Mercenaries of Gor

26 I Take my Leave of the Tunnels

In a moment I was into the tunnel. Behind me there was a bit of light coming from under the door.

In a bit, however, I was beyond it. Soon I had to crawl. The ceiling of the tunnel, in this part, I now on all fours, was about a foot over my head. In parts the tunnel was carpeted, in other parts not, and one must move on the tile or stones. There were leather-curtained alcoves here and there along the tunnel, the openings of which were circular, and about two feet in width. Occasionally there was a small lamp within, its light detectable through the cracks in the leather curtain, and about it and under it, feebly illuminating the tunnel outside. For the most part, however, the tunnel was quite dark. In two or three of the alcoves, where there was a lamp, and the curtain was not fully drawn, I saw a master and a slave. One girl was kneeling naked with her back to the wall and her hands chained up and behind her, at the sides of her head, over her shoulders. She looked at me, wildly. Then she jerked back, the master caressing her with the whip. In another alcove a girl was chained on her back, her harms and legs widely apart, spread-eagled. She was lifting her body piteously to a man who now, apparently having aroused her to a point where she was in an agony of need, was merely toying with her. I supposed he might later concede to her pleas, if only because she was quite beautiful. In another alcove there was a girl on her stomach, her wrists tied to a slave ring. I did not know if she had been put in that position for love, or for punishment, or for both.

Most of the alcoves, however, like the major lengths of the tunnel, were quite dark. Some were doubtless empty. I hoped so, for I might have need of them. On the other hand many of the alcoves which were in total darkness were not empty. From within many I could hear, as I moved past, the small sounds of chains, sometimes pathetic sounds, responding doubtless to the restricted, helpless movements of small, fair limbs on which they were locked, and the soft love moans of used slaves. Many of these women were doubtless forbidden to speak. They found themselves responding in the darkness to unseen masters merely as helpless, anonymous love objects. In some of the other alcoves, of course, those not empty, there were presumably slaves, girls waiting alone in the darkness, in their chains, knowing that they would be at the mercy of whoever might enter the alcove. In the Delta Tunnel, in Alcove Twenty-One, the girl, Lale, I supposed, she now reduced to the modality of the she-quadruped, might be so waiting. Too, in at least one of these alcoves, I recalled, though I did not know which one, in this very tunnel, there was a chained, gagged free woman. I was suddenly very quiet. I could hear something approaching me down the tunnel. I expected of course, that anyone interested in me would be behind me. I unsheathed my quiva. I smelled paga. Then a fellow crawled past me in the tunnel.

I continued on my way.

"More! More! I beg more! I beg more!" I heard a girl's voice coming from one of the alcoves to my right. "Please, Master, do not stop! No! Do not stop! Please! I beg more! I beg more!" I heard the movement of chains, jerking helplessly against rings. "Please, Master!" she wept. "Please! Please! I am helpless! I am at your mercy! Please, Master, I beg it of you! Oh, yes, Master! Yes, Master! Yes! Yes! Yes! Aiiiiii! Oh, thank you, Master, kind master! Ohhhh. Ohhhh. Oh. I am yours! You have made me yours! Buy me, I beg you. I want to love and serve you! Buy me, take me home with you! Own me! You have made me yours!" I then heard her breathing, and gasping, and a small movement of chains. "Master?" she asked, with a small movement of the chain. "Master?" Oh, Master! You are going to do it to me again? No, sweet Master, I cannot prevent you. I must endure whatever you choose to impose upon me. You choose to make me again such a helpless, squirming, screaming thing, so much outside of myself, so helplessly at your pleasure? Do so, then, for I am a slave! I sense it! I sense it! Do so, then. I cannot stop you. Nor do I wish to do so. I am a slave. I am yours. Do with me as you will. Begin, I beg you. Oh, yes, yes, Master!"

I then continued again on my way.

The tunnel became more winding. It did not, however, become roomier. One can tell the alcove numbers by feel, if one does not have a lamp. I now felt the number to my right. It was Twenty-Six. The next alcove would be Twenty-Seven. It would be ahead and to the left. The alcoves are staggered. I suppose this is primarily for the sake of privacy. This arrangement also, of course, tends to reduce the number of unexpected face-to-face encounters in the hall. Goreans are sometimes nervous about such things. I conjectured I must be quite deep in the tunnel. The rear entrance, or the entrance into a rear corridor, I did not think, should be too far beyond this point. Perhaps I could simply leave by the rear exit, without difficulty. That might be very nice. I stopped. I listened. I was patient. Then I heard it. It was not a loud sound at all, but it was unmistakable, the sound of the movement of a piece of metal on the stones. For such a sound I supposed there might be many explanations. One of them, of course, which I found especially fascinating, would be that of a knife carried in the hand of a fellow crawling in the tunnel.

I continued crawling down the tunnel. "Cicek," I she said. "Where are you? Where are you, little Cicek?"

"Hold," said a voice.

"Tal," said I. "Did Cicek come this way? Did you see a slave come this way?" "One sees nothing down here," growled the fellow.

"Perhaps you felt her then?" I said. "That might have been pleasant," "You are drunk," he said.

"Not at all," I said.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "What does anyone do in the tunnels?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Speak," he said, menacingly.

"To be honest, not much," I said. "Are you sure that Cicek did not pass you?" "No one has passed me," he said, a bit grimly, I thought.

"Perhaps she went the other way?" I said.

"Hold, who are you?" he asked.

"I am called Bosk," I said.

"Is there anyone else in the tunnel?" he asked.

"I think so," I said.

"Not in an alcove?"

"No," I said.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"He is ahead of you," I said. That was certainly true. I was ahead of him. "Thank you, Citizen," said he.

"You are welcome," I said. I then turned about and began to crawl back down the tunnel. "Cicek," I called. "Where are you?" Fortunately none of the girls in the alcoves were named Cicek. Otherwise it might have been rather embarrassing. If there was no one at the other end of the tunnel, I supposed I might just as well go out through the front door.

"Cicek," I called.

"Hold," said another voice. This fellow sounded fully as grim as the last fellow. The voices were not those of fellows that one, or most folks, at any rate, would be likely to look forward to meeting in a dark alley, or, as the case might be, tunnel. I couldn't see him any better than the other one, nor, I assume, could he see me.

"Did a slave pass you in the tunnel?" I asked. "Cicek? She is not very big, but she is very nicely curved."

"No," he said, "Who are you?"

"Bosk," I said.

"Have you seen anyone else in the tunnel?" he asked.

"It is pretty hard to see anything in the tunnel," I said.

"Is there someone in the tunnel who is not in an alcove?" he asked. "Yes," I said.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"He is ahead of you," I said. That is exactly where I was.

"What is he doing?" asked the man.

"He is just staying in one place," I said. That is what I was doing at the time, of course, just staying in one place.

"I thought so," said the fellow, decisively. "Thank you, Citizen." "That is all right," I said. "You are sure you have not seen Cicek?" "No," he said.

"Maybe she is in the other direction," I said. I turned about and started down the tunnel.

"Enter an alcove," said the man. "Keep the tunnel clear."

"Do you know a good one?" I asked.

"Move," he said.

"Very well," I said. I saw no point in being disagreeable. They were all probably nice enough.

I moved back down the tunnel. I was reasonably well pleased. As far as I could tell there were only two of them, one at each end of the tunnel. They were two in number doubtless to spring a trap in a tunnel. The invitation had been to the Tunnels. They might have assumed, thus, that I, sooner or later, from curiosity, or, perhaps growing wary, and attempting to escape, would enter one of them. Too, surely they would not wish to wait until morning to locate their quarry. I no longer found it judicious to speculate that their intent was merely to make polite contact and transmit information. I suspected somewhat more serious things were on their minds. As I had not emerged from the tunnel, or tried to emerge from it, they would assume that I was waiting within it. They would also assume, presumably, and I had encouraged them in this belief, that their quarry might be in the tunnel and not in an alcove. In a tunnel he might swiftly move in whatever direction seemed opposite danger. In an alcove, it might seem he could be too easily trapped. Actually, of course, given the structure of the alcoves, as I had determined it, it could be extremely dangerous to attempt to enter it if it were defended. Indeed, one would only have to stay there until morning, at which time, presumably, they would feel obliged to make away. The fellow I had left behind me was probably the leader. Presumably he would wish to signal his fellow down the corridor in some way.

I heard, in a few Ehn, a soft whistle behind me. It carried well in the tunnel. It was answered, momentarily, by another soft whistle, ahead of me. I moved ahead. I felt the alcove numbers. There was another whistle behind me, closer now. The answering whistle, however, was still rather toward the end of the tunnel. The fellow there, not the leader, it seemed, was less eager to move forward into the darkness. I, for one, did not blame him.

I had then come again to the area of Alcove Twenty-Six. It was well down the tunnel. I had felt it before. I thrust back the curtain. "Master?" I heard, within, and a sound of chain. I then again closed the curtain. I moved to the next alcove. That was Twenty-Seven, on the left. I moved back the curtain. I heard nothing within. This one, I thought, would do nicely. I then entered the alcove. I then listened to the whistles approaching more closely.

It is normal practice, in a situation of this sort, to separate the enemies, meeting first one, and then the other, substituting two one-to-one conflicts, so to speak, for one two-to-one conflict. This works best, of course, when one can see what one is doing. Too often, darkness neutralizes skill; too often chance thrives in darkness. There are, of course, tactics for fighting in the darkness, such as misdirection, the casting of pebbles to encourage an opponent to make a move, the use of back kicks, giving extension to one's striking capacity while providing a minimum exposure of vital areas, the attempt to lure a blow from a distance, with full-arm knife probes, to encourage an opponent to lunge and overextend himself, and so on, but, in the true darkness, very different from what commonly passes as "night fighting," there is probably no really satisfactory way to reduce risk levels to tolerable limits. I prefer to avoid it. Accordingly, in entering the tunnel I had determined, from the beginning, in the event it was unlighted, that I would prefer to arrange matters in such a way that the considerable risks involved be taken by the other fellows. I myself did not care for the odds.

