Prize of Gor

Chapter 13 THE ROOF; SHE IS SUMMONED BEFORE HER MASTER

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Ellen.

The wind swept about her, whipping the long, white, ankle-length, sleeveless gown she wore about her body. She was barefoot.

She looked out, over the city.

Above her there raced white clouds in a bright blue sky.

“I have never seen anything like this,” whispered Ellen, touching her collar.

“Do not go too near the edge,” said Laura.

There was no railing.

“This world is so beautiful, and so fresh, and so marvelous,” said Ellen, “and here I am a slave.”

To tread such a world, thought Ellen, is worth a brand and a collar, a thousand brands and a thousand collars. What a privilege and joy to be brought here! Do those who are native to this world understand how wonderful it is? I did not know such a world could exist! She reveled in the freshness of the air and the beauty of the sky, and city. How different this was from the gray, crowded, unkempt, polluted, unloved, filthy, squalid city with she was most familiar from her former world.

“How beautiful it is,” she called to Laura.

Laura came to stand beside her. “It is beautiful,” said Laura.

“It is so much more beautiful than most of the cities of my former world,” said Ellen.

“Perhaps those cities have no Home Stones,” said Laura.

“You two had best be attending to your work,” called Nelsa.

On the broad, circular roof, some fifty yards in diameter, there were numerous, sturdy, tiered racks of poles on which levels of laundry might be dried, and, between these racks, were numerous swaying lines, from which a great deal more wash, like flags, shook, flapped and fluttered in the wind, held to the lines with simple, numerous, wooden, hand-carved clothespins.

Gart, when he had acceded to Ellen’s request to work on the roof, had assigned several of the girls close to her the same duty. Perhaps he thought they were friends. He would not know that Nelsa hated Ellen, fearing that she might tell her secret, about the threatened scalding. Nor would he know that Ellen, in Laura’s opinion, was little more than a petty, vain, stupid, self-important, ignorant, scheming, meaningless little bit of slave fluff. On the other hand, as an astute work-master, well accustomed to dealing with female slaves, he may have assigned the group as he did in order to reduce jealousy, diminish resentments, and such. After all, he could not always be in the laundry. Perhaps, too, he recognized Ellen’s youth and vulnerability, her newness to the collar and such, and thought he might as well do what he could, within reason, to protect her. Too, there was no denying that she was an extremely pretty little slave, and this may have had something to do with it. This is not to say that she did not feel his whip when she shirked her work. It is one thing to be very pretty; it is quite another not to be fully pleasing. Another possibility, of course, is that this would be Ellen’s first venture to the roof, and he thought it well to have some of her associates, slaves she knew, slaves with whom she would be expected to be able to communicate, for whatever reason, in her vicinity.

Ellen stood rapt on the roof, the wind moving her long, sleeveless garment about her, gazing across the city, in awe, tears in her eyes.

“You had best return to your basket and begin to hang the clothing,” said Laura, turning away, going back to her own basket.

Ellen lifted her arms gratefully to the city, the sky, the world. “I love you, planet Gor,” she cried. “You are so beautiful. Here the world is new. Here one begins again. What an honor, what a privilege, what an incredible gift, just to be able to see you, just to be permitted to be here! How unworthy are the women of Earth to know your glory and beauty! What could a woman such as I be on a world such as this but a slave? On such a world what else could we be? Oh, thank you, Masters, for bringing us here, if only for your own purposes, if only to have us as slaves, if only to have us in our collars, abjectly serving, licking and kissing, naked at your feet! I thank you, oh Masters! I thank you, I thank you!”

“Ellen!” called Laura, impatiently, from back amongst the lines of swaying, fluttering clothes.

“Yes, yes!” said Ellen.

She looked out across the city. The building on whose roof she stood, and it had been a long climb to the roof from the laundry, bearing the heavy basket, was very similar to most of the other buildings she saw in the city. It was one of the “high cities,” a forest of cylinders, a city of towering, spaced cylinders, many of them in bright colors, and, joining these cylinders, at various levels, like light curving, colored, rail-less traceries in the sky, were numerous bridges. She could see individuals on many of the bridges. Too, there were individuals in the streets below. In the distance, too, between the cylinders, many of which must have been twenty or thirty living tiers, or stories, high, she could see walls. She thought they, too, must be very high. Too, their tops seemed almost like roads. She did not doubt but what two wagons might pass on them. Though it was far off, she thought she could see, like specks, some individuals here and there on the walls. Occasionally there was a flash, as might have resulted from the sun’s being suddenly reflected from a metal surface, perhaps a helmet, a spear point, a shield. There must have been parapets, and, discernibly, here and there, there were small towers, which may have been guard stations. Some of these towers jutted partly out from the walls, which would expose the sheer declivity of the architectural escarpment to view. Why would a city need walls, she asked herself. Ellen, who at that time was not only new to her collar, but largely ignorant of the nature of the world on which she found herself, did not understand the darker or more problematic meanings of what she saw, or, perhaps better, the full implications of what she saw. She saw little more than the beauty of the city, its style, its color, its grace, its splendor. She did not understand at that time that the considerations which had been involved in the design of the city were not merely aesthetic, and such, but military, as well. Most of the towers were, in effect, keeps. They were stocked, fortress towers. Many could not be entered at the ground level. The bridges amongst them were narrow and could be successfully defended by a handful of men against hundreds. And the bridges, given their construction, could be easily broken, thus isolating the individual fortresses from other, similar fortresses, which might have fallen to an enemy. To reduce such a city, with primitive weaponry, tower by tower, might well require an army, and, conceivably, an investment of years of effort and expense.

“This is now my world,” cried out Ellen. “I am only a slave, but I am here, and now this world is mine, too! It is mine, too! You are mine, too, dear world, and I love you, though on you I am but a slave! But on such a world what could a woman such as I be but a slave? On such a world a woman such as I could be only, and am worthy to be only, a slave!” Ellen then knelt down, at the edge of the roof, knelt down in gratitude, before the world of Gor. “You are now my world,” she said. “You are beautiful. I love you. I rejoice to be here.” She put her hands on her collar, lifting it a little on her neck, almost as though offering it to the world on which she found herself. “Thank you, world, for existing. Help me to be a good slave!” She looked out over the buildings. “Oh, world,” she said, “understand me, and be kind. You are the world of which I have always dreamed! On you, beautiful world, let me fulfill the deepest and most wonderful, and most hidden, of my needs, those needs I was always forced to deny on Earth. Here I can be, and must be, the slave I have always longed to be. Oh, give me virile masters who will own me, powerful men whom I must fear, and whom I must obey instantly and with perfection, subject to them in all things, men who will take my womanhood in hand and see to it that it is fulfilled, to its fullest most helpless measure, men who will dominate me without mercy, who will exact ruthlessly and choicelessly from me all that I long to give!”

