Slave Girl Of Gor

20
A Slave Girl's Revenge

I walked in the morning, an Ahn before noon, on the wharves of Telnus. I could see the great gates of the harbor some two pasangs across the water. The harbor was filled with many craft. I avoided the tar on the planks of the wharf. Beneath the planking of the wharves, here and there, I could see water, and small boats tied at pilings. Men came and went, going to and from ships, and disembarking and embarking cargo. I passed the throne of the wharf praetor, he in his robes, with the two scribes, for the settling of disputes which might occur on the quays. Four guardsmen, too, were there.

They grinned at me as I walked past, and I smiled back at them. They were handsome guardsmen, and I was a slave girl.

But I must not annoy them, soliciting their patronage for the tavern, for they were on duty. I had been struck five times across the back of the legs, my wrists held, when I had made this mistake before. The praetor was a sour fellow.

After I had delivered the message to Belisarius, and had served to amuse his men, I had been returned to the Chatka and Curla, still hooded, and bound in the slave sack, as I had been brought from it, by the same men, through the secret door in the rear of the alcove. I had been removed from the sack in the alcove, unbound, unhooded and ungagged. The man who had taken me from the alcove and returned me to it then swiftly used me for his pleasure, and left, through the customary, leather-curtained door. I was left behind in the alcove, naked and had. I put on the garments of the tavern. I looked behind the hanging at the rear of the alcove. There was a stout door there, made of iron. I put my finger tips on it. Timidly, softly I tried the handle. It was now locked. It had been locked, apparently, behind the man who had brought me back into the alcove. There was no key or lock mechanism on my side of the door. It may have been, of course, that the door had been left unlocked originally, and that it had locked automatically, when closed, behind the man when he had re-entered the alcove, returning me to it. I did not know. I did know that it was now locked, and that I could not open it. I let the hanging fall back, concealing the door. Even had I been able to open it, I would not have dared to go through it. Suppose I had been found in an area where I was not supposed to be. I did not know what would be done to me. On the whole surface of the planet there was nowhere to run, nowhere to go. I was a slave girl. I left the alcove, to return to my duties on the floor, those of a paga slave. The man who had taken me from the alcove and returned me to it had not, incidentally, as nearly as I could tell, conducted me to and from the house of Belisarius. I had been carried and transported for a time in a small boat, and, for a time, in a cart. Hooded, and captive in the slave sack, I had no sense of direction and very little of time. I gathered, from what I had heard, that contacts had been made by men wearing masks, who spoke signs and countersigns. I doubted that my original captor himself knew the identity of these other men.

"Paga!" had cried a man, and I had fled to serve him.

After I had delivered the message I was no longer under the same security which I had earlier experienced at the Chatka and Curla. Sometimes now, like certain other girls, I was permitted to wander forth, before the busy hours of the tavern, to solicit patronage for its proprietor, my master, Aurelion of Cos. I wore the belled collar, and belled ankle ring, of the tavern, and a bit of black silk. On the silk, in yellow, there were words, which Narla had translated for me. "I am Yata. Own me at the Chatka and Curla." I was barefoot. I wore a red kerchief, for my hair had not as yet fully regrown.

I saw a sailor, and ran to him, kneeling at his leg, touching it.

"Does Master desire paga?" I asked.

"Begone, Slave," he said.

I drew back, and he strode away, with the rolling gait of his profession.

I looked about, at the boxes and bales on the wharves. I did not bother the men who were busily engaged. Their foremen did not wish them distracted by the presence and banter of a slave girl. More than once they had taken their belt to me, driving me from the vicinity of the men.

I perched on top of a large box on the wharves, holding my legs closely together.

I enjoyed the smell of the salt water, the sight of the soaring harbor gulls. I wore a collar, and was clad for the pleasure of men. But I was not unhappy.