I stuck my head out of the alcove. "Who is there?" I called, as though alarmed. "Is there anyone there?" Who is it?"

I then heard another whistle, from my right, toward the entrance to the tunnel. This was answered by one from my left, toward the end of the tunnel. There was then another insistent whistle from my right. It was no closer. The whistle from my left, then, was a bit closer. This was what I had hoped for. They would hope to coordinate their efforts, to take me between them, at the same time.

"Who is there?" I called again, once more as though alarmed.

"Do not fear," called a voice, from the right. "We mean you no harm. Are you Tarl, of Port Kar?"

"Yes," I said. "I am he!"

"We have a message for you," said the voice.

"Yes," I said.

"Remain where you are," said the voice. "We will bring you the message." "You are certain that you mean well?" I inquired.

"Yes, yes," said the fellow to the right, soothingly. I could now hear the small sound of the metal, presumably a knife, on the stones, coming from my left. Did they really think I would believe that two fellows were needed to deliver a message?

"I am not certain of that," I said.

"Do not be alarmed," said the fellow to the right.

"You have a message for me?" I asked.

"Yes," said the fellow to the right.

"I am drawing my sword," I said. I then withdrew the blade from the sheath a good deal more noisily than was necessary. I did not want them to mistake the sound. I thought that that would give them something to think about. I wanted them to be somewhat alarmed. Then, when I sheathed it, they might be inclined to act more swiftly, more precipitately. "We are friends," said the fellow to the right, in the darkness. In there intentness, in their hunt, in the darkness, I did not think they would be keeping track of the alcoves. They would, in any case, have had to feel carefully for them. They would be thinking, I expected, only in terms of the tunnel and the walls. I had, further, led them to believe that I was in the tunnel itself. Too, surely this would seem reasonable to them. I had further confirmed this suspicion by the drawing of the blade. Presumably such a draw would not take place in the close quarters of an alcove, were there was little room for its wielding. To be sure, there was not much room in the tunnel either, though thrusting could surely be dangerous. With the sword drawn I did not think either would care to be the first to make contact with me. With it sheathed both, for all I knew, and particularly the fellow on the right, might be eager to make the first strike.

"Sheath your sword," said the fellow on the right.

"No," I said.

"We will then not deliver the message," he said.

"Very well," I said.

"But we must deliver it," he said. "It is a matter of life and death." "That sounds serious," I granted him.

"It is," he assured me.

"From whom does this message come?" I asked.

"From the regent himself," said the fellow.

"I see," I said.

I doubted, personally, that the regent would be sending me messages, and, if so, that he would be doing it in this fashion. I was prepared to believe, however, that the business to which these fellows were about might have its origins in individuals close to the regent. Their mention of the regent, of course, convinced me that they were not common assailants, after a purse.

Run-of-the-mill brigands would surely refrain from allusions so dubious and exalted, allusions so incredible that they would be sure to put a normal fellow on his guard.

"How may we convince you of our good intentions?" he asked. I heard him come a foot or so closer. "I would consider that to be your problem," I said. "Not mine." I heard the fellow on the left come a little closer.

"Are you armed?" I asked.

"We will slide our knives, sheathed, along the tunnel floor," said the fellow at the right. "That way you will know we come in peace."

"Excellent," I said.

In a moment two objects, presumably sheaths, though I doubted from the sound they contained knives, with some buckles and straps, came sliding along the tunnel floor, one from the right, the other from the left. I judged the two fellows to be about equidistant, each about ten feet away. They had a good idea of my approximate location, it seemed, from my voice.

"I am convinced," I announced. Actually I was not quite candid in this announcement.

"Sheath your sword," said the fellow on the right. I heard them both coming a little closer.

"There," I said, thrusting the blade back in the sheath. I then drew my head back. "Where is the message?" I asked.

"Here!" I heard, from the right, this cry coupled with the rush forward of a body in the darkness.

"Die!" I heard, from the left, with the sound of another rapidly moving body. I then heard some very ugly noises in the tunnel outside the entrance to the alcove. I was within the alcove, my quiva in hand. If anyone tried to enter these limited quarters, it would be quite easy in the darkness, he in such an exposed position, to cut fiercely at his head and neck.

I listened.

There was not much noise outside. I could hear some gasping, and also some coughing, and spitting. Someone's lungs seemed to be clutching at breath. Not very successfully, it seemed. From the sound of the coughing, that of the other fellow I think, I conjectured that the mouth might be filling with welled-up blood. I think both of them were there. I think they were both just outside the alcove, perhaps locked in one another's arms, or now, leaning against one another, supporting one another. I wondered if they realized what had happened, or if each, puzzled, thought he had closed with this fellow Tarl, of Port Kar. Then I heard one of the bodies take another thrust. Then they seemed, both, to fall to the side, and then, it seemed, one was trying to move away, crawling. That might have been the fellow who had been on the left. I could hear the movement of the knife on the stones. Then whoever it was, coughing, and with a grunt, sank to the stones. The knife was then quiet. It had been a short trip. Doubtless the stones would be sticky. They would have to be cleaned in the morning. Slaves could do that, or, perhaps, the free woman I had been offered earlier in the evening, she who had been in the wrap-around tunic, the Lady Labiena, who was being "kept for a friend." I supposed the hostesses might enjoy having her do such things, perhaps monitoring her work with a whip or pointed stick.

I continued to listen. I now heard nothing.

I think both of these fellows had probably been reasonably skillful. They probably knew their business. I did not think this task would have been assigned novices. They had just mistaken their victim.

I continued to listen patiently for a few Ehn. It was now quiet outside the alcove. I heard nothing. Then I heard a tiny sound behind me. I had not realized I was not alone in the alcove. I spun about, quiva ready. It was now again quiet. I put the quiva in my left hand, extending my left arm. I then silently drew my sword. The quiva presumably could act as a probe and defense. The sword, the quick, short double-edged Gorean gladius, was drawn back for a thrust. "Who is there?" I asked. It was absolutely quiet. "Speak," I said, "or I strike." I then heard a tiny, almost inaudible desperate, protesting, whimpering sound. I heard, too, the desperate movement of bare feet, moving back and forth, and pounding on the stones. I heard, too, the jerk of chain against a ring. With the sword and quiva, protecting myself first with one and then the other, and probing about, using them alternately, and generally keeping away from the source of the sound, I determined to my satisfaction that the alcove was empty save for myself and the source of the sound. Then, using the side of the sword, moving it twice laterally in the darkness, touching the object in the darkness on either side, as it hastily and fearfully, scrambling, pulled its legs back, and up, and whimpered. I specifically located the source of this sound. I sheathed the sword.

I then silently approached the object on its right side. Reaching forth I took it by its hair that I might locate it and hold it in place and moved the point of the quiva, the blade held sideways, that it might slip between the ribs, a tiny bit into its side, about half the width of a drop of blood. There was a protesting whimper. The object did not move, held in place. I let it feel the point a little more. It was then absolutely quiet, and immobile. I drew the point back a bit, but kept it mostly where it was. The object could feel it in contact with its skin. I then moved my left hand downward from its hair to check the wrists. They were shackled behind its back, chained to a ring. I tested the shackles. They were light shackles. But they would be quite effective, if locked, for such an object. They were locked. It was sitting then in the alcove, its hands back-shackled, its back to the alcove wall, close against it, its knees drawn up. I sheathed the quiva.

I then felt round the object's mouth. It was well gagged, with Gorean efficiency, with packing and binding. It made tiny whimpers. These whimpers, of course, had been female noises. They are unmistakable, even with the gagging, that stern impediment to expression which her captor, or captors, had chosen to impose on her, that device, inflicted upon her, by means of which it had been decided that she would not be able to speak. I lowered my hands. She whimpered, perhaps trying to call attention to her desire to speak.

"Be silent," I said. I crouched beside her in the darkness. I wondered if she were a slave. I moved my hands up her body, to determine whether or not she was collared. She whimpered, in desperate protest. "Be silent," I said, "or you will be cuffed." She was silent. I felt her throat. It was innocent of any metallic circlet of bondage. She had been nicely breasted.

"Are you a free woman?" I asked, interested. She made some noises, which I took to be affirmative whimpers.

I recalled the device that my hostess had used in communicating with the slave Lale, a not uncommon one, or, at least, one of not uncommon type, for females put in the modality of the she-quadruped. "You will whimper once for "Yes, " I said, "and twice for "No, Do you understand?"

She whimpered once.

"Would you like to have your gag removed?" I asked.

She whimpered once, eagerly.

"Are you a free woman?" I asked.

She whimpered once.

Then she scrambled back against the wall, pushing back against it, uttering urgent, protesting whimpers.

"I do not detect any brands on your body," I said, "at least in the normal brand sites. Perhaps you are telling the truth," The most common branding sites for a Gorean slave are on the left or right thigh, high, near the hip. Others may wear their brands variously, for example, low on the left abdomen, on the inside of the left forearm, on the left breast, or, very tiny, behind the left ear. I myself do not approve of brands on the breast. A woman's breasts, in my opinion, are too beautiful for a brand. On the other hand I do not object to temporarily marking them in such a place, say, with a grease pencil, lipstick, or paint, as many slavers do. The ideal, of course, given the necessity of marking women, the importance of which anyone recognizes, is to do it in such a fashion that it does not detract from a woman's beauty, but rather enhances it, and considerably. The thigh brand, for one, has this effect. It also, put in her flank, below her waist, helps her to understand what her slavery is all about. Her breasts of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, or netting.

She whimpered once, angrily.

"Surely you cannot criticize my curiosity," I said. "One does not usually expect to find a free woman chained naked in a slave alcove in a brothel." My investigations concerning brand sites had, as a side effect, of course, informed me that she was unclothed, except for her shackles.

She made a number of angry noises.

"Are you displeased?" I asked.

She whimpered, once, angrily.

"Are you angry?" I asked.

She whimpered again, once, even more angrily. Then she made a number of other angry noises.