Ellen then rose up, and, standing, looked out over the panorama of the city and the hills and fields beyond.

She thought she saw a bird in the distance, and watched it for a moment. Yes, it was a bird, clearly. It was difficult to judge its distance. Something seemed awry with the perspective. She thought it must be some hundred, or two hundred, yards away, but, oddly, too, it seemed as though it might be as far away as the walls, perhaps even further. She was puzzled.

“Ellen!” called Laura, sharply.

“Yes!” said Ellen, and, turning about, she ran to the large wicker basket of laundry she had carried to the roof. It was back among the lines and flapping clothes. She reached into the basket and took out the small clothespin bag, lying on the damp laundry, and slung this over her right shoulder, so that its opening was at her left hip, so that she, being right-handed, might easily reach into it. Then, one by one, she began to lift up and shake out the washed, damp garments, and hang them on the line, fastening them there, carefully, with the lovely hand-carved clothespins, for Goreans are prone to lavish attention even on small things, spoons, knives, cooking prongs, and such, anything to make the world more beautiful. It would not do, of course, to allow a garment to fall to the surface of the cylinder. She felt like singing, but, in a collar, slave, was not certain that it would be permitted.

Many times, she knew, one must even ask permission to speak. One, after all, was slave. Having to ask permission to speak, when it seemed such permission was likely to be required, thrilled Ellen. She loved having to ask permission to speak. Few things brought more clearly home to her her bondage, that she was a mere slave, owned, and subject to the domination of masters. She loved this power of men over her, this very clear insignia of her servitude, this standing evidence that she was helplessly subject to the mastery, that she belonged to men. She might be denied speech; she could be silenced at a word. How different from free women, she thought, certainly those of Earth, and, doubtless, those, as well, of this world! But she loved this token of her condition. How well it reminded her that she was what she wished to be, slave.

How often on Earth she had entertained, however guiltily, the secret, fascinating, delicious thought of being owned, of being the helpless, rightless slave of a powerful, uncompromising master! How fearfully, and eagerly, she would have tried to please him, in all ways! She might have hoped for a caress. Certainly she did not wish to be whipped! And now she belonged to a category of females susceptible to such strictures, a category of females who might be bought and sold, bartered or bestowed, without thought, as the sleek, shapely beasts they were.

She was thrilled to be categorically subject to men, and this small thing, that she might speak only with permission, as few other things, especially as she was a woman, for we so desire to speak, and so delight to speak, spoke to her of the reality of her sometimes-resented, but fundamentally longed-for subjugation. How she resented at times being silenced, but how much more precious then was the opportunity to speak when it was seen fit to be granted. Too, interestingly, she found that being denied speech, being frustrated, and such, excited her sexually. Perhaps this was connected with male domination, which elicits female submissiveness, and an eager, petitionary, receptive readiness that can be almost painful. The sexes are not identical, and each becomes most itself when it refuses to betray or misrepresent itself to itself. Perhaps this has to do with nature, and its nature.

In any event, Ellen was not discontented in her collar. It belongs on me, she thought. And I love it! I belong in a collar! I love it! I love it!

She wished she knew some Gorean songs. Surely some masters would permit her to sing, if she were happy! Some masters, she supposed, would enjoy having their girls singing about their work. She hoped soon to serve a master, and that it would be Mirus. Some girls, she knew, were taught to sing, others to entertain with instruments such as the lute and lyre, and others, it seemed, many, were trained in the dances of slaves. Her own training, she understood, though it had seemed extensive to her, had been almost minimal, quite basic. She wondered if there were some special reason for this. “We will teach you a little,” had said one of her instructrices. “Hopefully you will then be able to survive at least the first night at a master’s slave ring.” Ellen wondered if Mirus, her master, would be pleased, if she were to dance before him as a slave. Had he wondered what she would look like, long ago, when she was his teacher, she wondered, if she were to so dance before him, barefoot, in a bit of swirling silk, in necklaces and coins, in armlets, with bracelets on her wrists and bangles on her ankles, to the flash of ringing zills, summoned, commanded, fearful, begging to please, his. Had she hinted at that, or her slaveness, when she had worn the two small bracelets? Perhaps, she thought. I would like to dance before masters, she thought. It is my hope that I would please them. But, alas, I cannot dance! I cannot even dance the social dances of Earth, let alone the dances of the displayed female slave. The sunlight was pleasant, the air was cool. She thought it must be early spring, assuming this world had a periodicity of seasons.

“Laura,” she said, “someone has hung up some of the things from my basket.”

“I did,” said Laura, irritably. “Perhaps I should not have done so. What if the work-master should come to the roof and find your work not even begun! How soon do you think you would come again to the roof? Or perhaps any of us? Perhaps you would enjoy being tied to the high ring and having your pretty little hide lashed? And the rest of us might be lashed as well, all of us!”

“I am sorry,” said Ellen. “Thank you.” She decided that Laura might not be as unpleasant or stupid as she had supposed.

Laura looked at her, suddenly, sharply. “You are sorry, aren’t you?” said Laura.

“Yes,” said Ellen.

“Let us hurry,” said Laura.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

“Get to work, slave!” called Nelsa.

Ellen looked at her, angrily.

“You were dallying,” said Nelsa. “Now I, too, have something to tell!”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

Nelsa laughed and continued to hang her wash.

“There are many more baskets below,” said Laura.

One of the girls, clambering on one of the tiered racks, some ten or twelve feet above the surface of the roof, called out, “Look!” She was pointing out, toward the distance, toward one of the towers on the wall. The other girls shaded their eyes and looked in the direction she had pointed. Ellen did, too. She could see nothing in the distance but a flock of birds.

“They will never get past the walls,” said Nelsa, who had climbed up one of the racks, and was now some seven or eight feet above the surface of the roof, her feet on one pole, she clinging to another.

“Let us return to our work,” said another of the girls, glancing warily at the hatchlike opening to the roof.

One did not know when Gart, or another, perhaps some guard, might appear on the roof.