When I had first been sent to the wharves, some weeks ago, my wrists had been braceleted behind me, and I had been accompanied by other girls: later I had been permitted to go alone, my wrists still locked behind my back; later I had been permitted to go alone to the wharves in wrist rings and chain, my hands before my body, separated by some twenty inches of light, gleaming chain; there are many things, clever, subtle exciting things a girl may do with such a chain; some of these were shown to me, and others I invented, sharing them with other girls at the tavern; girls struggle to become ever more perfect, and beautiful, in their slavery; girls often share slave secrets; I struggled hard to learn all that I could, to become more pleasing to masters; something in me was not displeased to belong to men; at one time such a thought would have horrified me, and I would have thrust it wildly from my consciousness, not daring to regard it; now I entertained it with a shameless pride; I had become a slave girl. One thing that was shown to me was the slave bridle; the male takes the light chain back between the teeth of the girl and holds it, together, behind her neck, thus, too, pinning her hands there, helplessly; he then controls her by means of the bridle; my own invention was the chain kiss; one clasps the leg with the chain against the interior of the thigh, and then, from the side of the knee, one begins to kiss the leg, one's lips and teeth hot about the chain; the male feels both the chain and her mouth, biting and kissing, climbing the chain; she climbs the chain and descends it, and climbs it again, until he orders her to leave it.

I heard the sounds of chains, and a whip. Below me I saw a line of prisoners, men of Ar who had been captured on the Vosk River in the river fightings. Cos and Ar, I knew, were at war, contesting commerce rights on the western Vosk. There were some twenty of them. They wore rags. Their wrists were manacled behind them. They were in neck coffle. The chain was heavy.

"Hurry, Sleen!" called their whip master. There were four guards with them.

One man fell and the whip master was upon him in an instant. He struggled again to his feet and continued on, in the coffle, trudging along the hot wharf.

They would be taken to a holding area, I knew, and there branded slave. They would then row on the merchant galleys of Cos. Warships commonly have free oarsmen; merchant ships commonly, but not always, use slaves.

Seeing the men, sweaty, chained, under the whip, I was affrighted. It was a grim fate which awaited them, the confinement and pain of the benches, the weight of the long oars, the shackles, the whip, the drum of the hortator, the stench, the black bread and onions of the ponderous galleys.

Then I thought that such a fate was too good for them, for they were of Ar. I remembered Clitus Vitellius, who had sported with me, and then discarded me. I remembered I hated Clitus Vitellius. How I hated him!

But I felt sorry then for the men of Ar.

They were not Clitus Vitellius.

Better it were Clitus Vitellius in their place! But he was a noble captain of Ar, and would not be involved in the insignificant skirmishes on the Vosk.

The prisoners, the men of Ar, disappeared down the wharf. I dropped down from the box on which I had sat.

Aurelion of Cos would not be pleased if I did not bring customers to the Chatka and Curla.

I was not chained now; the last four times I had been permitted to come to the wharves unchained; Aurelion, I think, was pleased with me. Once he had ever permitted me to serve his pleasure. How proud I had been, and how envious the other girls had been. I struggled to be fantastic to him. I think he was not displeased. Afterwards he had, before leaving, thrown a candy to the floor before me which I, gratefully, in the manner of the Chatka and Curla, which was necessary, had picked up in my mouth. "Thank you, Master," I had said. The candy was hard and very sweet. I showed it off to the other girls. "I pleased the master," I boasted. "He once gave me five candies," said Narla. "Liar!" I cried. I knew the master had never even called for her. We leaped toward one another. Tima, the first girl, had separated us with a whip.

I looked about the wharves.

A long ship, I could see, was moving into its wharfage, its lateen sail furled on the long, sloping yard. It was a warship of Cos. I saw other girls, from other taverns, running down to its mooring.

Quickly I joined them.

I knelt with them, in a line of some seven or eight girls. We called forth the praises of our respective establishments. But when the men had disembarked, carrying their sea bags and weapons, none had stopped to stand before me.

I rose to my feet, looking about. Some officers, with a few members of the crew, remained on the ship. I turned away.

A sailor passed me. He carried a long bag on his shoulder, tied shut. I saw the bag move. It carried, I conjectured, a bound woman. From the lineaments of the bag, over his shoulder, I gathered she was naked. I wondered if she were slave or free. He boarded one of the numerous ships at the many wharves, going below decks.

