Slave Girl Of Gor

5
The Raid

"What is your duty?" asked my master.

"Absolute obedience," I replied, in Gorean.

He held the whip to my lips. I pressed my lips to it, and kissed it. "Absolute obedience," I said.

Eta, from behind me, pinned the first of five veils about my face. It was light, and shimmering, of white silk, almost transparent. Then, one after the other, she added the freedom veil, or veil of the citizeness, the pride veil, the house veil, and street veil. Each of these is heavier and more opaque than the one which lies within. The street veil, worn publicly, is extremely bulky, quite heavy and completely opaque; not even the lineaments of the nose and cheeks are discernible when it is worn; the house veil is worn indoors when there are those present who are not of the household, as in conversing with or entertaining associates of one's companion. Veils are worn in various numbers and combinations by Gorean free women, this tending to vary by preference and caste. Many low-class Gorean women own only a single veil which must do for all purposes. Not all high-caste women wear a large number of veils. A free woman, publicly, will commonly wear one or two veils; a frequent combination is the light veil, or last veil, and the house or street veil. Rich, vain women of high caste may wear ostentatiously as many as nine or ten veils. In certain cities, in connection with the free companionship, the betrothed or pledged beauty may wear eight veils, several of which are ritualistically removed during various phases of the ceremony of companionship; the final veils, and robes, of course, are removed in private by the male who, following their removal, arms interlocked with the girl, drinks with her the wine of the companionship, after which he completes the ceremony. This sort of thing, however, varies considerably from city to city. In some cities the girl is unveiled, though not disrobed, of course, during the public ceremony. The friends of the male may then express their pleasure and joy in her beauty, and their celebration of the good fortune of their friend. The veil, it might be noted, is not legally imperative for a free woman; it is rather a matter of modesty and custom. Some low-class, uncompanioned, free girls do not wear veils. Similarly certain bold free women neglect the veil. Neglect of the veil is not a crime in Gorean cities, though in some it is deemed a brazen and scandalous omission. Slave girls may or may not be veiled, this depending on the will of their master. Most slave girls are not permitted to veil themselves. Indeed, not only are they refused the dignity of the veil, but commonly they are placed in brief, exciting slave livery and may not even bind their hair. Such girls, healthy and vital, their hair unbound, their considerable charms well revealed by the brevity of their costume, are thought by men to constitute one of the more pleasurable aspects of the scenery of a city. Are the slaves of Ar, for example, more beautiful than those of, say, Ko-ro-ba, or Tharna? Men, the beasts, heatedly discuss such questions. In some cities, and among some groups and tribes, it might be mentioned, though this is not common, veils may be for most practical purposes unknown, even among free women. The cities of Gor are numerous and pluralistic. Each has its own history, customs and traditions. On the whole, however, Gorean culture prescribes the veil for free women. Eta fastened the fourth of five veils upon me, the house veil. Though Eta wore only the shameful, scandalous Ta-Teera, she pinned the veils expertly. She, now only a delicious, half-naked slave girl, had once been free. She did her work beautifully.

I felt the street veil fastened upon me. I was veiled as might have been a rich Gorean free woman of high caste, perhaps bound for the song dramas of En'Kara.

"How beautiful," said Eta. She, standing back, observed me. My master's eyes appraised me.

I stood straight. I knew how beautiful I looked, for, once before, some days ago in the camp, I had been so beclothed. I had seen myself, then, in the mirror.

The robes, carefully draped, primarily white, in their richness and sheen, were resplendent; over the veils my eyes would appear very dark. Gloves had been placed upon my hands. On my feet were scarlet slippers.

I knew that I was richly and beautifully bedecked. I knew, too, that I was small, and might be easily thrown to the shoulder of a man.

My master looked at me.

He put his hands on my shoulders.

"Do you dare place your hands on the body of a free woman," I asked him, deferentially adding, "Master?"

He stepped back. He regarded me thoughtfully. "Insolent," said he to himself, as though thinking, "that a mere slave should be placed in such garments."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Have I ever lashed you?" he asked.

I swallowed hard. "No, Master," I said.

"I should do so, sometime," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"It would scarcely do to run her in the Ta-Teera," said one of his men, standing nearby.

"Doubtless not," said my master, looking at his owned girl. How incredibly, and yet rationally and justifiably, I felt at his mercy. He was my master, He owned me. He could do whatever he wanted with me. He could trade me or sell me, or even slay me upon a whim, should he wish. I was absolutely his, his girl.

"She is beautiful," said Eta.

"She will have to do," said my master.

"They are camped not two pasangs from here," said one of the men.

A black cloak was brought. It was wrapped about me.

"Come, Slave Girl," said my master.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He turned about and, with his weapons, strode from the camp. I followed him, at his heel, where a slave girl belongs.