Ellen, with the simple clothespins, attached a sheet to the line. All about her flapped the rows of suspended clothes. She, and the other girls were almost invisible amongst the laundry and the lines.

She found that she enjoyed doing this simple work.

It seemed fitting for her.

She wondered if she were happy.

“May I speak?” Ellen asked Laura.

Laura grunted in response, a pair of clothespins between her teeth, others in her left hand, which also held a corner of a robe.

“Why have we been given gowns?” asked Ellen.

Ellen waited until Laura had finished with the robe.

“To better conceal you,” said Laura. “But do not fear, they are sleeveless, and thus make it likely that you are bond.”

“I do not understand,” said Ellen.

“It is spring,” said Laura, “and that is a popular time for the hunts of tarnsmen, not that those monsters need any seasonal excuse for their predations.”

“What are tarnsmen?” asked Ellen.

“Those of the Warriors, or sometimes mercenaries, or outlaws, or raiders, or bandits, whoever mounts, masters and rides tarns.”

“What is a tarn?” asked Ellen.

“Surely you are apprised of at least the first knowledge?” said Laura.

“But,” said Ellen, “those are only in stories, they are mythological creatures, like the hith, the sleen.”

“I have never seen a hith,” said Laura, “but I have spoken to those who have. I have certainly seen sleen, and tarns. There are sleen in the house, in pens. They are useful in hunting slaves.”

“I have never seen a sleen,” said Ellen.

“You might ask to do so,” said Laura. “Normally a slave girl is only brought into their presence when she is put in close shackles and has her hands braceleted behind her back. Thus she cannot break and run, an action which might prompt the beast’s pursuit behavior.”

“You are teasing me,” said Ellen. “Sleen are supposed to have six legs.”

“They do,” said Laura. “That is efficient, given the length and low, sinuous structure of their body.”

“Oh, Laura!” protested Ellen.

“There are many sorts of sleen,” said Laura. “Most common are the forest sleen and prairie sleen. The forest sleen are larger, and are solitary hunters, or, if mated, pair hunters; the prairie sleen are smaller, and commonly hunt in packs. Some sleen are bred and trained for certain purposes, hunting slaves, and such. The forest sleen commonly buries its dung, thereby tending to conceal its presence; the prairie sleen, running in packs, and more widely ranging, commonly, does not. Sleen have a strong, unmistakable odor. A forester or plainsman, or a sleen hunter, or one trained, can sometimes detect their scent more than two hundred yards away. Caravans in forests often keep verr or tabuk with them, tethering them in the camp at night, as the agitation of such animals sometimes gives warning of the presence of sleen in the vicinity. Sleen, of course, like larls, commonly hunt with the wind blowing toward them. Thus they have your scent and you do not have theirs.”

“Why, really, have we been given gowns?” asked Ellen. “We might as well be naked. There is no one to see us here.”

“Do not be too sure,” said Nelsa, from the rack, still looking outward. “They are circling the city,” she said.

“It is daylight,” said another girl. “There is no reason to fear.”

“Laura, please,” prompted Ellen.

“It is a pleasure for a tarnsman to have his tarn seize in its talons a woman and carry her off, or he may prefer the use of a slave net or a capture loop. She later then, in a safe place, may be suitably secured, say, stripped and roped, and put across his saddle, or simply chained naked to a saddle ring. The ideal, of course, is to catch a free woman, for such is the most prestigious game. Surely that would be more prestigious than picking up someone like you or me, who are merely domestic animals, livestock. Some claim that that is the reason that free women are so cumbersomely and concealingly garbed, and that slaves are so lightly and revealingly clad. Supposedly the tarnsman might thus be lured to the pursuit of an identifiably delightful quarry, something obviously worth owning, as opposed to a free woman who might, when stripped, prove to be as ugly as a tharlarion.”

Tharlarion, Ellen had been told, were reptilian creatures, some of which were allegedly quite large, and domesticated. Supposedly different varieties were used for various purposes, such as war, haulage and racing. She was not sure, at that time, that such things existed, no more than larls, sleen, tarns, and such.

“There may be something to that,” said Laura, “but I suspect that men dress their slaves as they do, if they dress them at all, because they find them exciting to look upon, and wish to call attention to their beauty, and enjoy displaying them as their properties. Men are so vain. You should see how some of them lead naked, painted, bejeweled slaves about on leashes, put them through slave paces publicly, make them dance in the open for tarsk-bits, put them up as stakes in the dicing halls, and marketplaces, and such. And so, perhaps, free women insist on some compensatory distinction, to make it clear that they are not to be confused with such flesh-trash. On the other hand, it is said that beneath all the clothing, the veils, the Robes of Concealment, and such, of a free woman there is still, after all, only the body of a naked slave.”

“But there are no tarnsmen here,” said Ellen.

“Sometimes they break through,” said Laura. “And that is why you have been put in the long gown, and not, say, a tunic. There are two differences here. If the choice is between you and a free woman, the tarnsman will almost certainly notice that you, as your gown is sleeveless, are almost certainly slave, and will thus, presumably, go after the free woman. If the choice is between you, lengthily gowned, and a briefly tunicked slave, whose lovely legs he can take in at a glance, he will presumably go after the briefly tunicked slave. It is difficult to make judicious assessments, as you might suppose, given the brief amount of time at his disposal, time enough for little more than a glimpse, given the distance, the swiftness of the flight, the press of pursuit, and such. To be sure, sometimes women are scouted. It is known when she will be on the bridge, and so on. And so, Ellen, that is why you are dressed as you are.”

“I see,” said Ellen, skeptically.

“To be sure,” said Laura, “if a tarnsman did settle for you, I do not think that afterwards, when he had you squirming naked in his ropes, bound hand and foot, he would be at all disappointed with the nature of his catch.”

“Do tarnsmen exist?” asked Ellen. “Really?”

“To be sure,” said Laura, “you are only a slave. And yet, what is the first thing they do with their exalted, aristocratic, noble, precious, prestigious free woman? They brand her, put her in a collar, and make her a slave, too!”

“You are teasing me,” said Ellen. “Tarnsmen do not really exist.”

“If a tarnstrike should be upon us,” said Laura, “and you cannot get below, just throw yourself to your belly on the roof. That makes it hard to get you, hard for the tarn, hard for the net, hard for the capture loop.”

I shall certainly keep that in mind,” smiled Ellen.