Two men passed me, pushing a cart of furs of sea sleen. I could smell spices in a bale near me.

A man walked by carrying a long pole, from which dangled dozens of the eels of Cos.

It was now past noon, and I had not yet conducted a patron to the Chatka and Curla. Soon it would be time for me to report back.

Though I now wore no chains on the wharves I was still, of course, in a sense chained in my bondage. I was clad as a slave girl, and wore a belled collar, which identified my master, and a belled ankle ring; too, I was branded. Masters take little risk with their girls when they send them to the wharves. They are as slave on the wharves as behind the barred gates. If I did not report back promptly, when due, I would be beaten. I was full slave.

It was now past noon. I was growing apprehensive. I had not yet found a guest for the tables of Aurelion. Girls are not sent to the wharves for the delights of smelling the fresh sea air. They are sent forth half naked in their collars to bring back paying customers.

I parted my silk a bit and ran to kneel before a sailor. I looked up at him. "Own me at the Chatka and Curla, Master," I said. He spurned me from him with his foot, forcing me back to the hot planks of the wharf. I ran to kneel before another. "I am Yata," I said. "Please own me at the Chatka and Curla, Master," I begged.

He, with the back of his hand, struck me from his path, hurling me by the force of the blow to my shoulder on the boards. I tasted blood in my mouth. I knelt on the hot, calked boards, angrily. He had gone. It had not been necessary to strike me.

I rose to my feet and again looked about. The large, yellow shield on the high pole in the harbor had already been hoisted and fallen, and, near it, the fire of white smoke had been lit. When the shield reaches the top of the pole in the harbor and is permitted to fall it is the tenth hour, the Gorean noon. At the same time the white-smoke fire is lit. At the twentieth hour, the Gorean midnight, a beacon is lit. These things serve to synchronize chronometers in the port, and serve to regulate schedules and the utilization of the tide tables.

I was beginning to feel desperate.

Toward me a couple was moving, a bearded sailor and a red-haired paga girl. I saw by her silk she was from the Cords of Tharna, an establishment competitive with the Chatka and Curla.

I knelt boldly in their path, and looked up at the sailor, "Yata can please you more," I said.

"He is mine!" said the red-haired girl, holding the sailor's arm.

"I am his, should he be pleased to have me," I said. I smiled at the sailor. "Please, Master," I said.

He looked from one of us to the other. I saw we both pleased him. He grinned. "Fight," he said.

With a scream of rage the red-haired girl leaped upon me, clawing and biting, throwing me back to the boards. She was larger and stronger than I.

She could not well get her hands in my hair for, as yet, it was too short. I tore at her hair, rolling with her on the boards, and got my fingers in it but she, with the heels of her two hands, struck back my head. I felt her scratch for my eyes. I screamed as her teeth bit me in the arm. I was then terrified, and tried to defend myself, as she struck me. She crouched beside me, striking down at me with her fists. I rolled over, covering my head. She leaped up. I turned, She kicked at me. I felt her foot strike me in the stomach. I could not breathe. I gasped wildly for air. She threw herself over me and held my head down, locking her right arm about it; she held her legs about my body, preventing me from using my arms; with her left hand she shoved up, as she could, the collar at my throat; to my horror I felt her teeth, pushing aside the bells, trying to seize my throat; then her teeth were on my throat; then her head was pulled back and away, suddenly, from me; the sailor had her by the hair, kneeling, twisted back; she fought to look at me, held. "La Kajira, Mistress!" I wept. "I am a slave girl, Mistress!" She had clearly won. I was her inferior. I shrank back, fighting for air.

"He is mine!" she hissed.

I put my head down, in defeat.

Then she cried out in pain, as she was flung by the hair to his feet.

"You are mine," he said.

"I am yours," she whispered, terrified.

Then he took her by the hair and dragged her to her feet and left, she bent over, held by the hair, running, stumbling, beside him. To me she had been formidable, but to him she was only a wench for his pleasure.