Eta remained behind.

The other men, the warriors, single file, fell into line behind us, following.

"Be silent," said my master.

I did not speak. Together, the men behind us, we observed the camp. There were more wagons in the retinue now. When first I had seen the retinue, several days ago, there had been only one, which had carried supplies.

The largest of the three moons was now full.

The camp lay nestled in a clearing in woods. A stream ran by one perimeter of the camp. This was joined by another stream, some two hundred yards beyond the camp. Guards had been posted.

"Quiet is the night," called one to the other. He was similarly answered.

I knew, by now, a smattering of Gorean. I could understand them. Eta had worked diligently with me. I could now respond swiftly to many commands. I knew the names of many articles. I had acquired some grammar. I was able to formulate simple sentences by myself. My masters could now command me, the barbarian girl, with relative satisfactoriness, in their own tongue, and I, to some extent, the lovely, barbarian slave from Earth, could respond to them in the tongue of my masters, theirs. I now, artlessly, unable to help myself, found myself thinking naturally of Gorean as the language of masters. It is a beautiful, melodious, expressive language. It is also, in the mouths of men, a strong, powerful, uncompromising language. When a girl is commanded in Gorean, she obeys.

I watched the guards, through the trees, make their rounds. There were several tents in the camp. In the center of the camp was a striped tent, almost a pavillion, supported on ten poles. I saw one of the girls, with bare arms, robed in classic white, unveiled, emerge from the central tent and, with a gourd dipper, go to the stream, where she filled the dipper and thence returned to the tent. There was a golden circlet on her throat, and another on her left wrist. One of the men had looked at her as she had walked past him. There was a fire in the tent, and smoke from this fire emerged from a hole at the tent's apex. Within, as they passed between the wall of the tent and the fire, I could see the shadows of one or two other girls. Near the central tent, almost as large, was a brown, turreted tent, with a pennon flying from a central pole. It was, I supposed, the tent of the camp's leader. There were some seventy or eighty men, I had conjectured several days ago, in the retinue. I could now see several sitting around open-air fires. Others were, I supposed, within the tents, perhaps sleeping.

The two palanquins which had been carried, by ten men apiece, were within the camp, turned upside down, to protect them, I supposed, from dew or rain. Beneath the one were several boxes and chests, those containing the riches which it had borne. Added to the one wagon which had been drawn by the shaggy, oxlike creatures were now four other wagons. These wagons, too, apparently, were each drawn by a pair of the oxlike creatures, called bosk. The wagons were now unhitched. Several animals, those called bosk, ten or more, hobbled, browsed among the trees on the other side of the camp.

Eta, though perhaps it was not proper, had much listened to the converse of the men, and, as my Gorean improved, conveyed certain pieces of information to me.

The retinue was the betrothal and dowry retinue of the Lady Sabina of the small merchant polis of Fortress of Saphronicus bound overland for Ti, of the Four Cities of Saleria, of the Salerian Confederation. Ti lies on the Olni, a tributary of the Vosk, north of Tharna. Tharna, sometimes called the City of Silver, is well known for the richness of her silver mines. She is ruled by Lara, a Tatrix. This seems paradoxical, for in Tharna, of the hundreds of known Gorean cities, the position of women is surely among the lowest. The sign of a man of Tharna is two yellow cords carried at the belt, suitable for the binding of the hands and feet of a female. At one time apparently women were dominant in Tharna but this situation, in a revolution of the males, was overturned. Few women in Tharna, even now, years later, are permitted out of the collar.

I looked at the four new wagons which had been added to the retinue. The wagon which I had seen earlier, the supply wagon, was now almost empty, the food supplies perhaps being diminished as the peregrination neared its end, and the poles and tenting, of course, being used in the sheltering for the camp. The other four wagons, however, were fully loaded, largely, it seemed, with produce and coarse goods.