“They have broken through!” cried the girl on the height of a nearby rack, she who had originally called their attention to the agitation in the distance. Ellen looked up at her, wildly. The girl’s hair streamed behind her, the wind whipping her gown back against her body. She clung to the rack, fiercely.

“They will have the wind behind them!” said Laura. “The defenders must fly against the wind. They may be easily eluded, and then they must turn to pursue. They will have lost the tempo of the passage. Intruders may be through and beyond the city in a matter of Ehn!”

“I want to see!” said Ellen.

In the distance one could hear the ringing of a great metal bar, struck repeatedly.

“Get below!” called Laura.

“It is locked!” cried a girl, tugging at the ring that might otherwise have lifted and opened the hatchlike portal that led to the interior of the cylinder.

Another girl joined her, trying to lift the ring.

“There are prize slaves below, and riches,” said Laura. “They do not want to risk them! Stay down, everyone! Stay down!”

Ellen, standing among the flapping clothes, amongst the lines, between racks, shaded her eyes, straining to see into the distance. She could see, in the distance, what appeared to be a flock of birds. It seemed, again, that the perspective was oddly awry. They should be no more than a hundred yards or so away, and yet, at the same time, it seemed they were scarcely within the distant walls. Other birds seemed to rise from her side of the wall, lifting momentarily against the darkness of the wall and then suddenly appearing in the sky, hastening specks, the hills and fields beyond.

“They are coming this way!” called Nelsa, pointing, she, too, on a rack, but lower than the other girl.

“Get down!” cried Laura.

The first girl, she who had first alerted the slaves to the phenomenon in the distance, climbed down from the rack, and crouched near it, amidst the flapping clothes. Nelsa, in a moment, had joined her.

Most of the girls were crouched down. Some lay on their stomachs under the racks, their hands covering their heads.

“I can’t see,” said Ellen, brushing aside clothes, which had blown before her. She fought the laundry shaking and snapping in the wind about her.

“Get down!” called Laura.

“I want to see!” said Ellen.

Then suddenly she flung her hands before her face and screamed, and the world seemed madness about her. There was a wild cry, piercing, at hand, not more than fifteen feet above her, surely the loudest and most terrifying sound she had ever heard, as of some living, immense, monstrous creature, and she was in shadow and then not in shadow, in a shadow that moved and leapt and was shattered with bursts of sunlight, and then darkness, and clothing was torn from the lines by the blasts of wind from the smitings of mighty wings, and one of the racks, seized in monstrous talons, broke into a thousand pieces, and, lifted, fell in a shower of sticks, raining down to the roof. Ellen could not believe what she saw. Above her, now darting away, was a gigantic bird, an enormous bird, a saddlebird, its wings with a span of thirty or more feet, and, seemingly tiny on its back, was a helmeted man!

Ellen had heard an angry cry from the man above her, and words in Gorean she did not recognize, words that had certainly never been taught to her, a slave girl. She had no doubt that the man was cursing, and richly, the failure of his strike.

Then they were away.

To be sure, how could he have hoped to make a catch when the girls were hidden by the laundry, protected by the lines, could take refuge under the racks, and such?

Ellen was now on her knees amidst the lines, her hands lifted, as though she might fend away blows.

Nelsa sped past her, laughing, and clambered to the height of the nearest undamaged rack. She went to its very height, and stood there, balanced, outlined against the sky, her hair shaken in the wind, her gown whipping about her body.

“Clumsy oaf!” she screamed after the retreating rider. “Who taught you your work? Go home and play with vulos! You have the skill of a tharlarion!”

“Come down!” called Laura.

“Down with Treve!” cried Nelsa, shaking her fist after the rider in the distance. “May her walls be razed and her wealth plundered. May her women be put in collars! May they, and her other slaves, be herded away! May her towers be burned and salt cast upon their ashes!”

The approach of the second tarn, soaring, borne on the wind, its wings still, was silent.

Nelsa, of course, did not see it, as she was facing away from it, crying out, shaking her fist at the retreating figure of the other rider, now muchly in the distance.

It was, accordingly, a simple thing, to drop the capture loop about her standing body.

She must, suddenly, her fist still in the air, angry, shouting, have become aware of it, light and soft as a whisper, dropping about her. Then the tarn was past her and the resistance of her own body to the loop caused it to tighten about her. It took her beautifully, and skillfully, at the waist. It might have snared even a man, so neatly and quickly it was slipped on its quarry, before he could thrust it from his straight, muscular, linear body, but, positioned as it was on Nelsa, a woman, nicely centered, between the flare of her hips and the swelling of her bosom, she could not even have begun to hope to elude its grasp, nor could any beautifully bodied female, no more than Ellen, for similar reasons, could slip the iron belt from her body, whose outline was visible, even now, beneath her gown. In this sense, some Goreans speculate that the bodies of women were designed for bonds. And, perhaps in some minor, contributory evolutionary sense, in addition to more obvious biological considerations, this is true, given selections and such, women with bodies unable to elude such constraints being more susceptible to capture, mating and mastering. Certainly the females of many animal species, and even of many primate species, do not have such hip structure, such fullness of bosom, and such. Regardless of the interest or value of such speculations, the truth of which would in any event be veiled in the mysteries and darkness of the past, the fact of the matter was obvious, the fact of the congeniality of such bodies to the convenience of binding and tethering, as obvious as the perfection of the bond on Nelsa, who, clutching at the air, kicking, frantic, screaming and crying out in terror, was now being drawn rapidly away from the roof, swinging, dangling, wildly, twenty feet below a speeding tarn, between the towers, hundreds of feet above the streets of the city.

“It is the strategy of the second strike,” said Laura. “The first apparently bungles his strike and then, silently, the derisive, or unwary, quarry off guard, revealing herself, thinking herself safe, the cohort approaches, and makes the actual play for the game. Nelsa, it seems, is not as clever, or wise, as she thought.”

“Look,” said Ellen, pointing away, in the direction to which the wind was blowing, that in which the tarn had flown.

“Yes,” said Laura, “the two of them, the monsters, are having their rendezvous. Now they are fleeing, together.”

The alarm bar was still ringing.

“Doubtless they will split her price,” said Laura, or perhaps they will keep her and gamble for her.”

“She was shouting about Treve,” said Ellen.

“Yes,” said Laura. “They were tarnsmen of Treve. That was their leather. It is said those of Treve know well how to handle women.”