I rose to my feet, shaken. I rearranged my silk. It had not been torn.

I looked after the sailor and the red-haired girl, stumbling beside him, held by the hair. I saw he would use her well, very well. This pleased me.

A male slave, his wrists chained, separated by some eighteen inches of linked metal, pushing a wharf cart passed me. He looked upon me. I was furious! I ran to him, in rage, and slapped him. "Do not look upon me!" I cried in rage. "I am not for the likes of you! You are a slave! A slave!" He pulled back his head, angrily. "Slave!" I screamed. "Slave!" I spun about. I saw one who must be his master, a merchant. I was red with fury. I ran to the merchant and knelt before him. I pointed to the male slave. "He looked upon me!" I cried. "He looked upon me!" "Have you permission to speak?" he asked. "May a girl speak?" I asked, frightened. "Yes," he said. Emboldened then, I pointed again to the male slave. "He dared to look upon me," I said. I knew that male slaves were carefully supervised. I knew it could be quite unpleasant for one of them to be caught looking upon a slave girl. To be caught looking upon a free woman could mean death for them. "He looked upon me," I said, pointing to the male slave. Surely he would be, at the least, whipped for his indiscretion. The beauty of slave girls was for free men, not for the slave likes of such as he.

"You are too good for him?" asked the merchant.

"Yes," I said. I then realized this was not the proper thing to say. But I had said it.

"You are both animals," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"But you are a female," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"And he," he said, "though slave is yet male."

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"And is not the male animal the master of the female animal?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said. I knew that male dominance was pervasive among mammals, and that it was universal among primates. It can be frustrated only by an extensive and complex conditioning program, one adequate, over a period of years, to distort the order of nature.

"Do you find this slave of interest?" asked the master of the male slave.

He shrugged. "She is small," he said.

I looked at him, frightened.

"But she is not without interest," he conceded.

"Do you think you can catch her?" asked the master.

"Of course," said the male slave.

I rose to my feet, frightened. I began to back away.

"She is yours," said the master.

I turned to run. He caught me before a large box, and flung me, face forward, against it. When I recoiled back from the hot wood the chain on his wrists had looped about me, and I was his, held to him by the chain about his wrists.

"It is long since I have had a wench," he said.

He dragged me along beside him, the chain looped about my body, cutting into my waist over the left hip.

"Be merciful to a slave, Master," I begged.

Behind some boxes, on the boards of the wharf, he threw me down, under him.

"Please be kind to a slave, Master," I begged.

He laughed.

The master did not hurry him, but, I think, attended to other matters.

The wharf cart had been empty.

When the slave left me I had yielded to him, as though he might have been a free man. I was much shamed.

I lay behind the boxes and looked up at the blue sky. I was miserable. I had been used by a slave. But, too, I was frightened. It was surely past the time when I should have returned to the Chatka and Curla. I did not want to be whipped!

Slowly, painfully, my legs stiff, I climbed to my feet. I rearranged the bit of silk I wore.

I stepped out from behind the boxes. I must hurry back to the Chatka and Curla.

I stopped, startled. Then I shrank back beside the large boxes. He was far off, but I was certain. I began to breathe rapidly. My heart began to pound.

It could not be, but it was.

I did not know what to do. At first I felt, unrestrainable, overwhelming me, an incredible flood of love and elation. I felt the incredible love and joy, the elation, possible only to a slave girl.

He was approaching from down the wharf, carrying a sea bag, in the guise of a sailor.

I wanted to run toward him, crying out, the length of the wharf, and throw myself to his feet, weeping, covering them with kisses.

Then I was frightened that I had made a mistake. It could not be true.

But I watched. I grew more and more sure, and then I was certain. He stopped to buy a cake from a vendor on the wharf. It was he!

It was my master, Clitus Vitellius of Ar!

"Oh, Master," I wanted to cry out, "I love you! I love you, Master!"

Then I saw him glance at a paga girl who posed, turning before him, and spoke to him.

Suddenly I hated her and him!

He dismissed the girl, but I had seen him look upon her, as a warrior, a master.

