on the first day of the uprising, when the outcome was muchly unclear, a rudely armed populace rising against a professional soldiery. It was surely far different from the dark, cheap, plainer, common collars I saw hanging on a projecting spindle at the side of the shop. The leader looked down at me, at my now-bared throat, and, I fear, my lips, and then he looked into my eyes. I realized he wanted me uncollared, the beast, that it might be clearer what he was doing, that he was preparing to kiss a free woman. ‘Yes,’ I said to him, ‘you may kiss me.’ ‘Your kiss for your freedom?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes!’ ‘I do not bargain,’ he said. ‘I do not understand,’ I said. Then he bent down beside me. As I lay, supine, and backward sloping, my head low, my wrists over my head, behind my head, on each side, in the clamps, my ankles higher, on each side, in their clamps, my left thigh held immobile in its double clamps, he took my hair in his hand. He held my hair, painfully, so that I could not turn my head from him. There was amusement in his eyes. ‘No!’ I cried. Then his lips were pressed to mine. I was held in place. I could not struggle. For several Ihn I was forced to endure that merciless, shameful contact. Then he drew away from me and gestured to the Metal Worker. I looked up at the leader in consternation, in shock, and reproach. How dared he, and I a free woman! Where were guardsmen that I might summon? Surely that was not such a kiss as might be given to a free woman! Might it not have been more appropriately imposed upon a paga girl or a brothel slut, fastened down for a man’s pleasure? But I was strangely, inexplicably, stirred. Unaccountable sensations coursed through me. What might it be, I wondered, to be vulnerably, helplessly, legally, subject to such abuse? What might it be, I wondered, to be in a man’s arms, owned by him, to be choiceless, to have no option but to feel and yield. I struggled to put such thoughts from my head, but then I screamed in misery, for the pain had begun.

“I was sobbing wildly, and he placed his hand over my mouth, and I looked up at him, wildly, over his hand, and he removed his hand from my mouth, and said to me, ‘Good evening, slave.’

One of the men looked at me, and said, ‘A good mark.’ I did not even know what mark it was.

I heard the iron immersed in water, and heard the water hiss and boil about the metal.

As I put my head back, sobbing, I felt a cloth measuring tape put about my neck, read, and removed. The Metal Worker then sorted through the encirclements on the projecting spindle, and, a moment later, approached the rack. In another moment, I felt a collar snapped about my neck, and then turned, so that the lock was at the back of my neck. The key was handed to the leader. ‘What time is it?’ he asked. A fellow, glancing at the sand glass, said, ‘A bit past the nineteenth Ahn.’ The leader then said, ‘Take her out back and tie her to a slave post.’

“I was freed of the rack by the two young men, and, each holding an arm, they assisted me, half carrying me, for I could barely walk, back through the shop, and the private quarters, toward a rear entrance, from which one might approach the stable yard of what had been the Inn of Ragnar. As I passed through the kitchen, we passed a sturdy, stocky woman in rags, clearly of a low-caste aspect, doubtless the companion of the Metal Worker. I was afraid of her because of her overt attitude of contempt and hostility, and, as I was considerably slighter than she, I was sure she could easily subdue me, and hurt me, should it please her. ‘Hereafter,’ she said, ‘do not bring an animal through my kitchen.’ As I passed she spat upon me. Behind her was a younger woman, probably her daughter. I think it was she whom I had seen drawing water, earlier. The girl regarded me, curiously. I sensed she might be comparing herself with me, perhaps wondering which of us might bring a higher price in a market.

“Shortly thereafter the two young men brought me to one of several slave posts, thick, sturdy stakes, some four feet high, fixed in the abandoned stable yard behind the closed Inn of Ragnar. I was knelt, my back to the post. My ankles were then crossed and bound behind the post, and fastened to a ring there, and my wrists were crossed and bound, too, behind the post, and fastened to a second ring there. They then withdrew, and I knelt at the post.