The Lady Sabina, I learned from Eta, was pledged by her father, Kleomenes, a pretentious, but powerful, upstart merchant of Fortress of Saphronicus, to Thandar of Ti, of the Warriors, youngest of the five sons of Ebullius Gaius Cassius, of the Warriors, Administrator of Ti, this done in a Companion Contract, arranged by both Ebullius Gaius Cassius and Kleomenes, to which had now been set the seals of both Ti and Fortress of Saphronicus. The pledged companions, the Lady Sabina of Fortress of Saphronicus and Thandar of Ti, of the Four Cities of Saleria, of the Salerian Confederation, had, as yet, according to Eta, never laid eyes on one another, the matter of their match having been arranged between their respective fathers, as is not uncommon in Gorean custom. The match had been initiated at the behest of Kleomenes, who was interested in negotiating a commercial and political alliance with the Salerian Confederation. These alliances, of interest to the expanding Salerian Confederation, were not unwelcome. Such alliances, naturally, might presage the entrance of Fortress of Saphronicus into the Confederation, which was becoming a growing power in the north. It seemed not unlikely that the match would ultimately prove profitable and politically expedient for both Fortress of Saphronicus and the Salerian Confederation. In the match, there was much to gain by both parties. The Companion Contract, thus, had been duly negotiated, with the attention of scribes of the law from both Fortress of Saphronicus and the Confederation of Saleria. The Companion Journey, then, when the auspices had been favorable, as they promptly were, these determined by the inspection of the condition and nature of the liver of a sacrificial verr, examined by members of the caste of Initiates, had begun. The journey itself, overland and afoot from Fortress of Saphronicus to Ti, would take several days, but it was ceremonially prolonged in order that the four tributary villages of Fortress of Saphronicus might be visited. It is not unusual for a Gorean city to have several villages in its vicinity, these customarily supplying it with meat and produce. These villages may or may not be tributary to the city. It is common, of course, for a city to protect those villages, whether they are tributary to the city or not, which make use of its market. If a village markets in a given city, that city, by Gorean custom, stands as its shield, a relationship which, of course, works to the advantage of both the villages and city, the city receiving produce in its markets, the villages receiving the protection of the city's soldiers. The policy of Fortress of Saphronicus, extending its hegemony politically over its nearby villages, even to the extent of exacting tribute in kind, is not unprecedented on Gor, but, on the other hand, is not the general rule. Most villages are free villages. The Gorean peasant is a resolute, strong fellow, upright and stubborn, who prides himself on his land and his sovereignty. Also, he is usually the master of the Gorean longbow, in the wake of which liberty is often to be found. He who can bend the longbow, a peasant saying has it, cannot be slave. Women, of course, it might be noted, lack the strength to bend this bow. I suppose if they could bend the bow, the saying would not exist or would be altered. That is the way men are. Goreans enjoy making women slaves. The women, on the whole, interestingly, save some verbally, do not seem to much mind. Interestingly, the longbow is outlawed in the tributary villages of Fortress of Saphronicus. The Betrothal or Companion Journey, ceremonially, included the circuit of the four villages, in each of which a feast was held, and from each of which a wagon of produce was procured, to be added to the dowry riches to be presented to Ebullius Gains Cassius, father of Thandar of Ti, to be included in the treasury of Ti. I had seen four wagons of produce in the camp, and knew independently from Eta, that the four tributary villages had now been visited. The wagons of produce were not of great value but stood as token of the relation of the villages to Fortress of Saphronicus. Also, of course, visiting the villages presented die opportunity for publicizing the match and, doubtless, unobtrusively, in the feasting and celebration, for gathering the reaction, and general feelings, of the villages. Are they content? Is trouble brewing? Must a leader be deposed, or Imprisoned? Must a daughter be taken hostage to the city? Accurate information on the oppressed is essential to the maintenance of the power of the oppressor.

From the striped tent in the center of the camp another girl emerged, clad like the other in the sleeveless gown, a circlet on her throat and left wrist, and made her way toward the supplies wagon. She left the pavillionlike tent sedately but, as soon as she was no longer visible through the opening in the tent she threw back her head, shaking her hair, and then, her gait transformed, sauntered like a she-sleen to the side of the wagon. I gasped. The walk could only have been that of a slave girl. I then realized that the girls in attendance on the veiled woman, who had been seated in the curule chair on the palanquin, were slaves. The circlets on their throats were doubtless collars, and the wristlet each wore was doubtless naught but matching slave jewelry. But they were obviously high slaves, judging by the fineness of their raiment. They were the slave maids of the Lady Sabina, doubtless belonging to her. I wondered how long it had been since one of them had had the hands of a man on her body.

"Quiet is the night," called one of the guards.

"Quiet is the night," was echoed by other guards about the camp.

I looked up at the largest of the three Gorean moons. It was now full.

Tomorrow the retinue would continue on toward Ti, to be met two days from now, outside the city, by a welcoming procession. Or thus it was planned.

I felt my master's hand on my arm. It was not tight, but firm. I was in his power.

I did not understand my role in the events which were transpiring. I was not clear why my master and his men, and myself, scouted this camp, and now remained in its vicinity.