I hated them both!

It had been Clitus Vitellius of Ar who had first enslaved me. He had marked me with the hot iron, marking my very flesh, branding me a slave girl. He had made me serve him! He had made me love him, and had then; when it pleased him, his sport done, thrown me aside, giving me to peasants!

A bold plan, relentless and terrible, formed in my mind. I breathed deeply, in cold fury, resolved.

He would find that a slave girl's vengeance is not a light thing.

I straightened myself. I parted the silk, lasciviously. I lifted my head, with the small sounds of the bells on the collar.

He was coming toward me now, eating on the bit of cake he had purchased.

I saw he carried no weapons. This pleased me.

I ran toward him, with short steps, and knelt before him. I kissed his feet. At his feet I felt suddenly a wave of love for him, the helpless weakness of a slave girl overcome at her master's feet, but then I caught myself, and every bit of me became cold, and calculating and sensuous. I held the calves of his legs in my hands, and looked up at him.

"Dina," he said.

"My master calls me Yata," I said, "Master."

"Then you are Yata," he smiled.

"Yes, I am Yata," I said. I looked up at him, smiling.

"Are you as innocent and as clumsy as before?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said, putting my head down, beginning to kiss him on the side of the leg, deeply, puffing, sucking, at the hair a tiny bit.

"I see not," he said, laughing.

I looked up. "I have been taught how to please men," I said.

"Of course," he said, "you are a slave girl."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Are you good?" he asked.

"Some masters have not been fully displeased," I said.

"Do you think you could please me?" he asked.

My heart leaped. I applied myself as subtly and marvelously as I could, touching his leg variously, bringing my mouth slowly, biting and loving, to the side of his knee. "No, Master," I whispered. "Yata could never please a great warrior like you."

He looked about. "Say only 'sailor, " he said. "Here I am not a Captain of Ar, he Clitus Vitellius, but only a seafarer, a simple oarsman from Tyros, one called Tij Rejar."

I looked up at him. "As master wishes," I said. Then I again applied myself to his legs.

"Master will not cuff me from him, will he?" I begged.

"Clever slut," he said.

He lifted my head and brushed back the kerchief on my head. I reddened.

"I was some weeks ago slave cargo," I said, my head down.

"And pretty slave cargo indeed," he said.

"I am pleased, if Master is pleased," I said. I held his legs, my cheek against his thigh. I wanted to cry out that I loved him, but then I checked myself, remembering my project. I knelt at his feet only to bring him low. I did not think it would be difficult if I could get him to the Chatka and Curla.

He would pay! He would pay!

I looked up at him, smiling. "I was once yours," I said, "Master."

He looked down at me, almost tenderly. "Perhaps it was a mistake to have given you away," he smiled.

I caught my breath, but remained firm. I must not relent. I would be remorseless.

How vulnerable in a way I was, in silk and collar at his feet. But I held great power.

"It is strange," I said. "Once you owned me. Now, in faraway Cos, on the wharves, I kneel at your feet in the collar of a paga slave."

"It is a pretty collar," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"I see by your silk," he said, "that you work in the Chatka and Curla."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"What is your duty there?" he asked.

"To please the customers of my master," I said.

"It is long since I have held your hot little body," he said.

I blushed, though I was a slave girl.

"You are a hot, lovely slave, you know," he said.

"In your arms," I said, "any girl, even the daughter of a Ubar, would find herself only a responding slave." I did not doubt but what this was true. I remembered myself miserable in his arms, writhing with unwanted ecstasy, then, unable to help myself, unable to hold out longer, suddenly surrendering to my enslavement in his arms. Though I had been of Earth he had reduced me to a spasmodic, yielding slave.

"I am thirsty for paga," he said.

"I know a place," I said.

"The Chatka and Curla?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"But are there girls there?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Are you one of them?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"It is long since I have owned you," he said.

I looked up at him, boldly. "Own me again at the Chatka and Curla," I whispered.

"You are a curvacious, tempting little slut," said he, "-Yata."