“So, too, does any man,” said a girl, trembling.

“True,” smiled Laura.

The only men they knew, Ellen conjectured, were Gorean males.

“Sometimes I am so afraid to be a slave,” said another girl, touching her collar.

“We all are,” said Laura.

“Tonight I wager Nelsa will dance naked before a campfire,” said a girl.

“The whip dance, I hope,” said another.

Nelsa had not been popular with the other girls.

“The work-master will now want a new favorite,” said one.

“I am glad I am not blond-haired and blue-eyed,” said another.

Several of the girls turned to look at Ina, who was blond-haired and blue-eyed. She shrank back, shaking her head, negatively.

“Learn to hold firmly to the sides of the tub,” said a girl.

“Perhaps you will get a candy in your bin,” said another.

“Look out!” cried a girl.

The slaves shrank down. Some flung themselves prone to the roof.

“No!” said a girl. “That is one of ours!”

They stood up, again, amidst the laundry. Sticks from the shattered rack were strewn about.

“Some of this laundry will have to be washed again,” said one of the girls.

“Look!” said one of the other slaves.

“That is one of them!” said another.

Another tarn was streaking by, a hundred yards to the left.

The slave who had cried out clapped her hands with pleasure. “See!” she cried. “He has a free woman!”

Clutched in the talons of the tarn, fearing to struggle lest she fall, but nonetheless helplessly held, held as though gripped with iron, was a human figure, though it seemed little more now than a pathetic bundle, trailing shreds of robes and veils.

“Good for you!” cried one of the girls to the speeding tarnsman.

“Put the iron to her!” cried another.

“Collar her!” cried another.

“Teach her to kiss the whip!”

“Make her jump and squirm!” cried yet another.

“I speculate that her life is going to change,” said Laura to Ellen.

“Doubtless,” said Ellen, touching her collar, frightened.

Two tarnsmen of the city snapped by in pursuit of the fellow with the free woman. They terminated their pursuit at the city walls. Doubtless they had their orders, and there might well be other Treveans within the city.

In a few moments the alarm bar had stopped ringing.

“The raid is over,” said a girl.

“Now a pursuit will be organized,” said another.

“Wait,” said one of the girls. “There is another!”

“The clever monster!” said another.

“He waited until the bar had stopped ringing.”

“Where was he?”

“Below.”

“Help! Help!” cried the woman in the net.

“He is going to land on the roof,” said one of the girls, frightened.

“Stay back, keep away from him!” warned Laura.

The tarn came down, wings beating, hovering, and then alit on the roof. The rider leaped from the saddle, and pulled the net to the side. It contained a lovely young woman in a slave tunic and collar. She reached out, through the heavy mesh of the net. “Help me! Help me!” she cried. “Summon guardsmen!”

“He is clever,” said Laura. “Here the guardsmen may take him for a defender. If he is of Treve, he does not wear their leather.”

The tarnsman then regarded the cluster of slaves on the roof.

“We are in the presence of a free man,” said Laura. “Kneel. He may be of the city.”

The slaves knelt.

“Kneel as the slaves you are,” whispered Laura.

Knees then were spread, and widely, beneath the long gowns.

The tarnsman grinned.

“What do you think of my slave?” he called.

“I am not a slave!” cried the woman in the net.

“She is beautiful, Master,” said Laura.

“Call guardsmen!” screamed the woman in the net, holding to its mesh.

“There are no guardsmen to call,” said Laura.

“I am a free woman!” cried the prisoner of the net. “He took my clothing! He tunicked me! He put a collar on me!”

“He is clever,” said Laura to the others. “If it is thought she is a slave the pursuit will be pressed less vigorously.”

“What do you think of the legs of my slave?” inquired the tarnsman.

“They are well revealed, Master,” said Laura.

“They are lovely enough to be the legs of a slave girl, surely, Master,” said one of the slaves.

“It was not I who revealed my legs!” cried the woman in the net. “It was he who put me in this scandalous tunic. It was he who revealed them!”

The woman in the net tried to force the brief tunic she wore down further on her body. She did not have much success in this, as the tunic, perhaps by intent, was quite short.

“Save me!” demanded the woman in the net. “Get this collar off my neck!” She pulled at it, angrily, futilely. She was unsuccessful, of course, as such devices are not designed to be removed by their wearers.

One of the girls laughed, at the absurdity of the behavior of the net’s occupant.

“Whip her! Whip her!” cried the net’s occupant.

The tarnsman looked about, studying the sky.

“In a few moments the pursuit, organized, will depart, following the raiders,” said Laura. “He will then go in another direction.”

“I wish I belonged to such a master,” said one of the girls.

Laura looked at her, sharply, with interest. “Yes,” she then said, “so do I.”

“I am from Brundisium,” said the tarnsman, pleasantly. “I asked this woman to be my free companion, but she refused. Accordingly I decided I would make her my slave.”

“Excellent, Master,” said one of the girls.

“Free me! Free me! Call guardsmen!” cried the woman in the net.

“I have waited for days, for there to be a raid I could use for cover, a raid I could turn to my own advantage,” he said.

“Master is strong and clever,” said Laura.

“You are a pretty slave,” he said.

Laura spread her knees more widely, but subtly, seemingly shyly, beneath her gown. Ellen gasped. She had not seen Laura like this before, so before a man.

So, she thought, Laura is indeed a slave girl. I wonder if I would ever behave so before a man.

Surely not I!

Ellen did not think this behavior on Laura’s part was unnoticed by the stalwart figure on the roof. The tarn shifted, restlessly.

“Get me out of this sack!” demanded the free woman.

“May I present Lady Temesne?” inquired the tarnsman.

“That is a Cosian name,” said a girl. Ellen made little of that.

“Mistress,” said Laura, respectfully.

“Mistress,” said several of the girls, bowing their heads.

“Mistress,” said Ellen, bowing her head, as the others. This was the first free Gorean woman Ellen had ever encountered. She began to sense the awe with which such were to be regarded by such as she, and the deference that would be expected of her in the presence of such. To be sure, this one was in a slave tunic and collar.

“Get me out of this sack!” cried Lady Temesne.

Her accent did seem different from that of many of the other girls, Ellen thought.