One lunar month from this date, by the phases of the largest moon, after days of preparation, the ceremony of the companionship was scheduled to be consummated in Ti, binding together as companions Thandar of Ti, son of Ebullius Gaius Cassius, Administrator of Ti, and the Lady Sabina, daughter of Kleomenes, high merchant in Fortress of Saphronicus. I hoped, naturally, that they would be happy. I was only a slave, but I did not think myself much less free than the Lady Sabina, whose beauty was being bartered for commercial and political power. I might have to be half naked in a bond girl's Ta-Teera but she, I expected, despite the wealth of her robes and jewels, was in her way as slave as I. Yet I did not feel sorry for her, for I had heard from Eta that she was a pretentious, haughty girl, one bold in speech and cruel to her slave maids. Many of the daughters of merchants are proud sorts, for the merchants themselves, by virtue of their power, tend to vanity and pride, and agitate, justifiably or not, for the inclusion of their caste among the high castes of Gor. Their pampered daughters, protected from work and responsibility, ostentatiously garbed and elaborately educated in caste trivia, tend to be spoiled and soft. Yet I did not wish the Lady Sabina unhappiness. I hoped that she would have a splendid companionship with Thander of Ti. Too, allaying my commiserations for the girl, for she had had no say in her companionship arrangements, was my understanding, conveyed by Eta, that she Looked forward to the match and was much pleased by it. In taking companionship with one of the Warriors she would raise caste, for the Warriors on Gor are among the high castes, of which there are five, the Initiates, Scribes, Physicians, Builders and Warriors. In many cities only members of the high castes may belong to the city's high council. Most Gorean cities are governed by an executive, the Administrator, in conjunction with the high council. Some cities are governed by a Ubar, who is in effect a military sovereign, sometimes a tyrant, whose word is law: The Ubar's power is limited institutionally only by his capacity to inspire and control those whose steel keeps him upon the throne. Sword loyalty is a bond of fidelity sworn to the Ubar. Gorean warriors seldom break this bond. It is not sworn lightly. It is sworn only to those who are thought fit to be Ubar. When the Ubar is thought to be unfit, it is thought, too, he has dishonored the pledge of sword loyalty. It is not then uncommon for him to die beneath the steel of his outraged men. Only a Ubar, it is said, may sit upon the throne of a Ubar. Only when a true Ubar sits upon the throne is it said the pledge of sword loyalty is binding. It was my hope that the Lady Sabina would be happy. It was said she was muck pleased to raise caste and would become, by this match, one of the high ladies of the Salerian Confederation, which was becoming powerful in the north. I did not think much of Thandar of Ti, perhaps because he was a man. I supposed he was not too pleased at being matched with a girl who was not of the five high castes, but surely he could appreciate the commercial and political significance of the match, and would be pleased to serve his city by doing his part. From the point of view of his father the bargain was a good one for Thandar was the youngest and least important of five sons; it was not as if his first or second son had been matched with a merchant's daughter; besides the match was politically and commercially expedient; who knew how ambitious might be the aspirations of Ti, and the Salerian Confederation? Too, from Thandar's point of view, if the match turned out to be a misery he, being a Gorean male of high caste, could content himself with bought women, who would fight one another and beg on their bellies to serve one such as he.

The gowned female slave, the circlet on her throat and wrist, reached into the supply wagon, into a sack, to find a larma. I watched her in the half darkness. I did not think she saw that, behind her, from the pavillionlike tent, the veiled Lady Sabina had emerged and followed her, with two of the other slave maids behind her, one with a switch. The girl at the wagon reached forward, extending her hand into a sack. One of the warriors of the camp was close behind her. I think she must have been aware of his presence but she gave no sign of this awareness. He put his hands on either side of her body, resting them on the wagon box. She turned, easily, not surprised, between his arms, to face him. She lifted the larma fruit and, her head up, looking at him, bit into it. She regarded him in the half darkness. She chewed at the fruit. He leaned over her. I saw the glint of gold at her throat. Suddenly her arms were about him and he was kissing her, she a slave in his arms in the half darkness. I saw her hand behind his back, the larma fruit, bitten into, still in her hand. "So, Shameless Slave!" cried the Lady Sabina, who had followed the girl, perhaps suspicious of her. The two who had been touching leapt apart, the girl crying out with misery and throwing herself to her knees at the foot of her mistress; the man backed away, angrily, startled.

"Shameless slave slut!" cried the Lady Sabina.

"Have pity, Mistress!" wept the caught slave girl, her head to her mistress' sandals.

"What is going on here?" demanded a man, emerging from the central, dark tent, which I took to be that of the headquarters of the camp. He carried a sword slung over his shoulder, loosely. He wore otherwise only a tunic and the heavy sandals, almost boots, of a soldier.

"Behold," cried the Lady Sabina, indicating the kneeling girl, "a lascivious slave girl!"

The soldier, the leader of the camp, I gathered, was not pleased at having his work or rest interrupted, but was concerned to be deferential.

"I followed her," said the Lady Sabina, "and found her here, shameless in the arms of a soldier, touching, kissing!"

"Pity, Mistress," wept the girl.

"Have I not, Lehna," inquired the Lady Sabina, sternly, "taught you proper deportment? Have I not instructed you in dignity? Is this how you betray my trust?"

"Forgive me, Mistress," wept the girl.