"Do you wish to speak?" I asked.

She whimpered once, angrily.

"You would like me to remove your gag?" I asked.

She made a single, short noise, very insistently. I waited. She repeated it. "Oh," I said. "You do not wish me to remove your gag."

She then whimpered twice, insistently.

"You do want me to remove your gag?" I asked.

She whimpered once, very definitely, very clearly, just once.

"But I have not done so, have I?" I asked. "Perhaps you think I have forgotten to do so, that it has somehow slipped my mind. That is not it at all, however. I was merely inquiring, before and now, if you would like to have it removed. That is what I was interested in. That is all. I have never had any intention of removing it. I am not interested, for example, in hearing from you."

There was a startled noise, and some puzzled ones.

"No," I said. I then put my right hand on her neck under her chin and forced her head up and back.

She made a frightened noise.

"You are in no position," I said, "to be displeased, or angry, or impatient, or peremptory, in any way."

She was silent.

I then put my hand on her, and she whimpered, and drew back, pushing back, frightened against the wall of the alcove. I then took her ankles in my hands. I let her try for a moment to resist me. Then I spread her ankles widely. "Do you understand?" I asked.

She whimpered once, frightened.

"Good," I said. I then released her ankles and she drew them hastily back and together, pulling her knees up, and close together, and, as she could, turned her right side to me.

"Were you the female who was brought in a sack, earlier this evening?" I asked. She whimpered once.

"Are you beautiful?" I asked.

She whimpered twice.

"Then there would be no point in my having my way with you, would there?" I asked.

She whimpered twice.

"I think that I shall strike a light," I said.

She whimpered twice, piteously.

"And if I find that you have lied, and that you are beautiful, I shall use youa€”and as a slave."

Two whimpers.

"Very well," I said. "I shall give you another chance. Are you beautiful?" She whimpered once, in defeat.

"Or at least you think you are beautiful," I said.

She whimpered once.

"Then perhaps I should use you," I said.

She whimpered twice, piteously.

"If you are a free woman," I said, "then, from what I have heard, there may be something around here." I felt about the alcove. "Yes," I said, "here it is." I had located some binding fiber at the side, and a leather thong, with a coin, presumably a tarsk bit, threaded on it. That was to be used, I recalled having heard from my hostess, if she was used in her stay in the brothel. "There is some binding fiber here," I said. "Do you know what it is for?"

She whimpered twice, frightened.

"For binding you," I said. "If you are used tonight you are to be put out naked in the morning, in the alley, your hands tied behind your back with this binding fiber."

She whimpered twice, in protest.

"There is also a coin here, a tarsk bit, I think, threaded on a leather thong. Do you know what that is for?"

She whimpered twice.

I took the thong and coin and, putting my arms about her, tied the thong about her waist, fastening it behind her back. The coin then was at her belly. With my thumb I pushed it back into her belly, that she might clearly feel its shape and know its location. Then I let it dangle there, resting on her belly. "This coin," I said, "when you were put out in the morning, if you were used tonight, was to be tied there. It signifies to all who see it that you have served a man. You are given the coin because you are a free woman. That is your payment. To be sure it is the smallest-denomination coin in common circulation. It is, thus, a comment on your value."

She moaned in protest. I removed the thong and coin from her waist. I laid it, with the binding fiber, to the side.

She whimpered gratefully.

"I know you are a free woman," I said, "but are you prepared now, in the light of your recent experiences, to reform your behavior, to be at least minimally polite, to observe certain basic amenities, and to conduct your life and business at least generally in accordance with simple canons of common civility and courtesy?"

She was silent.

I put my hand on her.

She whimpered once, quickly.

"Good," I said. "Since someone put you here, presumably as a punishment, I gather you have been something of a she-sleen." She whimpered once.

"But that is going to change now, isn't it?" I asked.

One whimper.

"You see," I said, putting my hand on her thigh, she trying to pull back, "this is not really much of a punishment. Many other things would have been done to you. For example, from a place such as this, it would be no great trick for you to be delivered to a slaver. Indeed, perhaps a slaver has an appointment with you in this alcove before morning. I do not know."

She whimpered in fear.

"You could be branded and collared before morning," I said, "and shipped out of the city, then a slave, hooded, gagged and helpless, for your first sale." Two whimpers.

"Indeed," I said, "perhaps I am that slaver."

She whimpered twice, wildly.

"But I am not," I said. "Oh yes, I have done slaving, and doubtless will again. There are few occupations so pleasant and rewarding."

She was silent, trembling.

"Would you look well at a man's feet?" I asked. I put my hand on her throat. "Answer truthfully," I warned her.

She whimpered once, in agony.

"Or you think you would?" I asked.

One whimper, a fearful whimper, in misery.

"But do not be afraid," I said. "I have no intention, at least at present, of carrying you into bondage. Are you grateful?"

She whimpered once.

"Besides," I said, "I have not even seen you."

She whimpered in fear.

"Accordingly I reserve the right of carrying you into bondage later, if I wish," I said. "Perhaps you are too beautiful to be free. I do not know."

She whimpered twice, fearfully, protestingly.

"Be quiet," I whispered. "Someone is coming." Down the tunnel I could see a flicker of light, doubtless from a tharlarion oil lamp. Although it was a very small light, it seemed very bright in the darkness. I heard a woman gasp, seeing, I suppose, at least the first body in the tunnel. «Ai she cried in a moment, the wash of the light moving, lifting, in the darkness outside. I saw it reflecting on the other side of the tunnel, and a bit into the alcove. She had then seen, a bit further down the tunnel, I suppose, the second body. I moved back, to the side of the alcove entrance. I saw the light approaching more closely.

"What has gone on here?" she asked, under her breath, not really speaking to anyone. I gathered she was alone. Her surprise seemed genuine. She made no attempt to call back to anyone. She was now close to the alcove entrance.

"Are you all right in there, little slut?" she cooed. "Are your chains too tight? Would you like to be let loose from the nasty old slave ring? Have you learned now what it is to serve men? Have you squirmed well? Is your pretty little body tired of being chained? Is it sore? Does it ache? It is getting late, my beauty. Would you like some clothing? Of course you would! I have some pretty binding fiber in there for you to wear and, if you have given pleasure to a man, as seems likely by now, a pretty coin to tie on your belly. It is cold out in the alley this morning, and gray. The binding fiber will help keep your wrists nice and warm." She lifted the lamp outside the alcove. "There you are," she said.

The girl, whom I now saw was blond, slender and lovely, with sweet breasts and beautiful thighs and calves, shrank back against the alcove wall. I told myself I could have had her in the darkness, but had not done so! Had I realized how attractive she was I might have done so. She did have the look of a wench that belonged in a collar. She had nice slave curves. I thought that she, objectively considered, would make a very nice slab of slave meat. I would not have minded, for example, seeing her naked on a block, in chains, being put through her paces, under slave discipline, dancing, writhing, squirming lasciviously for the interest of men, being auctioned to the highest bidder. I myself might have made a bid. I forced myself to remember that she was free.

The woman outside held the lamp inside the alcove entrance. I then seized her wrist and drew her forcibly, swiftly, she crying out, on her belly, through the narrow opening. The lamp, spilling oil, briefly flaming in a rivulet on the alcove floor, went to the side of the alcove, and went out. I knelt across her body. She was carrying only her whip and some keys. I removed these from her. She struggled fiercely, silently. She was strong for a woman. She would have been much stronger than the chained girl. Still, when all was said and done, her strength was only that of a female. It amused me. I let her struggle for a time, until she realized the futility of her efforts. With a sob she ceased struggling. I then removed her leather from her. I thought perhaps the free woman might be able to use it. "Be silent," I warned my captive. She was silent. I then felt on the floor for the binding fiber. I had it in a moment and tied my captive's hands behind her, and then took her ankles and, crossing them and pulling them up tightly behind her, bound them to her wrists. She would not be going anywhere.

"Who are you?" she hissed, on her side in the darkness, pulling at her bonds. "Tarl," I said, "of Port Kar."

"They were looking for you," she said.

"They found one another, I said. I then thrust my captive to the side. I then felt about for the lamp. I located it almost immediately, and swirled it a bit. There was a tiny bit of oil left in it. I relit the lamp with the lighter, or as the Goreans say "fire-maker," from my pouch. It is a standard flint-and-wheel device, with its tiny wick and reservoir. Goreans do not smoke, of course, but, as they commonly use natural flame for cooking and light, they find such a device, and others like it, utilizing springs and pyrites, with cartridges of oil-saturated tinder moss, and such, of great utility. The common sulfur match, on the other hand, so common on Earth, I have never met with on Gor. The chemistry involved in such a device, interestingly enough, is forbidden on Gor. It is regarded as constituting a violation of the Weapons Laws imposed on Goreans by Priest-Kings. This is not as farfetched as it might sound at first. Sulfur, for example, is one of the primary ingredients in the composition of gunpowder.

"You!" exclaimed the captive. "You told me you were called Bosk!" "I am called Bosk," I said. "You appear to be well bound." She struggled briefly.

"Yes," I said, "quite well bound."

"Release me," she said.

"One of these keys," I said, "has a 27 on it. That, I take it, is the key to the chains in this alcove."

"Yes," said the captive, sullenly.

I took this key and assured myself that it opened the manacles of the blond prisoner.

She threw me a grateful look.

Then I reclosed the manacles, leaving her chained precisely as she had been before. She regarded me wildly, puzzled, in consternation. She jerked at her hands. They were still manacled to the ring behind her. The captive on the floor laughed.

I crouched in the alcove, looking at the blond girl. "She is a pretty thing, isn't she?" I said. She drew her knees up, and shrank back against the alcove wall.

"Yes," said my captive. "Look at her. She is that kind of woman."

"She looks like the kind of woman whom you manage, then slaves, of course, in the brothel."

"Yes," said my captive. "She is exactly that sort of woman. She belongs in a collar. Doubtless one day she will find her neck in one. Who knows? Perhaps one day she will even be here, subject to me, as one of our girls."