“I was helpless and miserable, and in pain, and overcome with the enormity of what had been done with me, and was scarcely able to comprehend the radical transformation which had taken place in my fortunes, from a noble, lofty, exalted, free woman, a legal person, and one of wealth and station, to that of a purchasable object, a vendible beast, an animal, a branded, collared slave, but mostly I was terrified that my identity was suspected, and that I would be returned to Ar, for tortures culminating in the humiliation and agonies of the impaling spear. As Ar might be unable to apprehend Talena, I feared that much of the hatred and rage which would have been levied against the former puppet Ubara might now be visited upon me, not merely as a co-conspirator and abetting traitress, but as one supposedly her dearest friend and colleague, and one certainly, obviously, her highest-placed, best-known, and most-trusted confidante. My affection for the Ubara had, of course, been cunningly feigned, to achieve power and wealth, but this might not be believed, and, even if it were, this pretense might not be seen as redemptive, or counting in my favor. I had, of course, quickly enough, and eagerly enough, agreed that she was to be repudiated, betrayed, and sacrificed for the welfare of our party, that of Seremides and others. Who would not? She was then no longer the key to wealth and power in Ar; indeed, even to have been acknowledged by her, let alone to have been a member of her inner circle, was now a dangerous liability. But this stratagem, to bargain with her for our freedom, even if those of Ar were prepared to bargain, came to naught with her disappearance, her rescue or abduction, from the roof of the Central Cylinder.

“I drew against the cords on my wrists and ankles. I was helpless. I had been tied by men who were obviously no strangers to the tying of slaves. I put my head back, miserably, and felt the metal of the collar rub against the wood. I was collared. My head fell forward, in misery. I was afraid, too, of what I had heard about the twentieth Ahn, which must be nigh. What was to occur then? Clearly it must have to do with me!

“So in the moonlight, in the abandoned stable yard, kneeling, tied to a slave post, I waited.”

From what she had told me it seemed clear that some sort of rendezvous was to take place at the village of Ragnar. Leaving a slave bound and alone, of course, is not that unusual. It may be used as a discipline, of course, but that is seldom the case. More often, it is used simply to impress upon her what she is, that she is a slave, subject to the will of her master. Often she does not know how long she is to be left bound, which muchly impresses upon her her helplessness and her dependence on the will of another, this demonstrating for her her vulnerability and utter subjugation. Perhaps he is supping in an adjoining room, and she must wait until she is recollected, or he has time for her. This may also be used as heating technique. Often they will beg to be unbound, rearing and twisting in their cords, that they may be permitted to please their master.

“I lifted my head,” she said, “and, looking up, I saw the leader, standing there in the darkness, a few feet from me. ‘They should be here soon,’ he said. ‘They?’ I asked. ‘They-Master,’ he said. ‘They,’ I whispered, obediently, looking up, pulling a little at the cords, and sobbed, ‘-Master.’ It was the first time I had truly, appropriately, used that word, not as an ingredient in an imposture, not as an element in a disguise, but in the sense in which it must be truly found on the lips of a slave. ‘Search parties emanating from Ar and leagued cities use many such places as the village of Ragnar, scattered over thousands of pasangs,’ he said, ‘in their endeavors to track and apprehend fugitives. Tarnsmen make wants known at such places, exchange informations, carry intelligences elsewhere, and so on. It was here, earlier today, that we conveyed to an agent of Ar, and he then to his superiors, that we had the Lady Flavia of Ar in custody, and, for a suitable consideration, were prepared to remand her to the proper authorities, here, at the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I cried. ‘Perhaps you are curious,’ he said, ‘as to why you have been marked and collared. There were two reasons. First, it had come to light that some months ago Talena of Ar, herself, being guilty of a violation of the couching laws of Marlenus of Ar, had been secretly enslaved. Amusing then that it was a mere slave who sat upon the throne of Ar, in imperial regalia. Accordingly it was determined then that the Lady Flavia, if apprehended, should be similarly enslaved, that she should not stand higher than the former Ubara. In no way was she to be deemed superior to Talena. Let the two of them then share the same fate, the collar. The second reason is personal. I found you annoying, and thus, in any event, I would have had you brought under the iron.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia,’ I insisted, sobbing. At that point, we heard the hovering beating of a tarn’s wings, and, looking up, I saw a tarn, with tarn basket, preparing to alight in the stable yard. I shut my eyes against the dust. ‘It seems,’ said the leader, ‘it is the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I said. ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ The tarn, controlled by a tarnster from the basket, had alit several yards away, across the yard. In the basket there was the tarnster, and a warrior, and, to my surprise, a woman, a slave. The tarnster remained in the basket; the warrior lifted the woman from the basket and set her in the yard, and then leapt from it to the ground. He remained in the vicinity of the basket, and two of the leader’s men, not the leader, now come through the back of the Metal Worker’s shop, went to join him. At the same time the leader turned about, and, moving measuredly through the darkness, returned to the shop. He would remain indoors, it seemed, waiting for the identification to be confirmed. Perhaps he preferred to come under the purview of Ar as little as possible.