"You are not a paga slut," said the Lady Sabina. "You are the slave maid of a free woman."

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"Have I not set you always a model of elegance, an example of nobility and self-respect?" asked the Lady Sabina.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"When you were twelve, my father bought you from the pens in Ar, and gave you to me."

"Yes, Mistress," she said.

"You were treated with great kindness. You were not put in the kitchens. You were not given to tharlarion drivers. You were taken into our own apartments. You were permitted to sleep in my own chamber, at the foot of my couch. You were trained diligently as a lady's maid."

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"Is that not a great honor for a slave slut?"

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"And yet," said the Lady Sabina, sadly, "how have I been repaid?"

The girl dared not answer, but kept her head down, trembling.

"I have been repaid with ingratitude," said the Lady Sabina.

"Oh, no!" cried the girl. "Lehna is grateful! Lehna is grateful to Mistress!"

"Have I not been kind to you?" demanded the Lady Sabina.

"Oh, yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"And yet I find you like a copper-tarsk rent slave in the arms of a retainer!"

"Forgive your girl, Mistress," begged the cringing slave.

"Have I often whipped you?" demanded the Lady Sabina.

"No," cried the girl. "No!"

"Do you think me weak?" inquired the Lady Sabina.

"No, Mistress," said the girl. "Kind, but not weak!"

"Beg," said the Lady Sabina.

"I beg to be whipped," said the girl.

The camp's leader, he with the sword slung over his shoulder, who had come forth from his tent, looked at the soldier in whose arms the girl had been discovered. He indicated the slave girl with his head. "Strip her and tie her," he said.

Angrily the man tore away the girl's gown and, with a bit of binding fiber, tied her on her knees, her wrists crossed and bound behind one of the spokes on the supply wagon.

"You are worthless," said the Lady Sabina to the bound slave. "You should carry paga in a paga tavern."

The slave cried out with misery, to be so demeaned.

A number of men had gathered about, to witness the scene. The captain was clearly irritated. "I shall speak to you later," he said to the soldier, dismissing him. The soldier turned and left.

The Lady Sabina extended her hand to one of the two slave girls who were with her. In her gloved hand was placed the switch the girl had carried for her.

She then approached the bound slave, who trembled. "Have I not always set you an example of nobility, dignity and self-respect?" asked the Lady Sabina.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl.

"Naughty, naughty, salacious slave!" cried the Lady Sabina, striking her.

The girl cried out with the misery of her switching. I was startled at the fury with which the Lady Sabina struck the bound, collared girl. Richly did she lay the disciplinary device to the back and body of the imbonded wench, well punishing her for her lascivious indiscretion. Then, wearied, furious, the Lady Sabina cast aside the switch, turned, and went back to her tent. She was followed by the two girls who had accompanied her, one of whom retrieved the switch. The whipped beauty knelt against the wagon wheel, bound there, shuddering. I saw the gold of her collar beneath her dark hair.

When the Lady Sabina had finished her work and returned to her tent, followed by the two gowned slave girls, the leader of the camp, or captain, angrily, returned, too, to his tent, and the men, who had gathered around, returned to their duties, their rest or recreations.

The girl was left tied at the wheel, whipped.

My master looked upward, at the moons. From through the trees, on the other side of the camp, came what I took to be the sound of a bird, the hook-billed, night-crying fleer, which preys on nocturnal forest urts. The cry was repeated three times.

"Quiet is the night," called one of the camp guards, and this call was echoed by the others.

Again, three times, I heard the cry of the fleer.

My master slipped behind me. He held me, with his left hand. I felt, from the side, his knife slip beneath the veils at my face and throat. Then the knife's edge, I feeling it, thin, obdurate, pressed at my jugular.

"What is the duty of a slave girl?" he asked.

"Absolute obedience, Master," I whispered, frightened. "Absolute obedience." I scarcely dared to whisper, for fear of moving my throat beneath the knife.

I felt the knife leave my throat. I felt the black cloak in which I had been wrapped, concealing the largely white, rich, shimmering raiment in which I had been robed, slipped away.

"Run," said my master, indicating a path through the trees, past the far end of the camp. "And do not let yourself be captured."

He thrust me from him and I, miserable, confused, began to run.

I had gone no more than a dozen steps when I heard one of the guards at the camp cry out, "Halt! Stand! Name! City! Stand!" I did not stop, but pressed on.

"Who is it?" cried a man. "A free woman!" I heard. "Is it the Lady Sabina?" I heard cry. "Stop her!" I heard. "After her!"

I ran, madly.

The men, as I now think of it, must have been as confused as I was. I knew only that I feared them, and had been commanded to run. Too, my master had told me to avoid capture. Ignorant, wild, terrified, I ran.