The tarnsman then, to the gratification of Lady Temesne, opened the sack, and she began to crawl hurriedly from it, but her gratification was short-lived, as he took her by the hair, when her feet were still tangled in the mesh, and pressed her down on her stomach on the roof, and then knelt across her body. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Put your hands behind you,” he told her. “Now.” Weakly she put her small hands behind her. He pulled them together and, in a moment, they had been encircled with binding fiber, and were lashed together. She cried out, softly, in protest, as she was gagged. She whimpered in misery, as she was blindfolded. He then drew her from the net, crossed her ankles, bound them together, and looked down upon her. There was no denying that she was a lovely catch. He then thrust her back in the net, her knees pulled up under her chin, and tied the net shut, close about her. He then fastened the net on short ropes close to the belly of the tarn. It would then be less obvious.

He then returned to watching the sky.

“Laura,” whispered Ellen.

“Yes,” said Laura.

“He is waiting for tarnsmen to leave the city?”

“Yes,” said Laura.

“What of Nelsa?” asked Ellen.

“Do not concern yourself about her,” said Laura. “She is merely a captured slave.”

“Will they hurt her?” asked Ellen.

“I do not think so,” said Laura. “Probably no more than to occasionally remind her that she is a slave and, of course, to see to it that she is perfect in her service.”

“But the whip dance?”

“True, that will hurt her,” said Laura, “but it will teach her, too, who her masters are.”

Ellen shuddered.

“Is Treve a city?” Ellen asked.

“Yes,” said Laura. “And little love is lost between those of Treve and this city.”

“What is the name of this city?” asked Ellen.

“You do not know?”

“No.”

“Ar,” said Laura.

At that moment several flights of tarnsmen, dozens in each flight, swept overhead.

The tarnsman raised his hand, saluting the flights as they passed.

“He is magnificent!” breathed Laura, in awe. “He will well know how to keep a woman!”

He was now ready to ascend the rope ladder to the saddle, several feet above the surface of the roof. That ladder is then pulled up and tied to the saddle. There are normally two or four rings fastened at the sides of a tarnsman’s saddle, one or two on each side.

“Master!” called Laura suddenly.

He turned to look upon her.

“May I speak?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“May I rise?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

She quickly ran to him and, as slaves gasped, she knelt before him, bending over, her head down between her arms, which were lifted, the wrists crossed.

“How dare you submit yourself as a free woman?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Master!” wept Laura, lowering herself humbly to her belly before him, and pressing her lips to his bootlike sandals. She looked up, tears in her eyes. “Perhaps Master would care to capture a worthless slave?”

The occupant of the net, tied close to the belly of the tarn, squirmed, whimpering, angrily.

“She wants to be the only one,” whispered a girl to Ellen.

The tarnsman crouched down beside Laura and, with a length of binding fiber, crossed her wrists and bound them together before her body. He then, similarly, crossed her ankles, and bound them, as well. He then carried her to the saddle, over his shoulder, and laid her gently on her back, across the saddle, on the large plain surface before the pommel, perhaps a surface prepared for just such a purpose. It was then but a moment’s work to fasten her bound wrists to the forward ring on the left, and her bound ankles to the forward ring on the right. In this fashion she was bound before him, belly up, stretched over the saddle. He then considered her for a moment, and then took a knife from his belt.

Slaves gasped, thrilled.

Laura’s gown, in a moment, cut from her, cast aside, had fluttered to the roof.

“I am yours, Master!” said Laura.

“You tell me nothing I do not know, slave,” he said.

He then freed the rolled blanket from behind the saddle, opened it, and threw it over the slave, concealing her.

The tunicked, collared free woman, bound in the net, gagged and blindfolded, squirmed and whimpered.

“I suspect,” whispered the girl to Ellen’s right, “our noble little tunic-wearer will be sold in Brundisium.”

“Perhaps he will keep them both,” said another girl.

“Perhaps,” said another.

“She does have pretty legs,” said another.

“The tunic displays them well,” said another.

“Surely,” said another.

The tarn then smote the air, leapt from the roof, soared for a moment, and then, wings beating, rose higher, leveled in its flight, and then streaked from the city, in a direction other than that taken by those in pursuit of the Trevean raiders.

“We may now rise,” said one of the girls, watching the tarn disappear in the distance.

Ellen stood up, uncertainly.

“They take women,” she said, in awe. “They bind us. They steal us. They carry us off. They think nothing of this. They make us theirs. They make us slaves. They use us as they please. We are nothing to them. They buy and sell us. They do as they wish with us!”

“They are men,” said one of the girls.

“I fear you,” she whispered to herself, “beautiful world on which I am a slave.”

“The hatch is now open!” called one of the girls.

“We must clean up things and get back to work,” said another.

Nelsa was gone. Laura, too, was gone. Tonight Nelsa might be performing the whip dance for masters. Ellen did not know what the whip dance was but she was not displeased that it, whatever it was, might be required of Nelsa. She did not think that Nelsa would be a bother or a nuisance to her new masters. The whip takes that out of a woman. She did not know what Laura’s fate might be. Whatever it was, it was in the hands of the tarnsman from Brundisium.

“Have you no work to do, slave girl?” inquired one of the girls.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Ellen, and drew toward her, across the roof, under a line, her large basket, and then reached into it for another damp garment, to shake out, smooth and hang.

“There are many more baskets below,” said a slave.

Ellen, with the wooden pins, hung a garment on the line. It was a male’s work tunic. It was large. Ellen wondered what its wearer might look like, and what he might be like, and what it would be like to be owned by him.

“Man!” called a girl.

Instantly the slaves fell to their knees and assumed first obeisance position.

“Is Ellen, who is the slave of Mirus, here?” asked the man.

Ellen was too frightened to respond.

“Who is first girl?” asked the man.

“We have lost two slaves, to tarnsmen, Master,” said blond-haired, blue-eyed Ina. “We could not return to the interior of the cylinder. The hatch had been secured from within. Nelsa and Laura, slaves of the house. Of those upon the roof, Laura was first girl.”

“Last week, our lads took eight from Treve, three of whom were free,” said the man.

“Glory to Ar!” said Ina.

“Glory to Ar!” said several of the others.

“All three were put up for sale yesterday,” he said.

“Excellent, Master,” said Ina.

“Our warriors did well,” said the man.

“Yes, Master,” said Ina.

“I trust the brigands from Treve bagged little or nothing.”

“Let us hope so, Master,” said Ina.