“The slave approached.

“She wore a brief, revealing tunic, cut at the sides, with a disrobing loop. Clearly she had been dressed for the pleasure of men. I was scandalized, but men do with slaves what they please. I surely would never have let my sandal slaves dress so, in a way so exhibiting their beauty, in a way that so blatantly proclaimed their bondage.

“The slave, who seemed marvelously figured, and would doubtless have been of much interest to men, stopped a few feet from me, almost as though startled. Then she seemed to recover herself and approached, and stood before me. I, terribly frightened, put my head down. She took my head in her hands and lifted it, and the moonlight, the clouds separated, fell full upon my face. Tears ran down my cheeks. My head was held still, so that she might examine my face with care.

“‘Please, please,’ I begged. ‘Now, Flavia,’ she whispered, ‘you are no more than I.’ ‘Please,’ I wept. ‘I remember my whipping,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I said. ‘You were very cruel,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I begged. I recalled that when I, in my escape, had been descending the stairs in the cylinder, I had heard her, relieved of her gag, above, seemingly joyfully, gratefully, cry out the word ‘Masters!’ ‘I burned your robes,’ she said, ‘that they might not give your scent to sleen.’ I looked at her, with wonder. ‘Do you remember the drover,’ she asked, ‘at whom I, looking over my shoulder, smiled, and you, in fury, switched me home, and then whipped me?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. He had been a handsome scoundrel, large, well-built, virile, and masterful. ‘He recalled me,’ she said, ‘and searched the public shelves, zealously, and found me, and purchased me. He is now my master. I love him. I am happy.’ I said nothing. ‘I am a man’s slave,’ she said. ‘Are you a man’s slave?’ ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you are a man’s slave and do not know it,’ she said. ‘No!’ I said. ‘You would then be a woman’s slave?’ she asked. ‘No!’ I said, frightened. The thought came to me how dreadful that would be. Perhaps I remembered the treatment to which I had subjected my sandal slaves. I did not think it was that unusual. Whereas free women commonly despise female slaves and treat them with great contempt and harshness, men commonly prize them. Certainly they will pay valuable coin to bring them to the foot of their couch. The relationship between a male master and a female slave is often intimate and loving, though she is never permitted to forget she is only a slave. Too, is it not easier for a woman, in virtue of her sex, to win her way with a male, subject, of course, to the limitations of her collar, to placate him, to evade his whip or switch, to divert his wrath by pleasing him, with her softness, her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, and vulnerability. Many a master, as few a mistress, has been swayed from his purpose by the heartfelt contrition of a naked slave, weeping, covering his feet with her hair and kisses. Better, surely, for a woman to belong to a man than a woman. They see us in terms of desire and pleasure, in terms of love, service, and passion, not in terms of contempt, jealously, and reproach. When a man sees a woman in chains he is likely to exult in her beauty and revel in the mastery; considering how pleasant it would be to own her; when a woman sees a woman in chains, as on a selling shelf, she is likely to feel disgust, anger, hatred, indignation, and rage, and, oddly, envy and jealously. Perhaps she wishes it were she who wore the chains. In any event, a female slave may, and must supply a man with inordinate pleasures; which makes her precious to him, whereas a female slave is likely to fall forever short of the exacting services required by her mistress. ‘Perhaps,’ said Altheia, ‘you have not yet been conquered by a man, have not yet been subdued, have not yet learned to beg for his final, slightest touch, that you might, leaping in your chains, scream your irrevocable submission and surrender to the moons and stars of Gor?’ ‘Do not betray me,’ I begged. ‘You are wholly at my mercy, are you not?’ she asked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘As I was once at yours,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘friend Altheia, dear, beloved Altheia.’ ‘Squirm in your ropes,’ she said. I pulled against the cords. ‘You are well fastened,’ she said. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ I whispered.