I stumbled and fell, and scrambled to my feet, and ran again. I heard men crying out, and then, more frighteningly, I heard several leaving the camp, splashing across the stream, crashing through brush behind me. I was now among the trees, out of sight of the camp, but I was being pursued, by how many men I did not know.

They were Gorean men.

I fled in terror.

"Lady Sabina!" I heard. "Stop! Stop!"

As I ran I realized that the probabilities of there being a free woman, robed, in the vicinity of the camp, who was not the Lady Sabina, were extremely low. Perhaps she had fled from the camp? Perhaps, for some reason, she wished to flee the match with Thandar of Ti, whom I understood she had never seen. There must have been men in the camp who, almost immediately, would have verified that the Lady Sabina was still within the camp, but many, having only moments to act, would be unable to make that verification. If the running woman was the Lady Sabina she must be caught for her loss would mean the failure of the alliances pending between the Salerian Confederation and Fortress of Saphronicus. Too, she must be caught swiftly, for the forests at night were dangerous. Sleen might take her or, perhaps, prowling outlaws. Too, in the camp were no hunting sleen. Accordingly, the sooner she could be retaken the better. It was night, and, even in the morning, her trail would be less fresh, less obvious. And, if the woman were not the Lady Sabina she should, anyway, be brought in. Surely a free woman in the midst of the night forest constitutes a mystery which must be solved. Who is she? From whom is she running? Is she alone?

I had no time to think. I was only running.

Too, I believe the men of the camp had little time to ponder their courses of action.

It was natural that many of them should have leapt to my pursuit.

I fled through the thickets. I heard men crashing through the brush behind me. I did not know how many followed. I suspect that of the seventy or eighty men in the camp twenty or more had immediately plunged after me, perhaps even more. Surely, too, attention was drawn to that end of the camp near which I had been first seen. It was there that men would have peered into the darkness, there that they would have been marshaled into more organized defensive groups or more organized search parties.

"Stop!" I heard. "Stand! Stand!"

I ran, stumbling, striking branches and brush away from me. My robes were torn.

The crashing in the brush behind me grew louder.

No more swiftly could I run. It was not merely that I was encumbered by the robes. I knew that I could not, in any case, outrun the men. They were stronger and swifter than I. I was only a girl. Nature, whatever might be her reasons, had not fitted me to outrun males. I was frightened suddenly that it had not been her intention that women escape men. Then I realized how foolish this was, to so personalize nature, to ascribe to the cruel, blind processes of the world deliberate intentions. Rather it had been the selections of nature which had determined this. Women who had escaped men would have been lost to the gene pool. Caught women would have been led back to the caves, to suffer the indignities of impregnation by their captors, being forced to reproduce their kind. Similar considerations may have a bearing on the smaller size and strength of women. Yet matters are far more complicated than these considerations suggest. For, in the intricacies, and interplay of both natural and sexual selection, not merely a swiftness, a size and strength would have been selected for in women but an entire set of genetic dispositions; it seems inconsistent to suppose that evolution would select only for the outside of an animal and not for its inside as well, that only matters such as external configuration would have a bearing on its survival or desirability and not its dispositions to respond in certain ways. Surely the same evolution which has selected for the fangs of the lion and the speed of the gazelle has selected as well for the disposition to hunt and the disposition to flight, that has selected for the strength of the male and the weakness of the female has selected as well for the disposition to conquer and the disposition to surrender. We are, to a large extent, one supposes, the products of environments, but it is well to remember that the maximum, shaping environments in which our nature was stabilized and forged are ancient ones; the sense in which environment determines endowment is the sense in which it determines which endowments are to be perpetuated.

With misery I suddenly realized my genetic heritage was that of a type which could be caught by men.

The hands of a man seized me.

"Hold, Lady," said he.

I gasped, and shook, held in his arms.

"Why have you fled, Lady Sabina?" asked he. "It is dangerous." Then he called out, "I have her."

I tried to escape, but I was held fast.

In a moment several more men were about me. He who had held me then released me. I stood, captured, in their midst. I did not speak. I averted my head.

"Is it the Lady Sabina?" asked a voice.

"Face me," said a voice.

I did not face him, but kept my head averted. I felt hands put on my shoulders.

Firmly I was turned to face the speaker. "Lift your head," he said. "To the moonlight."

I kept my head down, but he, with his hand, lifted my head up, that the moonlight might fall upon my veiled face.

I saw that it was the captain, or camp's leader. Suddenly I realized he should not have pursued me. He should have remained in the camp.

He studied what he could see of my eyes in the uncertain moonlight, shattered, through the branches of the forest. He backed away, and studied the robes I wore. Then he said, "Who are you?"

I did not speak. If I had spoken he would instantly have detected my accent, my faltering Gorean, and would have marked me as a barbarian girl.

"You are not the Lady Sabina," he said. "Who are you?"