Ellen was certain that the raiders had captured at least one free woman, as she had seen her helpless in the grasp of a tarn’s talons. This was not to take account of the fate of the Lady Temesne, for her abductor had been a spurned suitor from Brundisium. The Lady Temesne, who had regarded herself as too fine to accept his suit, might this very night be at his feet, begging to please. But she might be sold in favor of Laura. But then Ellen did not know. The Lady Temesne did have pretty legs. It might be noted that the guard had paid little explicit attention to the slaves involved in these transactions, though he had kept track, noting that five slaves had been taken from Treve recently. One does, in that sense, one supposes, count or “keep score,” as one might do with kaiila or tharlarion. The free woman is in theory priceless. Thus she is not comparable with the female slave. As she is priceless, there is a sense in which even thousands of female slaves would not be as valuable as one free woman. On the other hand, reality often embarrasses argument, and it must be admitted that a single female slave, particularly if trained, is often preferred to dozens of free women. But men are that way, she supposed. Ellen did not know what her own value was. It would depend of course, on conditions in the market, and what men were willing to pay. That was an odd, but charming, in its way, thought, that she would now, in a sense, literally for the first time in her life, have value. It is interesting, this sort of thing, she thought. At one moment a woman is free and priceless, and then, in another moment, suddenly, she becomes a very practical, tangible commodity, something very real and very factual, something with a specific value, like any other piece of merchandise. In this sense a woman is without specific or actual value until she becomes a slave; it is then that she acquires specific or actual value. To be sure, these considerations are based largely on legal fictions, for, in fact, free women do have tangible values, the higher born being valued better than the lower born, the upper castes over the lower castes, the more intelligent over the less intelligent, the more beautiful over the less beautiful, and so on. To be sure the slave block commonly introduces a radical common denominator. Stripped of all conventional and social dignities and merits, as well as of their clothing, bereft of all artificialities, what is for sale there is, generally, assuming that there is nothing special about the item, that it is not the daughter of a Ubar, or the daughter of one’s worst enemy, or such, is the intelligence, sensitivity, beauty and personness of the item herself.

It would not be known for a day or two presumably how the Trevean raiders had fared within the city.

Ellen was curious as to her market value, and the thought that she must now have one charmed her. That gave an entirely new dimension to her self-concept. She, earlier, being free, had never had such a value. Now she knew she had one, whatever it might be. She knew that girls were often very vain, about the prices they would bring, and such. She thought that that was silly, but she hoped that she would bring a good price, and, certainly, one superior to that which might have been garnered by Nelsa. But she did not fear that her master would sell her. It thrilled her, of course, to know that he had this power, and that he had this power made her feel so much more a slave, but she was certain he would never choose to exercise it. I am sure he loves me, thought Ellen. Or, at least, that he wants me. Surely he thought that my “flanks were of interest.” I love him!

“Where is Ellen, the slave of Mirus?” asked the guard.

“There,” said Ina. And something about her tone of voice suggested that she had pointed Ellen out.

Ellen looked up a little, and saw the bootlike sandals of the guard before her.

“You are Ellen, the slave of Mirus?”

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen, head down, to the surface of the roof.

“Why did you not identify yourself?” he asked.

“I was frightened,” said Ellen. “Forgive me, Master.”

“You should speak up, instantly,” he said.

“Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master.”

The guard turned to his left. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Ina,” said Ina.

“You are first girl on the roof,” he said. “The work-master can arrange matters differently later, as he might please.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Master!” she said.

“Yes?” he said.

“I can keep the guardroom tidy and clean, and make the beds. I can bring food and drink to the guards, and other pleasures,” she said.

One of the other girls made a scarcely suppressed angry noise.

There was a silence, and Ellen gathered that the guard might be looking at Ina. It was difficult to tell, as one’s head was down.

Ellen supposed that Ina wanted out of the laundry, and that she did not relish taking Nelsa’s place as the favorite, or one of the favorites, of the work-master. She was, as we have noted, blond-haired and blue-eyed, and Gart, it seemed, preferred putting such slaves to his pleasures. Certainly she could not blame Ina on either score, though she, like several of the other girls, was shocked by Ina’s boldness, and her apparent audacity in seizing this opportunity to shamelessly prostrate her slave beauty before the guard. On the other hand, there might be much more to it. Doubtless, in being addressed, and such, she had lifted her head, and met his eyes. Doubtless something had passed between them. Perhaps she saw in his eyes that he was a fitting master for her and he, looking into her eyes, saw that she was a fitting slave for him, indeed, perhaps even a very special and vulnerable slave for him. Eccentricities and subjectivities, seeming anomalies, often enter into such matters. In such cases a man may bid all his resources, his wealth, his possessions, his life, anything, to obtain she whom he sees at his feet as his own perfect slave.

“Perhaps,” said the guard. “First girl,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” said Ina, quickly.

“The slave Ellen,” said the guard, “is summoned into the presence of her Master, Mirus of Ar, to appear before him in the audience chamber at the eighteenth Ahn. Until supper she is to continue her work on the roof. Instructrices will call for her at the sixteenth Ahn, to bring her to the Chamber of Preparation. A guard in the Chamber of Preparation will have the key to remove the iron belt. In the Chamber of Preparation she is to be washed, combed and perfumed. She is to be presented brief-tunicked and back-braceleted.”

“Slave cosmetics, Master?” inquired Ina.

“None,” said the guard.

Ellen, her head down, trembled with joy.

“You are a pretty slave, Ina,” said the guard.

“Thank you, Master,” said Ina.

“You will see that the slave, Ellen, is ready for the instructrices at the sixteenth Ahn.”

“She will be ready, Master,” Ina assured him.

“The guardroom could use some tidying up,” he mused.

“Ina is well-versed in domestic tasks,” said Ina.

“And others, as well, I trust,” said the guard.

“Master must be the judge of such matters,” she said, shyly.

“I am Varcon,” he said. “My private quarters are on the seventh level.”

“Perhaps Master has a slave ring at the foot of his couch?”

“It is now empty,” he said.

“Might not Ina be privileged to wear a neck-chain there?” she asked.

“Bold slave,” he said.

“Needful slave,” she said.

“We shall see,” said he.

He then turned and went to the hatchlike opening, through which he descended.

“Rise up,” said Ina. “Continue your work.”

The girls obeyed.

“You are a forward she-urt,” said one of the girls to Ina.

“I would watch my words, if I were you,” said Ina, pleasantly, “or you will be subjected to the bastinado.”