"Does Yata dare to suspect," I asked, "that Master once cared for her a little?"

"Does a slave girl wish to be whipped?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said, head down.

"I have other matters to attend to," he said.

I looked up, frightened. "Please, Master," I begged. "Come with Yata to the Chatka and Curla."

"I am busy," he said.

"But Master thirsts for paga," I said.

He grinned.

"And Yata," I wheeled, "was detained upon the wharves." I remembered the slave who had been set upon me by his master, to discipline me. I had been well ravished, and at length. He had forced me to respond to him, as a slave's slave. It was now well past the time when I should be at the tavern, bathing and preparing for the labors of the evening. "She is late," I said. "If she does not return with a customer, after all this time, her master may not be pleased."

"It is nothing to me," said he, "if a girl is tied at the slave ring and put under the leather."

"Of course not, Master," I said. But then I looked up at him. "But Yata," I said, softly, begging him, supplicating him "desires to serve Master paga." I knelt before him, on the boards of the wharf, eyes lifted, holding him. "Have me with the cup Master," I begged. "Please, Master."

He looked down upon me.

"Have pity on a slave, Master," I begged. "Have me with the cup, Master. Please, Master.

He smiled. "Conduct me to your tavern, Slave Girl," he said.

"Thank you, Master!" I breathed. I put down my head, so that he might not see the smile of victory, of triumph, that suffused my features. Submissively, with the sound of bells, those on my collar and ankle ring, I rose lightly to my feet, turned, and, excited, scarcely daring to breathe, barefoot, as a slave girl, led the way toward the Chatka and Curla.

I heard him following me.

The double gate, of barred iron, shut behind me.

I turned, suddenly, screaming, pointing to he who had followed me within.

"He is of Ar!" I cried. "He is an enemy! Seize him!"

Clitus Vitellius looked at me, startled.

"Seize him!" I cried. His hand had gone to his left hip but the short sword in its scabbard did not now hang there.

Strabo, assistant to Aurelion of Cos, leaped upon him, and was struck back. Clitus Vitellius looked about himself wildly.

"Seize him!" I cried.

Two of the men who worked within the tavern hurried toward the gate. Men leaped up from tables.

Clitus Vitellius turned to the double gate and tore at the bars, but could not fling them hack, for the bolts had slipped into place.

A man leaped on him and he shook him off. He bent to Strabo, to rip the keys from his belt. There were many keys. He cut with the keys, holding their ring, at the face of the second man of the tavern, who fell screaming, bloodied, reeling back. He slashed about him with the keys, long and heavy on their thick ring, some six inches in width. A man leaped at him, low, seizing his legs. Two others leaped bodily upon him. They struggled. Then two others sped to him, and then there was a sword at his chest, where the tunic of the sailor had been torn away. Four men held him, back against the bars of the gate. Aurelion of Cos rushed forward. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

I pointed to the powerful, bloodied captive.

"He is Clitus Vitellius of Ar," I cried. "He is a captain of Ar!"

"A spy!" cried a man.

"Kill the spy!" cried another.

"He says he is Tij Rejar, an oarsman of Tyros, but he is of Ar, of the Warriors! He is Clitus Vitellius! He is of Ar! He is a captain!"

Aurelion looked at me. "It would not be well for you, Slave," said he, "to be mistaken in this matter."

"I am not mistaken, Master," I said.

"Who are you?" asked Aurelion.

Suddenly I was frightened, If his identity were sufficiently well established so as to truly appear an oarsman from Tyros it might not go well for me. I might be boiled alive in the oil of tharlarion. I began to sweat.

"I scorn to conceal my identity from those of Cos," he said. "I am Clitus Vitellius, a captain of Ar."

I laughed with pleasure. "See!" I cried.

"Bring chains," said Aurelion.

Clitus Vitellius looked at me. I shrank back. Chains were placed upon him.

"He is securely manacled," said Strabo, whose face was swollen as a consequence of the blow of Clitus Vitellius.

Ankle chains were then placed, too, upon the warrior of Glorious Ar, and a chain ran, too, from his wrists to the chain on his ankles.