I kept silent.

"Do you flee an unwanted companionship?" he asked. "Was your retinue ambushed? Do you flee outlaws?"

Again I did not respond.

"Do you flee slavers?" he asked. "We are honest men," he said. "We are not slavers." He regarded me. "You are safe with us," he said.

Moonlight filtered through the branches.

"Who are you?" he said.

I again did not respond. This time he seemed angry.

"Do you choose to be face-stripped before men?" he asked.

I shook my head, negatively.

His hands were at the first veil, the street veil.

"Well?" he asked.

I did not answer.

I felt the veil lifted away from my face. "Remove your gloves," he said.

I slipped the gloves from my hands. He took them and threw them to my feet.

My hands felt the night air.

"Speak," he said.

When I did not respond to him, he pulled away the house veil. The men crowded more closely about. The flesh of my face was now concealed from the direct vision of the strong males by only three veils, the pride veil, the veil of the citizeness and the sheer fifth, or last, veil. Already, in stripping me of the house veil, outrage had been done to me. It was as though the privacy and intimacy of my house had been violated. It was as though they had invaded my house and taken my dress from me, forcing me to stand before them in my slip.

"Who are you?" asked the man again. How could I tell him who I was? My master had not even given me a name.

"The pride veil will be next, if you do not speak," said the man.

I wondered what these men would do with me if they discovered I was not even a free woman. I forced the thought from my mind. Free men do not take it lightly that a Kajira would dare to don the garments of a free woman. This is regarded as an extremely serious offense, fit to be followed by terrible punishments. It can be worth the life of one to do so. I began to tremble.

The pride veil was ripped from me. It was as though my slip had, been torn away by the invaders in my house.

The lineaments of my face could now be detected beneath the veil of the citizeness. The last veil, in its sheerness, and transparency, is little more than a token.

"Perhaps now, dear Lady," said the captain, "you will choose to speak, choose to reveal your name and city, and your business in this vicinity so late in the night?"

I dared not speak. I turned my head to the side, with a wild sob, as the veil of the citizeness was torn away. I wore now only the last veil. It was as though in my own home an almost final shield of modesty had been taken from me, leaving me only a bit of wide-strung netting, inviting the ripping hand of a master.

The hand of the man reached to the last veil. His hand hesitated. "Perhaps she is free?" asked one of the men.

"Perhaps," said the captain. He lowered his hand.

"She is quite pretty to be free," observed one of the men. Some assent was given to this.

"Let us hope, for your sake, my dear," said the captain, "that you are free."

I lowered my head.

"Consider yourself my prisoner, Lady," said the man. He felt my forearms, detecting that I was right handed. I felt a loop of leather put about my right wrist and drawn tight. It was a double loop, drawn through itself, and tightened.

The other end of the closed loop, about a foot from my hand, was taken in the grasp of a soldier. My captor then turned about and began to return to the camp. He was followed by his men. I was led, wrist-thonged, with them.

I had been captured.

In a few minutes we approached the camp. I was carried across the stream, into the camp area. Many were the torches, much was the confusion we encountered there.

The soldier who carried me put me on my feet. I was then again the prisoner of the wrist thong in his grasp.

A man ran toward us, holding up a torch. "The Lady Sabina," he cried, "she is gone! She has been taken!"

With a cry of rage the leader, or captain, ran toward the tents, his men racing behind him, I struggling and gasping, jerked and dragged by the thong which held me.

Straight to the pavillion of the Lady Sabina sped the captain.

I, on the tether, accompanying the soldier who controlled me, hurried, too, to that pavillion. I was pulled within, on the thong. A man within turned, white-faced, to the captain. "They came," he said. "They took her!"

To one side lay two soldiers, wounded. The maids of the Lady Sabina, who had been with her in the tent, stood terrified to one side. One held her shoulder, where there was a large bruise.

"They were here!" said the soldier, pointing to the shuddering slaves.

"What happened?" demanded the captain.

One of the girls, she with the bruise, spoke. The back of the tent was slashed. "In force they came," she said, "many of them. We tried to defend the mistress. We were buffeted aside. They were men, warriors. We were helpless!" She pointed to the back of the tent. "They entered there, and withdrew similarly, the mistress in their power!"

The application of numbers and power is an element of strategy. The men of my master had been outnumbered, surely, by the many soldiers of the camp, but at the point of attack their numbers were superior, overwhelming. Twenty men may breech a wall held by a hundred men, if the twenty men but attack where the wall is defended by only two. In the confusion, as the attention of men had been directed elsewhere, the forces of my master, though not impressive numerically, had been sharply and irresistibly applied, His stroke, in the context, had not been difficult.

I swallowed hard. I realized I had been only a diversion, a pawn. I felt bitter, and terrified.