"Would you like that?" I asked.

"Of course," said my captive.

"You would make her serve men well?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You enjoy making women such as she serve men?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, with relish, "I do. And I would see to it that she served men superbly."

"Why?" I asked.

"I despise such women," she said. "Why?" I asked.

"They belong to men," she said.

I picked up her whip. "Doubtless she would look well kissing the whip," I said. "Yes," laughed my captive."

"Kiss it," I said to my captive, holding it before her.

"What?" she cried.

"All women belong to men," I said.

She tried to pull back from the whip, frenziedly. She struggled.

"Be careful," I said. "You may cause your bonds to cut into your limbs." She looked at me in helpless fury.

I loosened the blades of the whip. "You will kiss it now," I said, "or after you have felt it. To me it is a matter of indifference. The choice is yours." "Do not whip me," she said.

"You are a free woman," I said. "You have doubtless never even felt a slave whip."

"I will kiss it," she said.

I held it before her. Many free women, before they have felt it, are skeptical of the efficacy of the slave lash. Their skepticism vanishes, of course, as soon as they feel it. On the other hand, I did not think this one would be. She was quite familiar with it. She doubtless used it regularly in her work. It was one of her tools, a useful device for the instruction, correction, discipline and punishment of slaves. She would be quite aware of its power, from its effect on her helpless charges.

"You can do better than that," I said. "Better. Very good. Now, with your tongue. Come now. That's better, much better. Excellent. Now, again, kiss it. More lingeringly, more lovingly. Splendid." I then drew the whip back.

She looked up at me. "I have kissed your whip," she said.

I then turned her to her belly and freed her ankles.

"No!" she cried.

In a few Ehn I turned to the blond captive and ungagged her, carefully removing the gag binding and drawing the wet packing from her mouth. "I am not looking forward to hearing a great deal of noise from you in the immediate future," I said. "Is that clear?"

She nodded, not speaking.

"Aargh," said the captive on the floor as I pushed the wadding into her mouth and bound it in place. "Nor from you," I informed her.

I then took my quiva and addressed myself to the rather mannish leather I had removed from the captive. I shortened it, considerably. I cut away the sleeves, deeply. I find the arms and shoulders of a woman attractive. I cut down the neckline, opening it considerably, and then slashed it almost to the belly. This would be pretty, I thought. I then slashed the tunic on both sides, up to the waist. A flash of thigh is nice on a woman, even if the thigh is not branded. The blond prisoner, her hands chained behind her, watched. I then freed her hands from the manacles and pulled her hands up and over her head. I then slipped the improvised tunic, cut now in a more feminine fashion from the mannish leather, on her body. Swiftly she pulled it down about her thighs, as far as it would go. Swiftly, too, then, did she kneel, her knees now tightly together, in the fashion of the free woman. She looked at me, frightened.

I glanced back to the captive, her wrists still tightly bound behind her. She was on one elbow, and her hip now, on the alcove floor. Her hair was down about her face. Her eyes seemed filled with disbelief, as though she might be trying to understand what had been done to her.

"Look," I said to the captive, indicating the blonde.

The blonde tried to pull the tunic further down her thighs. She clenched her knees more closely together.

"She does look as though she belonged in a collar, doesn't she?" I asked the captive.

The captive looked up at me.

"Doesn't she?" I asked.

The captive uttered muffled noises.

I seized the captive's head, pulling it up. "Doesn't she?" I asked. "You may whimper once for "Yes," and twice for "No." I am sure you are familiar with the procedure."

She looked at me with fury. I shook her head. She whimpered once. "What?" I asked. She then whimpered again, once, clearly. "Do you wish to be beaten?" I asked. She whimpered twice, clearly. "I see that you are familiar with the procedure," I said, I then thrust her back to the floor of the alcove. I again regarded the blonde. "What are you going to do with me?" she whispered. I put my hands on her upper arms.

"What?" she asked.

I forced myself to remove my hands from her arms.

"What?" she asked.

"We are going to get out of here," I said. I then looked back at the bound captive, and then located the leather thong with the tarsk bit threaded on it. She looked at me wildly over the gag. She shook her head. She whimpered twice, again and again, desperately. Then the thong was tied about her waist, knotted in the back and the tiny coin, threaded on the thong, dangled at her belly. I pushed it into her belly so that she could feel its impression, and then released it. I then took her by the hair with my right hand.

"Come along," I said to her. I picked up the tiny lamp with my other hand. "Follow us," I said to the blonde. I then left the alcove, holding the lamp, drawing the bound captive by the hair after me. The blonde followed. The one body in the tunnel was to the right. In a moment or so we had crawled around the other one, that which had been to the left. Their message, according to the fellow who had been on the right, had been a matter of life and death. I supposed that had been intended to be a witticism on his part. Doubtless he would have enjoyed reporting on the manner and the words with which he had delivered the "message." He had spoken truly, it seems. But it had turned out to be a matter of my life and their death.

In a moment or two, as we were near the end of the tunnel, we came to the back corridor. We could stand up there. We came to the rear entrance. There was a small lamp there, in a niche, and I extinguished the lamp I carried and put it down. In a moment I had left the building, pulling the captive behind me, her head held down at my waist, in leading position. We were followed by the blonde in the brief leather garment I had fashioned for her. The door latched behind us.

We emerged into a yard, where the slaves presumably could get fresh air and be exercised. There were some treadmills there, and some wooden platforms, with chain holes in the planks, where, in good weather, girls might be secured for tanning. Beyond this yard was the narrow alley behind the buildings. The gate to this yard also latched behind us. We could not re-enter from the outside. It was still very early, and half dark. It was also quite chilly. I recalled that my captive had told the blonde that her wrists might be kept warm by the binding fiber. She herself now, of course, though I do not think she had counted on it, had the benefit of that narrow, encircling garmenture.

I pulled my captive around and between buildings, and emerged onto the street called the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, and then I went between more buildings and emerged on the Avenue of Turia. This is a splendid avenue, and there are many shops on it. There I put my captive on her knees, her back to a slave ring, fixed in a wall a foot or so above the level of the pavement. I then slipped the extra binding fiber dangling from her wrists, that with which I had earlier tied her ankles up behind her, to her wrists, through the ring and then crossed her ankles and knotted it securely about them. Once again then were her wrists fastened to her ankles, though she was this time secured as well to a slave ring.

"This is a very busy street," I said, "though it does not seem so at this hour. Doubtless you will soon attract your share of attention. Doubtless some of the customers of the Tunnels will recognize you. You may consider what you will say to guardsmen, to explain your presence here. You might consider in particular how to explain to them the meaning of the tarsk bit on your belly. But then they may be familiar with such things, and their meanings."

She looked up at me.

"Farewell, Free Woman," I said.

She extended her head toward me, whimpering, tears in her eyes.

"Do you beg for mercy, for release?" I asked. She shook her head, negatively.

"Surely you know I would not give it to you," I said.

She nodded, tears in her eyes.

"I am not that sort of man," I said.

She nodded.

"What then?" I asked.

She reached toward me with her head. I crouched down beside her. I touched her gently on the left side of her face. She pressed her cheek, the gag binding drawn back tight between her teeth, against mine. I felt her tears.

"You are not unattractive," I said. "And in you somewhere there is a female. Do not despise any longer other women, for you, too, are a woman. Let your female emerge and become one with you, until there is only you, who is the female." She whimpered softly, piteously, gratefully.

"I do not think you will long be much good for working at the Tunnels, at least in your former capacity," I said.

She put her head down.

"For you have now discovered how inordinately precious and glorious it is to be a woman," I said. "It is its own thing, and it is different from being a man. Too, it is not even to be a pseudo-man or facsimile male. It is quite different. Such things are unnatural and despicable. It is its own place, in its own country, and a whole marvelous life and being."

She kept her head down.

I stood up, and looked down at her. "Have no fear," I said. "You look well kneeling at the feet of a man."

She raised her head, tears running from her eyes.

"A rag, or a bit of silk, would become you more than the masculine leather, so amusingly outlandish, so silly and absurd on your female body, which you seemed so fond of affecting," I said. She shrank back. "And your neck is rather bare," I said. "It could use an ornamenta€”perhaps a steel collar." I stepped back. "Yes," I said, considering her, "you are not unattractive. You would make an acceptable possession. You yourself, like the girls you so terrorized and dominated, like all women, as you have perhaps guessed by now, are ultimately and appropriately the property of men."

She nodded, and lowered her head. Tears fell from her eyes to the pavement. "Come along," I said to the blonde.

"You will leave her here, like this?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "And it is much what would have happened to you except that you would have been free, naked and bound, the tarsk bit at your belly, to try and make your way home."

I then, leaving my former hostess behind me on her knees, naked, her hands and ankles tied behind her to the slave ring, the tarsk bit on her belly, conducted the blonde back between the buildings to the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. It was on that street that there was to be found the insula of Achiates.

"There is the Tunnels," I said, crossing the street. "It is there that you were taken last night."

"Free women scarcely speak of it except in whispers," she said, shuddering. "It is one of the lowest of the slave brothels in Ar."

"It is there that you were taken," I said.

"What a grim and terrible place it seems," she said.

"It does look a bit grim now," I admitted. "But then you are not seeing it at its best. It is closed now, and it is early morning. It is hard to look one's best this early in the morning. I'm sure you will agree. In the evening now, when it opens, it looks much better, warmer, cheerful, lit up, even perhaps a bit gaudy. You would have known that last night if you could have gotten your head out of the sack."

"I'm sure of it," she said.

"Perhaps you could drop by some evening, and get a better idea of it," I said. "Perhaps," she said.

"But I would not come unescorted," I said.

"No," she said. "I do not think so."

"It is not really a terrible place at all," I said. "I think it is rather nice." "You were not chained naked in a slave alcove," she said. "Look at it this way," I said. "Consider it an interesting experience. After all, how many free women have ever been chained in a slave alcove." "I am one of the lucky ones," she said.

"Certainly," I said.

"I must thank you," she said.