“‘Is it she?’ called the warrior, at the basket. He had not even bothered to approach. ‘Have a lamp brought, Master,’ called Altheia. ‘A lamp,’ said he to one of the leader’s men with him, who then went to the Metal Worker’s domicile, to fetch a lamp. ‘There have been many false alarms,’ said Altheia. I did not understand her remark. ‘Death by the impaling spear,’ she said, ‘is a terrible death.’ In a few moments a lamp had been fetched from the Metal Worker’s domicile and handed to the warrior who had called for it. He then approached, and stood before us. He held the lamp up. ‘Is it she?’ he asked. Altheia then lifted my head and turned it, carefully, from side to side. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it is not the Lady Flavia.’”

“You realize,” I said, “that the slave, in such a situation, given the importance of the matter, might have been slain for such a lie?”

“Truly?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “She would have known that, if not you. You were very fortunate. The slave was very courageous.”

“Or foolish,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I granted her.

“The warrior, an officer, I think, a subcaptain, was furious. ‘Another pretense, another attempt at fraud, another attempt to deceive Ar,’ he snarled. By now, the leader of the fellows into whose power I had fallen, alerted by one of his men, had emerged into the stable yard. ‘What is amiss?’ he asked, though he was doubtless well apprised by then of the slave’s report. ‘This is not the Lady Flavia,’ said the officer. ‘Surely it is she, I am sure of it!’ said the leader. ‘Many times, now and heretofore,’ said the officer, ‘imposters have been presented as Talena or the Lady Flavia, or others.’ ‘Surely it is she,’ said the leader. The officer turned to the slave, lifting the lantern toward me. ‘No,’ said the slave. ‘She is not the Lady Flavia.’ ‘She is mistaken,’ asserted the leader. I kept my head down, trembling. But the officer jerked my head up, and I cried out with pain, and I closed my eyes against the glare of the lamp. ‘Consider the exquisite nature of her features,’ said the officer. ‘Consider her figure. Are those the features and figure of a free woman? Consider the curves, the thighs, waist, and breast, the shoulders. Those are slave curves. Those are auction-block curves!’ ‘She has the accents of Ar,’ said the leader. ‘So, too, have thousands of others,’ said the officer, angrily. ‘You would have me believe this is a free woman?’ he asked, thrusting my head back against the slave post. ‘This is not a free woman. This is a small, well-curved man’s plaything, to be pulled out of a cage for a few tarsks. You would dare to pass off so obvious a slave as the Lady Flavia?’ ‘It is she,’ said the leader, ‘she, enslaved!’ ‘Who are you?’ demanded the officer. ‘What are you, and your men? What is your relationship to the uprising? What are you doing, at night, on the Brundisium road?’ ‘At this point the leader shrugged, and stepped back. He had no wish to respond to the officer’s questions. Too, he had women nearby, between two buildings, bound and in coffle, and would not be eager to surrender them to another’s chains. He and his men did well outnumber the officer and the tarnster but it would be difficult to dispose of them with ease. There were the Metal Worker and his family, and probably others in the village of Ragnar, who would know of them. One could not be sure of killing them all. And the itinerary of the tarnster and the officer was doubtless registered somewhere, and any undue absence would presumably generate a search. There would be inquiries. Too, had he not, already, in his pouch, a wealth of precious stones? ‘My apologies,’ said the leader. ‘We thought the slave once the Lady Flavia.’ The word ‘once’ frightened me. I realized that I was now, in the eyes of the law, no longer the Lady Flavia but an animal that might be named as the free might please. Shortly thereafter the officer and the slave had reentered the tarn basket and the tarnster took the bird to flight, the basket trailing behind on its long harness ropes. I saw its silhouette briefly against the yellow moon. I recalled the authority with which the officer had spoken, and the care, the circumspection, with which the leader had responded. The very word of Ar, I surmised, was once again weighty in moment. I became aware then of the leader looming over me. He was not pleased. I put down my head, quickly. ‘Look up,’ he said. I did so. ‘I am not the Lady Flavia,’ I whimpered. ‘Take her to a whipping post,’ he said, ‘and lash her.’ Later, as I attempted to comprehend the pain, my back afire, my eyes red from weeping, my wrists bound over my head, the leader’s voice was heard, at my ear, but as though from afar. I struggled to understand the words, though he must have been no more than one or two horts from me, whispering. ‘You are Flavia,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Flavia,’ I wept, ‘-if it pleases Master.’ ‘You wished to go to Brundisium,’ he said. ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘you will go to Brundisium. You will be taken to Brundisium.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. My arms ached, my wrists tied high, well over my head. My body was stretched. Only my toes were in contact with the ground. In addition my ankles, uncrossed, had been tied to a ring set in the earth beneath the high ring, the over-the-head ring. In this fashion the body is stretched, providing a convenient, practical, exploitable expanse for the whip’s work, and the body can recoil and writhe, and pull away from the blows only to the extent that one realizes how little one can succeed in such an endeavor. ‘Do you know what will be done with you in Brundisium?’ he asked. ‘No, Master,’ I said. ‘You will be sold,’ he said. ‘Yes, Master,’ I said.”