“Forgive me, Mistress!” said the girl.

“Return to your work, slave girl,” said Ina.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl, hurrying away.

It is common to set a first girl over others, to see that work is done, to see that discipline is kept, and such. Whereas this is not always done, it is sometimes done even when two slaves leave the house, as on an errand, one then being designated as “first girl.” In this way authority is clearly defined. Goreans like this. And woe to the other girl if she should gainsay the first, prove troublesome or be in any way displeasing. Goreans, you see, tend to be great believers in rank, distance and hierarchy. These things stabilize society. One might, of course, if one’s taste ran that way, prefer a society founded on a hypocritical denial of obvious differentiation, on concealments of power, on group conflict, on greed, on propaganda, on confusion, uncertainty, machinations, character assassination, spying, slander, and such.

“You heard, Ellen?” asked Ina.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

“The sixteenth Ahn,” said Ina.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

“There is much work to be done before supper,” said Ina.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

Ellen seized up her basket by the side handles and, struggling, lifting it awkwardly, resting it against her abdomen, moved it a few feet to her right, further under the line.

“You do not carry your basket properly,” said Ina. “You are from the world called ‘Earth’, are you not?”

“Yes Mistress,” said Ellen.

“They are so ignorant. It is a wonder they make such good slaves.”

“Mistress?” asked Ellen.

“It is easier to carry it in this fashion,” said Ina, crouching down behind the basket and, lifting it up, she placed it on her head, steadying it with her two hands. “This way, you can take some of the weight on your arms, if you wish, or use your head and spine, carrying your body erectly, gracefully. That distributes the weight nicely, and is easier on the back. You can also steady it with one hand, and, if you become skilled, balance it on your head alone, without using your hands.”

“I do not think I could do that,” said Ellen.

“Some girls use a folded cloth, folded in a circle, between the basket and the head. That provides a cushion, and seats the burden with greater security.”

“Even so,” said Ellen, dubiously.

“Lift it up. Use two hands. No, stand straighter. Good. Hands up. Put your hands up. Higher. Higher. Oh, yes, the men will like that! You are indeed pretty, Ellen. Now walk. Away. Down the line. No, no, not that way. Not as a free Earth woman. That is behind you. You are now a female slave. Here, stop. Let me show you.”

Ellen stood back.

“Like this,” said Ina.

“Oh, Mistress!” exclaimed Ellen.

“Walking away, turning, approaching. Like this. See?”

“You are so beautiful!” said Ellen.

“And they, the silly beasts,” laughed Ina, “may not even know what you are doing to them. They may not even understand why they are ready to kill for you.”

“I do not know if I could do that,” said Ellen.

“Walking away, turning, approaching,” said Ina, “you seem perhaps no more than a burdened slave, but you can drive them mad with passion, and the wanting of you.”

“Oh, Mistress,” breathed Ellen.

“We are slaves,” said Ina. “If we are to please, and thrive, we must make do with the little that is permitted us.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

“What weapons have we, we, in our collars? Our weapons are our intelligence, our beauty, our body. If you would have a good life as a female slave, you must learn to use them well.”

“What of passion, Mistress?”

“Strange that an Earth female would even think of that,” said Ina. “Passion we will have little control over. They will enforce it. They will imperiously enrapture us, and, as it pleases them, take us outside of ourselves with ecstasy. They will make us begging, needful, at their feet.”

“I have never experienced such ecstasies,” said Ellen.

“You will be taught,” said Ina.

“Is it wrong to long for such ecstasies?” asked Ellen.

“No, of course not,” she said. “You are a female slave.”

“I fear I long for them, Mistress,” said Ellen.

“That is understandable,” said Ina, “but remember that for such as you, slave girl, they are also obligatory.”

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Ellen, scarcely hearing herself speak.

Ina smiled at her. Ellen must have seemed to her so young, so ignorant, so naive. And yet both their necks were encircled with slave collars.

Ellen looked at her, plaintively.

“Yes?” said Ina.

“I have heard,” said Ellen, cautiously, whispering, “of the slave orgasm.”

Ina suddenly closed her eyes, gritting them shut, forcibly, and her teeth seemed clenched. Then she opened her eyes, and smiled. “Yes,” she said, “there is that. And once you have felt that, little Ellen, you will never want to be anything other than what you are, a female slave.”

Ina then gently placed the basket on Ellen’s head, and Ellen held it there, with two hands.

“Walk away,” said Ina. “That is far enough. Turn. Hands high, remember. Surely you know what that does for your figure. How naturally then, how helplessly do you seem to display it. What choice have you? Suppose, too, you were in a brief side-slit tunic. Can you imagine what it would be then for a man to see you, in that fashion? And knowing you slave! Approach. Good! Now go back, and turn again, and look at me, suddenly, as though you first noticed me. Good. Now approach. Your expression! Are you humble? Does your expression say that you know that you are owned and must obey? Are you timid? Are you fearful? Are you apprehensive that you may be insufficiently pleasing? Are you joyful to see the Master? Are you hoping he will take you in his arms? Do you wish to be ordered to disrobe in his presence? Remember you are a female slave! Approach. Did they not teach you how to walk? What of your love cradle! Turn, go back, then return, again, down the aisle. Good. Remember you are a female slave. You are owned. You must be beautiful. So little as the movement of a hand, or the sight of a bared forearm in the pouring of wine, can be beautiful, provocative, stimulatory to the master’s desire.”

I am a slave, thought Ellen. Why should I fear to move as one? It is what I am. And might I not be beaten if I am not pleasing?

To be sure, she knew that already her bondage had irremediably infused her entire being. Even now she was sure that a slaver, without regard to her brand or collar, could pick her out from free women.

“Good, good, little she-urt,” said Ina. “Now get to work!”

Ellen put down the basket and knelt before Ina. She put her head down to Ina’s feet. “A slave expresses her gratitude to Mistress,” she said.

“Back to work, slave girl,” said Ina, who seemed in a fine mood.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.

Ellen reached into the basket and removed another damp garment from it, and took up a handful of clothespins. She looked about herself. It is so beautiful, she thought, this lovely, perilous, fearful world on which I am a slave. She attached the garment to the line and then stepped back a little, and looked out over the city. It was as though she would embrace it all, all of this fresh, clean, rushing, windswept, sunlit reality.

“Do not forget, after supper, the sixteenth Ahn,” called Ina.

“No, Mistress,” said Ellen.