"What for?" I asked.

"In the alcove," she said, "I was much at your mercy."

"You were totally at my mercy," I said, correcting her.

"Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "I was. And so I want to thank you for not using me."

"That is all right," I said.

"But you were thinking about it, weren't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted.

"But you did not do so," she said.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"What?" I asked.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said. "I suppose because you were free, and so helpless." "My helplessness would not have made a difference if I were a slave, would it?" she asked.

"No," I said. "One often makes a slave absolutely helpless, and then does what one wants with her. One commands and uses a slave totally. That is what they are for. They must serve completely. They must deliver, at so little as a word or gesture, immediately and unquestioningly, whatever the master desires. One gets from a slave all that a man could possibly want from a woman, and more, simply taking it from her, or ordering her to provide it."

"She is so helpless," she said.

"Of course," I said. "She is a slave."

"But you did not use me," she said.

"No," I said.

"Because I was free?" she asked.

"I suppose so," I said. "I did not know how attractive you were, of course." "Had you known," she asked, "would you have used me?"

"I do not know," I said. "Perhaps I am only human."

"Is that why you have dressed me as you have?" she asked. She looked down, demurely, pulling down at the short hem of the leather she wore.

"Yes," I said.

"This is very revealing," she said. She pulled together the sides of the neckline, closing the garment there to some extent.

"Yes," I admitted.

"It bares my arms and shoulders," she said. "That would generally be done only with a slave."

"True," I admitted. She did not mention it, but it was not merely her arms and shoulders which were bared. Once could see a good bit of her legs, a sweet suggestion of her shapely breasts and, at the sides, going to the waist, a high slash of thigh.

She looked at me.

"It is a bit large," I said. The hostess had been a larger woman than she. She pulled it more closely about herself. This more accentuated her figure. "You put me in this garment," she said. "And it is the sort of garment a slave might be put in."

"Probably not in leather, however," I said.

She nodded. Leather is generally not permitted to slaves. Softer and more feminine fabrics, silk, rep-cloth, and such, often brief and clinging, not only stunningly attractive and aesthetically pleasing, but also indictive of, and reflective of, their subjection to masculine domination, are generally required of them.

"But I see what you mean," I said.

"Do you think I am a slave?" she asked.

"Of course not," I said.

"Oh, I do not mean legally," she said. "I mean really."

"Oh," I said, "then of course."

"Of course," she said.

"Yes," I said. "Beware!" she said. "I am a free woman!"

"Not really," I said.

"Not really?" she asked.

"No," I said. "You are really a slave. All you lack are some minor legal technicalities, such as a collar."

"This garment," she said, looking down, quickly. "It is so brief, so revealing. It makes me feel so strange."

I shrugged.

"How dare you have put me n such a garment?" she asked.

"It pleased me," I said.

"It calls attention to my sexuality," she said.

"It calls attention, at least," I said, "to the potentiality of your sexuality." "Am I beautiful?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Am I sexually desirable?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Am I beautiful enough and sexually desirable enough," she asked, "to be a slave?"

"That is a strange question for a free woman to ask," I said.

"Am I?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said.

"You are welcome," I said.

"Could you really have carried me into slavery," she asked, "as you intimated in the alcove?"

"I could still do so," I said. "We are not far from the Street of Brands. Within the Ahn I could deliver you into the clutches and metal of a slaver. He would take one look at you, as you are now, and there would be no questions asked." "You would then get money for me?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"But it is not your intention to do so?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I do not need the money," I said.

"Please," she said. "You are free," I shrugged.

"It is cold," she said, shivering.

"It will grow warmer later in the day," I said.

"What time do you think it is?" she asked.

"Somewhere between the fourth and the fifth Ahn," I said.

"It is so cold," she said, "and so dark and gray."

I turned away.

"Wait!" she called.

I turned back. "What?" I asked.

"I do not live in that direction," she said.

"So?" I said.

"Where then are you going?" she asked.

"To my room," I said. "It is late."

"No!" she said.

"No?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Aren't you going to take me home?"

"Can you find your way home from here?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Then do so," I said.

"Wait!" she called.

"Yes?" I said.

"See how I am clad!" she said.

"I do see," I said.

"I cannot go through the streets like this," she said.

"Many women," I said, "in collars, go through the streets with much less, and in full daylight, among crowds."

"They are slaves!" she said.

"And so, too, really," I said, "are you."

She looked at me, angrily.

"Would you rather do it naked?" I asked. "That can be arranged." I took a step towards her.

"No!" she said, putting out her hand, stepping back.

"Very well," I said. It did amuse me to think of her trying to make her way back to wherever she lived, probably a good way from here, as she seemed an educated, refined, perhaps affluent woman.

"What if I am surprised?" she said. "What if I am caught? What if slavers pick me up?" "I really do not think there is much chance of that," I said, "not at the present hour, with it getting light. This is not an ideal hour, too, as you are probably aware, for the practice of activities such as slaving, raping, capturing and such. It is just too miserably early. Don't you really think so? What self-respecting rapist or slaver would be abroad at this hour? What would he expect to find? A miniature domestic sleen among the garbage cans? A brawny teamster bringing in produce from the country? Similarly I assume you live in a frequently patrolled, well-to-do district. I really do not believe you will be in any danger whatsoever. Run along."

"Run along?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Just because I am dressed like this, do you think you can dismiss me like a slave?"

"I would go while I can," I said.

She looked at me, suddenly. "This is the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla," she said. "Escort me at least back to the Avenue of Turia." "Very well," I said.

She then led the way back across the street, to the opening between the buildings, one of several which joined the Avenue of Turia, in this section, with the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. She walked well before me. A few yards into the passageway, which was winding, and about a hundred yards long, with some side passages, she stopped, and turned, and faced me.

"I am cold," she said.

"Oh?" I said.

"Put your arms about me," she said.

I did so. She fitted well within them.

"Is that better?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. She looked up at me. "You have saved me from an unspeakable fate," she said, "one worse than death, that of a man having his way with me, against my will."

"Do not be absurd," I said. How seriously some free women took themselves! Such ridiculous vanity! A week in a collar would straighten her out on such matters. She would then know what women were for, and all about.

"However that may be," she smiled, "it is to you that I owe my rescue from the shackles of a slave alcove."

I began to think I had probably made a mistake. I should of left here there. "I owe you much," she said. "I am grateful. I would show my gratitude." "No thanks are necessary," I said. I wondered if she knew what she was doing. She lifted her lips. I felt her in my arms rising up on her toes. "There," she said, kissing me.

"Beware of what you do," I said, "dressed as you are." Her body was luscious, rounded and slave soft. I forced myself not to seize it to me, and crush it in my arms.

"There," she said, kissing me again, "can a slave kiss like that?" This second kiss, with its remark, was a mistake on her part, an irrevocable one.

"You know nothing of kissing," I said. "If a slave could not do better than that, she would be whipped."

"Sleen!" she cried, and tried to strike me. I caught her wrist with my right hand and twisted her suddenly and forcibly about, startling her. I took her left upper arm in my left hand, holding her, making her helpless, and with my right hand forced her right arm up suddenly and angrily behind her back. She cried out in sharp pain. I held her in this position for a moment, letting her know how helpless she was, keeping her in pain. She was high on her toes to relieve the pressure on her arm. She did not so much as move. Then I released her. She spun about, looking at me, wildly. She rubbed her arm. She had been in a man's power. She looked small then. "You hurt me!" she said.

"Was it not your intention to hurt me?" I inquired.

She looked down. She seemed small, and beautiful. She continued to rub her arm. "What you attempted to do would earn a slave a beating at least," I said, "if her hands were not cut off, or if she were not fed to sleen."

"I wouldn't have done it, if I were a slave," she pouted. "No," I said, "I do not think you would have, Free Woman." "Must I throw myself to you?" she asked.

"After that second kiss," I said, "that would not be necessary."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I am going to give you what you want," I said.

"No!" she said. "Not that! I meana€”I meana€”!" But I had swept her into my arms and carried her a few yards down the passageway and then into one of the side passages, where, sticking out from a rear area, I had seen the corner, in the mist of other garbage, refuse and trash, of a discarded, ragged, thick, roughly woven reed slave mat. "No!" she said. "Not now! Not this way!"

"Be silent," I said. What was she complaining about? I had even carried her to this place in honor, in my arms, as a free woman. I had not thrown her over my shoulder, her ass to the front, her head scornfully to the rear, as properties are commonly carried, such as sacks of grain and female slaves.

With my foot, not yet putting her down, I dragged the mat free of the garbage and trash, and kicked it back to where I wanted it, back further in the rear area, between the high walls. I then threw her down upon it "Get your clothes off," I told her. "Be quick!"

Sobbing, she stripped herself.

"Please!" she begged. "No! Please!"

"Perform obeisance," I said.

"I am a free woman!" she said.

"Out of your own mouth you have said it," I said. "You are a woman." "I do not know how to do so!" she said.

"There are many ways to perform obeisance," I said.

"I am a free woman," she said. "I know none of them."

"I shall instruct you briefly in three," I said. "First, kneel before me, back on your heels, yes, with your knees wide, wider, your hands on your thighs, your back straight, your breasts out, good, your belly in, good, and now lower your head in deference, in submission."

"Like a slave!" she said. "Do it," I said. She looked well, "now that," I said, "may not be exactly a performance of obeisance, for authorities do not all agree, but for our purposes we shall count it as one. It is, at any rate, a beautiful position, and it is, certainly, a common position of slave submission."

"Slave submission!" she cried.

"Yes," I said, "and you do it well. It looks natural on you."

"Now," I said, "and this is clearly a form of obeisance, bend forward and put your head to the mat, the palms of your hands on the mat. Good. Now lift your head a little and come forward, substantially keeping the position. Forward a little more."

"But then my face will be at your feet," she said. "My lips will be over them!" "Yes," I said. "Good. Now put your head down and lick and kiss my feet." "I am a free woman!" she said.