I took the last sip of broth, and put the bowl down beside me, at my right knee.

The slave regarded it.

“You were sold in Brundisium,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Were you auctioned?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I was taken to a slaver’s mart.”

“What did you bring?” I asked.

“A thousand pieces of gold,” she said.

“There will be records,” I said, “and they may be checked.”

“Forty tarsks,” she said.

“Surely not of silver,” I said.

“Of copper,” she said, angrily.

“Then you did not even bring a single silver tarsk,” I said.

“No,” she said, angrily.

“Perhaps you now have a better understanding of your worth,” I said, “as compared to other women.”

“Yes!” she said, angrily.

“Do not be concerned,” I said. “You were new to the collar, and untrained.”

“I am beautiful,” she said, “extremely beautiful!”

“You did not sell for much,” I said.

“Beast!” she said.

“What is your brand?” I asked. I could not determine this for her tunic. Too, there was little light in my cell, only that from the small lamp, on its chains, slung from the ceiling outside the bars, moving with the movement of the ship, outside the opened gate.

“The kef,” she said, angrily.

“There you have it,” I said. “The kef is for pot girls, for kettle-and-mat girls, for common slaves.”

“Even the most beautiful,” she snapped, “may wear the kef.”

I smiled. “That is true,” I said. “Men often enjoy putting even the most beautiful in the kef, that they may keep in mind that they are only slaves.”

“Am I not beautiful?” she asked.

“I would put you in the middle range of slaves,” I said. “You would not likely be either the first nor the last put on the block.” It is not unusual for slavers to save the best merchandise for late in the sale, when late comers are present, the audience is settled in, interest has been whetted, emotions are running high, purses are most open, and so on. This is not a universal practice, however, as one is likely to make less on early sales. A clever mix of goods is perhaps the most common manner of staging a sale. On the other hand, I think it does not really make much difference, as the merchandise is commonly available for inspection, though through bars, in pre-sale exposition cages. One may then note the goods of interest to one, by their lot numbers, usually inscribed in grease pencil on the left breast, and then wait until they stand in the sawdust, high on the block, exhibited to the house, under torchlight. To be sure, one can be mistaken. Sometimes an item which appears promising in the exposition cage may prove less interesting on the block, and sometimes an item scarcely noticed in the exposition cage will enflame a battle of bids, much to the pleasure and profit of the house. On the other hand, one cannot really measure these matters with scales or marked sticks. Many are the mysteries herein contained. Some men will kill for a woman another might ignore, and some women who might seem to be outstandingly beautiful may not attract much attention. There are doubtless cues, latencies, subtleties, and specificities in such cases which are difficult to identify, let alone quantify. They are, however, undeniably real.