A collar, with two guide chains, one on each side, was fastened on his neck.

"Kill the spy," said a man.

"No," said Aurelion. "We will take him to the magistrates."

The double gate was unlocked by Strabo, who had recovered his keys. Four men made ready to conduct Clitus Vitellius from the tavern.

"It is the heavy galleys for spies," said one man.

"Better to kill him now," said a man.

"No," said Aurelion, "conduct him to the magistrates. They will have much sport with him before he is chained to a bench."

The heavy galleys were round ships, large ships, which usually carried bulk goods, such as lumber and stone. It was usually impractical to employ free oarsmen on such ships.

Clitus Vitellius looked once more upon me. I saw that he was securely chained.

I approached him. "Ho, Clitus Vitellius," I said. "It seems you now wear chains like a slave."

He did not speak tome.

"You will soon be slave in the heavy galleys," I said. I posed before him, as a slave girl, opening my silk. Men laughed. "Look well, Master," I said, "for there are few girls in the rowing holds." I turned before him, and again faced him. "Do not forget Yata, Master," I said. "Remember it was she who put you in chains, who puts you upon the bench of the galleys!"

He regarded me, not speaking.

I went to him and, suddenly, with all my might, slapped him. He scarcely moved.

"The vengeance of a girl," I said, "is not a light thing."

"Neither," said he, looking at me, "is the vengeance of a warrior."

I shrank back, frightened.

"Take him away," said Aurelion.

Clitus Vitellius was conducted from the tavern.

"You did well, Slave Girl," said Aurelion.

"Thank you, Master," I said. Then, suddenly, I knelt before him. I had rendered great service to the state of Cos. "Free me, Master," I begged.

"Bring a whip," said Aurelion to Strabo.

"No, please, Master!" I cried.

"Put her at the slave ring," said Aurelion, "and give her ten lashes, and then throw her a pastry. She has done well."

"I shall, Aurelion," said Strabo.

In moments I knelt at the slave ring, my small wrists crossed and bound to it, the silk pulled away from me, down about my calves. I was struck ten times, and then released. A pastry was thrown to the floor before me. "You did well, Slave Girl," said Strabo. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. I reached for the pastry. The whip stayed my hand. "Forgive me, Master," I said. I took the pastry in my mouth.

"Chain her in the kennels," said Aurelion.

On my hands and knees, as a punished slave girl, holding the pastry in my mouth, I crawled from the floor to the kennels, followed by Strabo. There, at the concrete wall, on my blankets, I lay down. The chain and collar was fastened on my neck. Strabo left. I took the pastry in my hands, and began to eat it. What a fool I had been to beg my freedom. I had only to look in a mirror to see that I would never be free on Gor. I lay in the darkness of the long kennel, on my blankets, in my place, chained by the neck. I was a Gorean slave girl. Then I cried out with anguish, weeping, and hurled the pastry from me. I pounded at the concrete beneath the blankets. I wept. I had betrayed Clitus Vitellius, my master!

Strabo, accompanied by Narla, approached me. He poked me with a whip. "Be quiet," he said. She carried a lamp. She was eating the pastry which I had discarded. Strabo unlocked the collar on my neck. "There is a sailor here," said he, "who is drunk, from the Cords of Tharna, who is calling for you."

"Yes, Master," I said.

I recalled the fellow who had had the red-haired girl who had bested me in combat on the wharf. I had said to him that I could please him more than she. He had now, apparently, come to the Chatka and Curla, calling for me.

"Please do not make me serve," I begged.

"Narla," said he, "will help you ready yourself. Be quick."

"Do you want some pastry?" asked Narla holding a piece out to me.

"No," I said. I looked up at Strabo. "I betrayed Clitus Vitellius of Ar," I wept.

"You did well," he said. "Now hurry."

"Please, Master!" I begged.

He struck down with the lash and I cried out in pain. "I hurry!" I wept. "I hurry!"

I fled from the kennel, followed by Narla, to the room of preparation.

I could hear the fellow on the floor calling for me.