"You are a woman," I said. "Now, softly, lingeringly and lovingly. Good." "I am not a slave," she said.

"All women are slaves," I said. "Imagine what this would be like if you were truly a collared slave."

She gasped.

"Good," I said. "Continue."

Frightened, she did so.

"Now," I said, "for a third form of obeisance. You may "belly' to me." "I do not understand," she whispered.

"There are various forms of bellying," I said, "and bellying may be suitably and pleasingly combined with other forms of floor movements, approaching the master on all fours, turning to your sides and back, writhing before him, and so on. We shall take a very simple version, suitable for an ignorant free female who has not yet even begun to discover the depths of her sexuality."

She looked up at me.

"On your belly," I said. She backed off a bit, and went to her belly. Her hair was before her face, as she, now on her belly before me, looked up at me.

"Now, inch forward," I said, "remaining low on your belly, and when you reach my feet, once again, as before, lifting your head a little, tenderly and humbly, and beautifully, as though you were a slave, lick and kiss them. Good. Good. Now take my foot and place it gently on your head. Very good. Now place it again on the mat, and kiss it again. Good. You may now belly back a little, humbly. I have not yet given you permission to rise, of course."

She looked up at me, through her blond hair. There was a sort of disbelief and awe in her eyes. I think she could not understand the emotions that had gone through her, as she had performed these overt actions, understanding and internalizing their meanings.

"You may now kneel," I said.

She did so, obediently.

I then crouched down before her, and took her by the upper arms.

Our eyes met. "I did not know it could be like that," she whispered.

I said nothing.

"I performed obeisance," she said, shaken, wonderingly.

"Yes," I said.

"I have never felt so female," she said.

"You have not yet even begun to get in touch with your femaleness," I said. "You will discover that it is a wonderful thing, that it is deep and marvelous, and, I think, fathomless. A voyage of discovery lies before you, through lands of love and untold sensuous wonders. A great adventure lies before you, filled with life and meaning. In this adventure you will find your fulfillment, as what you truly are, a female, not as something else, not as something different." "I understand," she whispered.

I touched her.

"Ohh," she said, softly.

"Interesting," I said. "Though you are a free woman, you are rather vital, even at this stage."

"Please do not embarrass me." She said. "In time," I said, "it is my hope that you would grow proud of your body and its responses. I do not think you will find them embarrassing then, unless perhaps, say, strapped in a slave rack, you are forced to exhibit them publicly before scornful men or contemptuous free women. I think rather then that you would come to welcome them, and to exult in them, and rejoice in them." "Please," she protested.

"Slaves," I said, "are generally quite open, and loving about their bodies. They tend to understand themselves, and their nature, and they love it."

"I am not a slave," she reminded me.

"That is true," I said.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

"Will you be kind to me?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said.

She looked at me, startled. Then I pressed her back, down, on her back, onto the mat.

"I am a virgin," she whispered.

I kissed her.

"You will be kind to me, won't you?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said.

"This mat is hard," she said. "It is rough," She squirmed a little, moving her back upon it, on its rough fibers.

"It was designed for the instruction of a slave," I said, "not for her comfort." "I am not a slave," she smiled.

"The mat does not know that," I said.

"It is my hope that you know it," she smiled. "Oh!"

"I have forgotten it," I told her.

"Be kind!" she said. "I am not a slave."

"You will be treated as I please," I said, "and exactly so. Now be silent." "I have strange feelings," she whispered. "I feel that I should call you Master."

"Do not do so," I said. "That is only for slaves."

"Yes," she whispered, "a€”Master."

"Very well," I said. "Oh, yes! she cried, softly.

"Never let me go," she wept, clinging to me.

I thrust her back, gently, to the mat, disentangling her from me.

"Let me hold you," she begged.

"Not now," I said. "Keep your arms at your sides."

"In your armsa€”" she said, "in your armsa€”!"

"It is not I," I said. "It could have been any man. It is rather that you were ready."

"I am prepared to be a love slave!" she said.

"Keep your hands at your sides," I said.

Her small hands and arms writhed at her sides. "I want to touch you. I want to hold you!" she said.

"Keep them at your sides," I said.

"Be my love master," she begged.

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

"Please, please be my love master," she begged.

"Doubtless he somewhere exists," I said. "But I am not he."

She moaned.

"Do not be so overwhelmed," I said. "This is only a simple initiation into the world of the senses."

"Simple?" she asked. "Initiation?"

"Yes," I said.

"I did not know there was anything in all of life like this," she said. "And you are not yet even a slave," I said.

"I want my love master," she moaned.

"Search for him," I whispered. "Perhaps you will find hima€”after a thousand collars."

"Let me hold you," she begged.

"You may do so," I said.

She put her arms about me, pulling me toward her, that I be pressed against her softness.

"Ohh," she said. "You are strong again."

"You are very beautiful," I explained. "You are calm now?" I said.

"Yes," she said, "you have calmed me."

"A woman sometimes finds her first experience, of the sort you had before," I said, "before the last one, that is, one of unusual emotional impact, at least compared to what she has hitherto experienced."

"I understand," she said.

"So then," I said, "now that you are in a calm frame of mind, and are fully rational, and the experience is at some distance, what are your feelings?" I asked.

"They are quite simple," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I want to be collared. I want to be branded. I want to be a slave."

"I see," I said.

"Do you think a woman can forget such an experience?" she asked. "That she is stupid, that she cannot remember it in the belly of her, that she is incapable of learning from it?"

"No," I said.

"It is what I know I am," she said.

"I see," I said.

"And you knew it before, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I suppose some men are better than others at seeing the slave in a female," she said.

"Perhaps," I said. To be sure, some men are quite remarkable at this. Certain slavers, for example, at a glance, find it easy to assess slave potential. Otherwise, I suppose, it would be very difficult to explain their unusual success in deciding which women, even of women in crowds, and veiled and clad in the robes of concealment, are likely to be the most beautiful and make the best slaves, and those women, of course, are the ones most profitably stalked. It is their business, of course.

"Oh," she said, "you are not calming me now!"

"Oh?" I said.

"No," she said. "You are exciting me! You are doing it to me again! How dare you! I am a free woman! Is this how you want me, as an irresponsible, helpless, whimpering, yelping squirming animal, unable to help herself, leaping and crying out, half mad, beside herself with passion, responding almost as a slave in your arms?"

"Yes," I said.

"Beast!" she said.

"Oh, yes!" she cried. "Yes!" This time it seemed it had taken her hardly any time at all. Her reflexes were clearly honable.

"Shhh," I said. "Someone is passing by, in the passage between the buildings." To be sure, they couldn't see us where we were, unless they had entered this particular side passage and followed it to its termination.

"The shops may be open on the Avenue of Turia by now," I said.

"Yes," she said sweetly, her head on my chest.

We could see the sunlight on the walls high above us. It was now warm between the buildings.

"What time do you think it is?" I asked.

"The eighth or ninth Ahn," she said.

"Probably," I said.

"How will I get home?" she asked. "There will be many people about now? Will you buy me robes and a veil and bring them back here?"

"Do not count on it," I said.

"Do you think the free woman you tied at the slave ring has been freed by now?" she asked.

"Probably," I said. "I do not know."

"Do you remember the second time I kissed you," she asked, "the time when you told me that if a slave had not kissed better than that she would have been whipped?"

"Yes," I said. That was the time she had tried to strike me, and I had not permitted it, but instead had punished her. I had shortly thereafter carried her to the slave mat.

"Is that true?" she asked.

"It depends on many things," I said, "such as the master, the familiarity of the girl with her collar, for example, has she yet learned how to kiss, and the mood, the situation, and so on." "But some slaves," she said, "might have been whipped for not kissing better than that?" she said.

"Certainly," I said.

"How do I kiss now?" She asked, kissing me.

"Much better," I said.

"As good as a slave?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Oh?" she asked.

"No," I said. "You will not kiss as well as a slave, until you have become a slave, and then, probably, only after you have learned your collar for a few months, and perhaps even have had some training. Also, there is a whole indefinable modality to the kisses of slaves, that has to do with bondage and that they are literally the properties of the master. It is an entirely different sort of kissing from that of a free woman."

"I understand," she said. "Perhaps one day I will be a slave. And then I will kiss like a slave."

"Perhaps," I said.

"I know that I am a slave," she said. "I have learned it here, on this mat, in this place."

I said nothing.

"So what should I do?" she asked.

"What do you man?" I asked.

"What does a free woman do," she asked, "when she learns she is a slave?" "You are free," I said. "The decision is yours. But beware of certain decisions, for if you make them, you would then no longer be free. Your decisions then might rather be concerned with such things as how to best please your master, within certain latitudes which he might permit you."

She was quiet, her head on my chest.

"The self-enslavement decision is an interesting one," I said, "for it is a decision which is freely made, being made by a free individual, but, once made, it is irrevocable, for the individual is then no longer free, but only a property."

She lifted her head. She was then on her elbows beside me. Her breasts were lovely. "You could take me to a slaver's and sell me," she said.

"True," I said. "Do so!" she said.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because it amuses me to treat you like a slave," I said.

"Beast," she said, and put her head down again on my chest.

"You could turn yourself in, to a slaver," I said.

"True," she said.

"You call upon him, dressed in your finest veils and robes of concealment," I said, "probably first having made an appointment. That would be common courtesy. He may, after all, be a busy man. Then, in the privacy of his office, as he observes, you strip yourself. You do this as gracefully and as well as you can, without training. You reveal yourself to him completely. You are absolutely naked. He will presumably put you through some simple slave paces, forming some conception of your capacity to move well before men. In the process of this, you are, of course, being assessed. You then, when permitted, kneel. You then humbly beg his permission to bind yourself into slavery before him, thereby making yourself a slave, and, in the context, submitting yourself to him as your first master. You keep your head down, and await his decision. In your case, I am sure the decision would be affirmative.