“I am incredibly beautiful!” she insisted.

“You are not a bad-looking slave,” I granted her.

“May I withdraw?” she asked.

“How did you come here?” I asked.

“I am not fully sure,” she said.

“Who purchased you?” I asked.

“It was done through agents,” she said, “but at the behest of strange men, quiet men, sedate men, softly spoken men, men carrying unusual weapons, men with strange eyes.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“They are spoken of as Pani,” she said.

“Strange eyes?” I said.

“To us,” she said.

“Tuchuks?” I asked.

“I do not think so,” she said. “There are at least three hundred on board, perhaps many more.”

“I was not brought aboard by such,” I said.

“There are many others, too,” she said, “of Ar, Cos, Tyros, the further islands, even Besnit, Harfax, and Thentis.”

It was a pirate crew, mixed, without Home Stones, and such, I had speculated earlier.

“Some fifty such as I,” she said, “were exhibited and bought, and, chained, taken by galley north, to the great forests. We were thence marched overland, in coffle, and then, on rafts, floated across the Alexandra. There, in separate groups, unacquainted with one another, we were kept, dieted and exercised, in special palisaded enclaves.”

“You were put at the pleasure of men,” I said.

“No,” she said.

“Interesting,” I said.

“This deprivation,” she said, “caused much distress to some of our number, who might weep in their kennels, scratch at the logs in the yard, beseech guards for their touch, and roll in the dirt, in frustration.”

“In their bellies,” I said, “slave fires had been lit.”

“Doubtless,” she said.

“But not in yours?”

“Certainly not,” she said, angrily.

“After months,” she said, “we were braceleted, coffled, and hooded, and brought back across the Alexandra on boats. We were then, helplessly, embarked on this great boat. Only once have I been allowed on the top deck. This is a vast, floating thing.”

“Who is in charge here,” I asked, “and what is the destination of this voyage, and what is its purpose?”

“The Pani,” she said, “clearly. It is their vessel. I do not know its destination, perhaps the farther islands, surely not beyond. And I do not know what might be the purpose of the voyage.”

“You know little,” I said.

“It seems,” she said, “that curiosity is not becoming to us.”

“Perhaps only the Pani, whoever they might be, know,” I said.

“I think so,” she said.

“Why do you think that such as you have been cargoed?” I asked.

“We are women,” she said. “I suppose we are to be sold.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “there is a market, somewhere, for women of your appearance, with your sort of eyes.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“To be sure,” I said, “you might also be distributed as gifts.”

“Of course,” she said. “We are women.”

“Precisely,” I said.

“But there are female slaves on the ship which are at the public use of the crew, and private slaves, as well.”

“You were brought on board hooded?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “As might have been verr or tarsks.”

“And there are others,” I said, “as you, but whom you have not seen.”

“That is my surmise,” she said. “I think so, from the sound of the coffle chains, the number of boats used, and such.”

“Before I was brought on board,” I said, “I heard the scream of a tarn, this far from land, in the fog.”

“There are tarns on board,” she said.

“Many?” I asked.

“Several,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said. “Such as we are not privy to the projects of masters.”

I regarded her.

She was uneasy. She wished to withdraw.

I continued to regard her.

“Is Master pleased?” she said.

“You are not really bad looking,” I said.

“A slave is flattered,” she said, bitterly.

“There are many better,” I said, “of course.”

“Doubtless,” she said.

“You might have some possibilities,” I said.

“Possibilities?” she said.

“You were very fortunate that you were not betrayed by Altheia,” I said.

“She was a fool,” she said.

“In similar circumstances,” I said, “you would have betrayed her?”

“Certainly,” she said. “Instantly, consider the risks.”