"Various things might then happen. He might have you sign a slave document, in the presence of witnesses. As soon as your signature is on the document, of course, you are a slave. On the other hand, he might proceed even more simply. He might merely have you utter a formula of enslavement, though, again, doubtless in the presence of witnesses, who might sign a paper certifying their witnessing of your declaration. Let us suppose you utter such a formula. The simplest is perhaps, "I am a slave. You are then a slave. He will perhaps then say, "You are my slave. This claims you. You are then his slave. This is sufficient in the context for in that context you have been momentarily an unclaimed slave, who may be claimed by the first free person who chooses to do so. Too, in this case, there are, of course, no counterclaims to be adjudicated. He is there first, so to speak. His claim is fully warranted, unchallengable and legally indisputable. This is again done presumably in the presence of witnesses, who may be asked to certify their witnessing of the action. You might then say, though it is not necessary in the context, for you are, anyway, by this time, clearly his slave, "Yes Master, I am your slave. By this utterance you officially acknowledge him as your master. It is sometimes thought this sort of thing is good from the slave's point of view, that she hears herself say this. It is legally unnecessary, but it is sometimes thought to be a psychologically useful act on the part of the slave. She, in this pronouncement, at any rate, clearly acknowledges that she knows who owns her. This, too, of course, may be attested to in writing by the witnesses."

"There is then little left to be done with you, except perhaps to take you below, to the pens. There you will presumably be branded and fitted with your first collar. You might also then be given your first whipping in order that you learn almost immediately to fear, and terribly fear, the slave whip. You might then, afterwards, when you can eat, be given a handful, or two, of moist slave gruel. You might also be permitted to lap some water on all fours from a pan, or from a puddle, where it has been poured onto the floor. You might then be chained in a training kennel. In the morning I suppose your training might begin. On the other hand, perhaps you would be simply shipped out of the city to a distant market, there to be put on the block for your first sale."

"My sale," she whispered, excitedly.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think I would bring a good price?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I think so."

She shuddered with pleasure.

"I think I will take you home now," I said.

"I thought you would not take me home," she said.

"No," I said. "I will do so."

"Why this sudden change of heart?" she smiled.

"I am not sure," I said. "Perhaps it is because I now know you better. Perhaps it is because it is now later in the day."

"Or perhaps there is another reason?" she said. "Perhaps," I said. "I am not sure.

"Bind me, and take me instead to a slaver's" she said.

"No," I said.

"I would not have the courage to turn myself over to a slaver," she said. "I would be afraid."

"I understand," I said.

"I could be killed," she said.

"If you are obedient and pleasing," I said, "there is usually little to fear, other than the normal rigors and exactions of bondage."

"Surely they are fierce enough," she said.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Not all masters were pleasant with their properties. "But I could be killed." She said.

"You are in far greater danger of being killed as a free woman," I said. "Just as it would not occur to most men to kill a pet sleen or a kaiila, it would not occur to them to kill a slave. She is, like other such domestic animals, not a person, but a property. She, like them, has certain sorts of work to which she may be put, and very pleasurable work often, and, like them, has her many values and uses. If a city is taken, while free folks may be fleeing about, and be subject to indiscriminate slaughter, she is likely, instead, to be secured and protected. She is, you see, like the sleen and kaiila, part of the clearly understood spoils of victory. Surely you can understand that you yourself, for example, might make delicious booty."

"I?" she said, softly. "Booty?"

"Yes, "I said, "if you were slave."

"I understand," she said, trembling. I saw from the way she said this, so softly trembling, so thrilled, that she belonged, truly, in a collar.

"To be sure," I said, "the slaves in such a situation would be well advised to be as obedient and pleasing as possible."

"Of course," she said.

"Particularly as the killing lust might still be upon the men."

"I understand," she said. "But slaves are generally well trained in placatory behaviors," I said.

"Of course," she said.

"And they serve well, naked, in the victory orgies," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"But then even free women may be used in such orgies," I said.

"I do not think they would long remain free," she said.

"No," I said. "That would presumably be their last night of freedom." "Do they serve naked at the orgy, as do the slaves?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Are such women sometimes enslaved before the orgy?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "presumably that they will then understand the totality of what will be expected of them at the feast. Too, some commanders think this is an excellent introduction to her new condition for a former free woman."

"They are probably right," she said.

"We must get you home soon," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"You are tempting," I said.

"But if I were a slave," she said, "I would be subject to penalties." "Yes," I said. "The master would own you."

"I could even be killed," she said.

"It is one thing, of course," I said, "to be subject to penalties, and it is quite another for them to be inflicted."

"That is true," she said.

"For example," it is one thing to be subject to the whip, and to know that subjection is quite real, that the master can, and will, whip you, and well, if you are not pleasing, and something else to be actually whipped."

"I understand," she said.

"But in general it is similar with all the penalties," I said, "even those which are seldom, if ever, inflicted. She must know that they exist, and that, for her, they are real possibilities. She must know, whether they are inflicted upon her or not, that she is truly subject to them.

"I understand," she said.

"This is the sense in which she knows that anything can be done with her, that she might even be killed."

"I understand," she said.

"Without this," I said, "her slavery would be incomplete. She would not be a total slave."

"That is true," she whispered.

"Most simply put," I said, "she belongs to the master, fully, totally." "I understand," she said.

"So let us now return to your residence," I said.

"I could accept that risk," she said. "It would be part of my fulfillment. Indeed, without it, I could not truly, fully, belong to him."

"You are so confident of your ability to please?" I asked.

"I am confident of my ability to try desperately to please," she said. "We must be on our way," I said, sitting up.

"Take me to a slaver's," she said.

"No," I said.

"Are you a true man?" she said, petulantly, rising up on her knees.

I regarded her.

"Are you?" she challenged.

"You belong in a collar," I said.

"Take me to a slaver's!" she said. "See that I am put in one!"

I did not speak.

"Let it be such that I cannot remove it!" she said.

"It would be such, I assure you." I said.

"Take me to a slaver's!" she said.

"No," I said.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Look upon me," she said. "Am I not the sort of woman who might suitably be taken to a slaver's?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Do so," she said.

"No," I said.

"Look," she said, but inches from me, as I sat there, observing her. She suddenly rose up a bit on her knees and thrust her belly forward, toward me. "There!" she said. "Would any but a slave do that?" she asked.

"No," I said. Perhaps it would have been better for her, I thought, if she had not done that. She was attractive.

"Take me then to a slaver's," she said.

"No," I said.

"You are no true man!" she said.

I then stood up before her. She looked up at me puzzled, I then, after regarding her for a time, suddenly with the back of my hand, struck her fiercely back from the mat, she twisting and falling back, flung to the side from her knees, almost half on her feet for an instant, then losing her balance, then falling back into the trash at the side of the wall. She, from the midst of the garbage, half on her side, looked at me wildly, her hand at her mouth, blood between her fingers. I pointed to the mat. "Here," I said. "Kneel."

She hastened back to the mat and knelt before me. She looked up at me in wonder, blood at her mouth. She had been cuffed. "Did you strike me because I challenged your manhood?" she asked. "I did not really mean it. It is only that I was terribly angry. I did not think.

"You were not struck for such an absurd reason," I said.

"You are after all, a free woman, and free women are entitled to insult, and to attempt to demean and destroy men. It is one of their freedoms, unless men of course, should decide to take it from them. You were struck, rather, because you were attempting to manipulate me."

She nodded, putting her head down.

"Do you recognize your guilt, and the suitability of your punishment?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "Also," I said, "I would not, if I were a free woman, go about moving like that before men."

"But I am not really a free woman," she whispered.

"You are at this time in your life," I said, "legally free. Do not forget it." "Yes," she said, "a€”Master."

"Do not call me "Master, I said. "That is for slaves."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You seem to have a curiosity as to the slave experience," I said.

"I am a slave," she said. "It is only natural that I would have some curiosity about what it is to be a slave." She put down her head. She wiped some of the blood from her mouth.

"You have no idea," I said, "about what it is like, truly, to be a slave." She did not respond.

"Perhaps I can change your mind about its desirability," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

I then took her by the hair and, twisting her about, as she cried out, flung her forcibly, on her back, on the mat. I then, ruthlessly, angrily, swiftly, caring nothing for her feelings or sensibilities, exploiting her, employing her for my pleasure. I then, in a moment or two, stood up beside her, and rolled her to her side, spurning her, with my foot. She lay there on the mat, gasping, her legs drawn up.

"So," I asked, "Free Woman, what do you think?"

She turned about and looked up at me, through her hair.

"It is thus that a slave may be used," I said.

She looked up at me. In her eyes there were tears.

"How did you like it?" I laughed.

She went to her belly and reached for my foot. She put her lips over it and kissed it tenderly. Then she looked up at me, again, her hair about her face. "I loved it," she said.

I cried out with rage, and pulled my foot away from her.

"Put on your garment," I told her, angrily.

"Yes, Master," she said. In a bit she had donned the brief leather garment. It amazed me that it could take her so long to get into so little. To be sure, she had had to smooth it out, and had not been hurrying. She looked down at the garment, now on her. She pulled down a bit at the sides. "It is not very large, is it?" she said.

"No," I said.

"But I suppose," she said, "if I were a slave, I might be given things much less than this to wear, and things far more revealing."

"Quite possibly," I said. I saw no point in telling her that that was almost a certainty.

"But I am a free woman," she smiled. She looked down at the garment, ruefully. "Are you really going to take me through the streets in this?"

"Yes," I said. "I certainly have no intention of buying you a new outfit." She laughed. "No," she said. "I suppose not." She looked at me. "Clad like this," she said, "I suppose I should heel you."

"No," I said.

"You will permit me to walk beside you, as a free woman, though I am clad so shamelessly?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"You are not going to accompany me then?" she asked, disappointed.

"I will come with you," I said.

"I do not understand," she said.

"You will precede me," I said.

"Of course," she laughed. "You do not know the way."

"Of course," I said.

"I have seen masters walking their girls before them in the streets," she laughed. "Doubtless they enjoy seeing them walk before them."

"Doubtless," I said.

"That is your reason, isn't it?" she laughed. "Yes," I said.