“I see,” I said.

“May I withdraw?” she asked.

“There is, of course, one, I, on board,” I said, “who knows you from Ar, and might betray you.”

“Do not,” she whispered, frightened. “You would not do so!”

“Stand,” I said to her, “there.”

She complied, and I could then well see her, back a bit, her ankles in the straw.

“I think you still see yourself as a free woman,” I said.

“Scarcely,” she said, “I have been stripped, braceleted, roped, coffled, chained, trekked, tunicked, marked, collared, lashed, vended, and commanded.”

“Even so,” I said.

I suspected she did not yet fully understand how her condition, nature, and very being had been radically transformed since Ar, that she was now totally other than she had been. Doubtless she had an intellectual sense of this, who would not, but I suspected that she had not yet acknowledged, manifested, revealed, and liberated the secret slave that was the core of her being.

“Remove your tunic,” I said.

“Please,” she said.

“Better,” I said. “But you are standing as a free woman. Straighten your body, lift your head, turn your hip.”

“Please, no!” she said.

“You stood as what you were before,” I said. “Do so now, again.”

“But I am now naked,” she wept.

“Who would buy you as you are?” I asked. “You are before a man, slut.”

“Mercy!” she wept.

“Does the Lady Flavia refuse to obey?” I asked. “Good,” I said. “That is not bad, Alcinoe, at least for a girl new to the collar.”

She wept, but stood well.

“Now turn about,” I said, “slowly, and then, again, face me.”

“Good,” I said.

“Now, clasp your hands behind the back of your neck, put your head back, and turn about, again, again slowly, and then, again, face me. Good. Now you may lower your arms, and regard me, standing well.”

She was lovely, in the dim light, standing in the straw, within the cell, the gate open behind her.

“Brush your hair back, with both hands,” I said.

Yes, I thought, certainly well worth forty copper tarsks.

“Do you not know how to make a man want you?” I asked.

“No!” she said.

“I am considering putting you through slave paces,” I said.

“I do not know such things,” she said. “I have not been trained!”

“But you are a slave,” I said.

“Yes, yes,” she said, “I am a slave!”

I suspected she would respond well, and more quickly than most, to male dominance. Once the collar is on them, it seldom takes much time, some more, some less.

“Often, in Ar,” I said, “your veil was loose, disarranged, as though carelessly, before guards and other males.”

“You were not to look,” she said. “Did I not chide you for your boldness?”

“Poor males,” I said, “to be so tormented.”

“And surely,” she said, “once aware, I hastily restored the propriety of my habiliments.”

“You must have been aware,” I said, “that men, so provoked, would conjecture your lineaments, beneath those layered, brightly colored robes.”

“No!” she said.

“Truly?” I said.

“You had your slaves,” she said, angrily, “collared, face-stripped, with ill-concealed limbs. Should that be all you knew? Why should you not have been given a hint, at least, of true beauty, the incomparably superior beauty of a free woman?”

I laughed.

She turned her head away, angrily.

“Forty copper tarsks,” I said.

“Beast,” she said.

“Now it is you who are in the collar,” I said. “Do you truly think you are less beautiful now than then? Indeed, the collar much enhances a woman’s beauty.”

“May I withdraw?” she asked.

“You were a haughty she-sleen,” I said, “a hypocrite, a false friend, greedy, insolent, self-seeking, cowardly, dishonest, cruel, and power hungry.”

“May I withdraw?” she said.

“But you did, upon occasion, disarrange your veils,” I said.

“To taunt men,” she snapped, “to make them miserable, to let them see what they could not have!”

“Most,” I said, “might have afforded forty copper tarsks.”

“I must return,” she said.

“To your kennel?” I inquired.

“To my mat,” she said, “to be chained there! Does that please you?”

“It is my impression,” I said, “that free women not only despise slaves, but, being women, often envy them. What woman would not wish to be excitingly garbed, to be not only permitted, but to have no choice but to publicly exhibit her beauty? What woman would not wish to escape the inhibitions, the social demands, the conventions and pressures, the robes, veils, and proprieties which so control and confine them? What woman would not wish to realize that she is stunningly attractive to men, that she is the object of mighty male desire? What woman truly believes that she is the same as a man? What woman does not wish to kneel naked, collared, before her master, the joyful, waiting, hopeful instrument and vessel of his pleasure? Surely you have wondered, if only in rage, at the radiance, the joy, the fulfillment, the freedom, the paradoxical happiness, of the female slave.”

“Let me go!” she begged.

“So in your supposed carelessness, that having to do with your veiling,” I said, “I see more than the cruel delight of an ignoble and petty woman, little more than a she-sleen, protected by the transitory artificiality of station, to torment men. I see, rather, a woman who is displaying herself, as a woman, before men. In your dreams did you not occasionally find yourself back-braceleted and naked in the arms of a master, knowing that he might, if it pleased him, and whether you wished it or not, force upon you uncompromisingly rapturous ecstasies, ecstasies in the throes of which you, at last, will beg to utter the surrender cries of the yielded slave?”

“Please, I beg you,” she said, “let me go-Master!”

“‘Master’?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, “Master, Master!”

“Have the slave fires been lit in your belly?” I asked.

“No!” she said.

“But you have begun to sense what it might be to feel them?” I asked.

“No, no,” she said. “No! No!” She put her head in her hands, sobbing, and bent over at the waist. “What do you want of me?” she sobbed.

“What do you think a man might want of you?” I asked.

“That?” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I was a free woman!” she said.

“You are no longer a free woman,” I said.

“Be merciful,” she said. “Dismiss me!”

“Approach, girl,” I said.

“‘Girl’?” she said.

“Yes, ‘Girl’,” I said. “Lie here, beside me, girl.”

“Never!” she said.

“In disarranging your veils in Ar,” I said, “in your time of power, your features, as doubtless you intended, were well bared, though, could you have seen the future, you might have been more careful, more decorous. You are the former Lady Flavia of Ar, and that name, as I understand it, remains high on the proscription lists, perhaps just beneath those of Talena herself, and Seremides.”

“Do not betray me!” she pleaded.

“Death by impalement,” I said, “is doubtless a most miserable death, and not the swiftest. Indeed, it can take more than an Ahn to descend the spear. And sometimes, suitably braced, increment by transitory increment, the victim given food and water, the execution can take several days, during which time the victim is exposed to the jeers and abuse of the public.”

She came and lay down beside me.

“On your back,” I said, “and throw your legs apart.”

“Excellent,” I said.

She stared at the ceiling of the cell.

“You may now beg use,” I said.

“I beg use,” she whispered.

“Who?” I asked. “The former Lady Flavia of Ar, Alcinoe, some slave?”

“I, the former Lady Flavia of Ar, now Alcinoe, slave, beg use,” she said.

“Again, more properly,” I said.

“I, the former Lady Flavia of Ar, now Alcinoe, slave, beg use, Master,” she said.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“‘Yes’?” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Beg to be taught your collar,” I said.

“I beg to be taught my collar, Master,” she whispered.

A woman is never the same, after having uttered such words.

I noted her body carefully, its tonicity, its readiness. I assessed her breathing, I turned her head to mine, and looked into her eyes. I was pleased. This was clearly a slave ready for use.

I released her head, and lay back in the straw.

Some Ehn passed.

“Master?” she said.

“Yes?” I said.

“I beg,” she whispered in the half darkness. “I beg use, Master.”

“No,” I said.

“What?” she said, turning to me.

“You are dismissed,” I told her.

She sprang up in tears and, seizing up her tunic, fled toward the gate.

“Wait!” I said.

She turned, at the gate. “Do not forget this,” I said, throwing the metal bowl which had held the broth, ringing, to her feet. She snatched it up, and, tunic clutched in one hand, rushed outside and flung shut the gate of the cell, which action closed and locked the gate. “They are going to kill you!” she cried, from outside, through the bars. “They are going to kill you!” And then she fled up the stairs to a higher deck. I lay down in the straw and was soon asleep.