"You do find me attractive, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I will try to walk well before you, Master," she smiled.

"Do not call me Master," I said.

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

"Let us go," I said.

"I will never forget this place," she said. "It was here I became a woman, and learned my slavery."

"Let us go," I said.

"Take me to a slaver's," she said.

"No," I said.

"Shall I now precede my Master?" she asked.

"You may precede me," I said.

She then preceded me from the back passage, into the larger passage, running between the buildings, leading to the Avenue of Turia. She did walk well. I wondered why I had decided to accompany her to her dwelling. I was not certain about the matter. Surely she could have found her way there safely, and particularly now, in the full daylight. I did have extra binding fiber in my pouch.

On the Avenue of Turia, to the left, we saw a small crowd. "Wait," I said. "Let us investigate that." We went a bit closer. Then, between people, we saw the hostess from the Tunnels. She was still on her knees, tied to the slave ring. Though it must have been the tenth Ahn, she had not yet been released. Her head was down. Much, I gathered, had she been suitably mocked. "Look, Mother," said a child. "She is naked!"

"Come away," said the mother.

"I know her," said a man. "She is from the Tunnels."

"Look," said another fellow, "she has a tarsk bit tied on her belly!" "Yes!" laughed another. I did not think that that free woman would be likely to return to her work at the Tunnels. That sort of thing, I thought, was behind her. I did not think that she would be any longer wearing leather. Other garmentures would now be more appropriate for her, I speculated, such as tiny rags of rep-cloth or brief tunics of silk, bound with girdlings of binding fiber, and perhaps, about her neck, closed closely about it and locked shut, a graceful ornament of steel, a slave collar.

"Let us continue on our way," I said.

"Yes, Master," said the blonde.

She then took her way in the opposite direction, which would have been to the right, as we had emerged between the buildings. Behind her I was in an excellent position to see the looks she received, which were many, the admiring glances, the intakes of breath, the sudden delights at seeing such a female. To be sure, she walked well. She did belong in a collar, I thought. I put the binding fiber in my pouch from my mind. I must not think of it. She was a free woman. Yet, to be sure, she was desirable and exciting, and should be a slave.

"It is here," she said, after a long walk.

"In that tower?" I asked. We were on one of the lower bridges.

"Yes," she said.

It seemed to soar to the clouds.

"You must be wealthy," I said. We were in one of Ar's finest residential districts, that of the seventeen Tabidian Towers.

She shrugged.

"Quite wealthy," I said.

"Yesterday, I thought so," she smiled.

"That seems a strange thing to say," I said.

"Oh in one way I suppose I am one of the wealthiest women in Ar," she laughed. "But in another I think I am perhaps one of the most miserable and poorest." "I do not understand," I said.

"My life was unsatisfactory," she said. "It seemed empty and meaningless. I only this morning learned what happiness, and fulfillment could be."

"Helpless on the mat of a slave?" I said.

"Yes," she smiled.

"Perhaps it was the masculine domination, and you feeling yourself in your place in nature, as what you are, a female," I said. "Perhaps," she said.

"I wish you well, female," I said.

"I must climb the high bridge alone?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I think it is better that I leave you now, quickly." "Why?" she asked.

"I think I do not trust myself," I said.

"Oh," she asked.

"You are an exciting female," I said.

"Do you really think so, truly?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She came close to me. She looked up at me. "Bind me then," she whispered. "Take me to a slaver's."

"No," I said.

"You know I am a slave," she whispered, "that I am truly a slave, that I belong in a collar!"

I did not speak.

"Please!" she begged.

"Turn yourself over to a slaver," I said. She looked down in frustration. She kicked with her right foot at the flooring of the bridge. Her feet were bare. "I can't," she said. "I can't!"

"Farewell," I said.

"Do not go!" she pleaded.

I turned to face her.

"Some women can do that!" she said. "I can't!

"Very well," I said.

"I am afraid!" she cried.

"I understand," I said.

"Please!" she said.

"Is freedom not precious?" I asked.

"Perhaps for others," she said. "To me it would be a thousand times less precious than my slavery."

I looked at her.

"I want my master to be free," she said, "but as for me, I want to belong to him, totally, to be his, fully, like a sandal or a sleen!"

I did not respond to her.

"Let him treat me as he pleases," she said. "I do not care. It is his prerogative. He is the master. Let him neglect me or be cruel to me. Let him whip me or chain me. Let him do with me as he wills. I do not care. I want to belong to him. I will kiss his whip with joy! I want to love him, with all that I have to give as a woman. I want to serve and love him, selflessly, only his mastered slave!"

"Turn yourself over to a slaver," I said.

"No!" she wept.

"Very well," I said.

"Help me!" she begged.

"No," I said.

She wept, and raised her fists as though to strike me, but then she put her hands down, quickly, frightened, thinking, perhaps fearing that I might not be pleased, and might punish her. She had learned earlier that not all men will accept humiliation at the hands of a woman, even a free woman.

"So," I said, "turn yourself over to a slaver."

"I do not want it done that way," she said, tears in her eyes.

"Farewell," I said.

"Farewell," said she, looking up at me with tears in her eyes, "Master," "I have told you about calling me Master," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She turned about and began, slowly, to walk up the long bridge. The soaring, lovely tower, one of the seventeen Tabidian Towers, lay ahead of her. In it was located her residence. It would presumably be on the upper levels. Those are usually regarded as more exclusive, and safest from attack. They are usually approached only by the higher, narrower bridges. Her apartments, doubtless, would be luxurious and well appointed, perhaps involving portions of more than one level. Perhaps she might serve well as a slave in such a place, I thought. The particular bridge, colorfully paved, graceful, narrow and ascendant, on which she walked, barefoot, blonde, her hair moving in the wind, in her exquisitely brief leather, gave entrance to the tower at something over half its height, other bridges about, as well, some giving access at different levels, and others leading to other towers, and to other bridges, and down to the streets. Gorean cities, given the bridges, can be traversed, often, at different levels. She looked very small, and forlorn.

Part way up the bridge she turned about. She looked back. She lifted her hand. I did not deign to respond to this gesture. She was, after all, only a female. She then lowered her head and turned about, and, slowly, continued on her way up the bridge.

I caught up with her at the height of the bridge.

"Stop," I said.

She stopped, startled.

"Do not turn around," I said.

"You," she said. "I know your voice."

"Do not turn around," I said.

She did not turn, but continued to face the other way.

"The leather you are wearing is rather brief," I said.

"Yes!" she said.

"It seems more fitting for a slave than a free woman," I said.

"Yes!" she said.

"You may call me Master," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Begin to form the habit of calling free men Master." "I do not understand!" she said.

"Place your wrists, crossed, behind your back," I said.

She did so. "Oh!" she said. I had whipped binding fiber about them, securing them in place. "It is so tight," she said.

"Now that you are bound," I said, "you may turn and face me."

She spun about, wildly, trying to free her hands.

"You cannot free yourself," I said.

"No!" she cried, elatedly. "I cannot! Oh, What are you doing?"

"Leashing you," I said.

"That is not necessary," she said.

I snapped the slave leash, taken from my pouch, about her neck.

"Be silent," I said. She looked up at me, startled.

"The proper response," I said, "is 'Yes Master'."

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

"Did you ask permission to speak?" I asked.

"May I speak?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, jerking the leash twice, rather hard, against the back of her neck, testing it. The leash collar was a high, sturdy one, and fitted rather closely about her neck. Girls do not slip such leashes. It had two buckle fastenings. These I had fastened in the front and then turned to the back. This had brought the sturdy leading ring, on its plate, riveted into the leather, to the front, under her chin. This is the common position for front leading, the girl behind her, whether she is on her feet, as it was my intention to lead this girl, if only to save time, or, say, on her belly or all fours. The back position is commonly used when the girl is in front of you, and you are controlling her from behind, she either on her feet ahead of you, or, say, beside you or ahead of you on her belly or all fours. The front position is generally preferred as leash pressure is then received at the back and sides of the neck, not the front. To be sure, a girl is likely to be much more wary, and fearful, and docile, when the ring is at the back.

I had then snapped the leash strap on the leading ring. In one's pouch or pack the leash strap is normally coiled inside the collar, whether it is snapped on the leash ring or not. I usually do not keep it on the collar because in that way I am free to use it independently as a binding device or, doubled, as an admonitory lash. Also, I think it does a girl good, and it had seemed to do this girl good, to hear it snap on the collar ring, either at the back of her neck, when she is to be back-controlled, or just under her chin, when she is to be front-led, Leashing, of course, of either variety, is excellent psychologically for the female, as it confirms her bondage upon her and helps to make clear to her her animal status. Similarly, the jerking of the leash, to test its strength, is good for her. It helps her to understand that it is truly on her. This leash pressure, in testing, of course, either is done with the ring in the front position, to avoid damage to the throat, even if the collar is then to be turned and she is to be back-controlled, or, if the ring is left in the back position, in such a way, say, with a thumb or fingers inserted at the front of the leash collar, as to take the pressure of the testing, and protect the throat. The general consideration here, of course, is to avoid pressure to the front of the throat. It is general Gorean practice to avoid even the slightest of pressures here. This does not represent a relaxation of Gorean disciplinary practices incidentally, for discipline may be, and will be, if there is the least cause for it, inflicted outside the strictures of the leash. Too, if the ring is in the back position, if the girl is not compliant she puts this pressure on herself. An excellent example is the choke leash, which cannot be slipped, but can tighten. The least bit of resistance on the part of the girl closes the loop. In such a device, girls, after the first moment or two, follow without resistance.

"What are you going to do with me?" she said.

"I am going to take you to a slaver's," I said. "I think I know one who will not ask too many questions."

"To a slaver's!" she cried.

"Yes," I said.

"Why?" she cried.

"Why do you think?" I asked. "To make some money on you, of course. It will probably be the first time any man ever made any money on you, but I assure you, it will not be the last."

I then turned about and began to stride rapidly down the bridge. She was running behind me, on the leash, laughing and crying.