"Of what city were they?" demanded the captain of one of his wounded men.

"I do not know," said the man.

I had seen the men of my master removing insignia from their garments before the attack.

"We know their direction of flight," said one of the soldiers. "If we act swiftly, we may mount satisfactory pursuit." "Let us act with dispatch," urged another, "that we may swiftly overtake them."

The captain struck at the heavy pole of the tent with the side of his fist. The pole, though it was deeply anchored, shook in the dirt.

"Arm the men," said he. "Issue bows, light rations. All men. Assembly in ten Ehn."

"Yes, Captain," said a man. Men left the tent. The two wounded men were carried away.

The captain then turned to face me. I shrank back. Some four men besides the captain remained in the tent, one of them he who held my wrist thong.

The captain's hand fixed itself in the sheen of the last veil, the fifth veil. Beneath it my features, frightened, could be seen. It was only a token, but, when it was torn away, even the token would be gone. I would stand before men, face-stripped. It is interesting to me, how I thought of this at the time. Doubtless much depends upon context and is relative to the culture. On Earth, few women veil their face, and yet many will veil their bodies. On Earth body veiling tends to be cultural, and not face veiling. On Gor, for free women, both body veiling and face veiling are cultural, and tend to be widely practiced. I suppose, objectively, there is something more to be said for face veiling than body veiling. Bodies, though differing remarkably, one to the other, tend perhaps to be somewhat more similar than faces. Accordingly, if one should be concerned to protect one's privacy and one's feelings, and such, it seems that the face might preferably be veiled. In the face, surely, it is easier to read emotion and individuality than in a body. Should not the face then, if one is concerned with concealment and privacy, be veiled? Is the face not more personal and revealing than the body? Does it not make sense then to consider it a proper object of concealment in a free person? Is one not entitled, so to speak, to privacy in the matter of one's thoughts and feelings, sometimes so manifest in one's facial expressions? However this may be, there are congruences and dispositions which seem appropriate in given contexts. Veils seem correct, and right, with the robes of concealment. Too, seeing the lust of men to discern your features, and understanding what face veiling and unveiling means to them, tends to influence one's views of these matters. I was terrified that such men see my face. I did not want my face to be seen by them. In many Gorean cities, only a slave girl goes unveiled.

I felt his hand tighten in the veil. Then he jerked it away. I was face-stripped, completely. I closed my eyes, with shame. I reddened. It was as though the last bit of netting, mockery of modesty though it might be, had been ripped away. My face, my feelings, my emotions, now lay bare to them. My face, though I wore robes of concealment, was as naked as that of a slave girl.

"I wonder if you are free, my beauty," said the captain.

My mouth, now that he had torn away the veil, was fully exposed to his. Nothing now separated his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, from mine. From his point of view I then, though I might be free, might as well have been a slave girl.

I looked at him.

"Release her wrist thong," said he to the soldier who held the thong. He dropped the thong, and it dangled, loosely, from my wrist.

"A wrist thong scarcely comports with the dignity of a free woman," said the captain to me.

He walked about me, as a man walks about a woman. I had the feeling he saw me naked beneath the robes.

"Are you free, my beauty?" he asked. He drew his sword. I shuddered. "Are you free?" he asked. He put the sword at my left ankle, and, curiously, lifted the robes of concealment a bit. "I hope for your sake," said he, "that you are free. If you are not, I will not be much pleased."

I felt the blade on my leg, lifting up the robes further. "Step from your slippers," he said.

I did so, trembling.

I felt the steel on my leg, lifting the robes yet higher. They were above my knee now.

The three slave girls in the tent, gowned, watched with apprehension.

The robes were lifted higher, some inches above my knee.

"If you are free," said the captain, "you are rather pretty to be free."

"Captain," said a voice from outside the tent, "the men are ready."

"I shall join you momentarily," he said.

"Yes, Captain," said the man.

The captain then again turned his attention toward me. He was angry. He spoke softly, but menacingly. "You have made a fool of all of us," he said. "Thus, I hope that you are free." The blade moved a bit higher on the leg. I trembled. "Yet," said he, "the leg is not bad. It is a leg which is pretty enough to be the leg of a slave girl. I wonder if it is the leg of a slave girl." He lifted the robes to my hip. I felt the steel against my hip.

The men in the tent cried out with anger. The slave girls gasped and shrank back.

"It is as I thought," said the captain. He stepped back, but he did not sheath his sword.

"I will give you twenty Ihn," said he, "to remove the clothing of a free woman and to fall naked on your belly before me."

Weeping I tore away the robes, frenziedly, and, stripped, threw myself on my belly naked before him, he a Gorean male, he a master, I a slave girl.

"Standard binding position," he said. I was prone. When a girl is prone, the standard binding position is to cross the wrists behind the back and to cross the ankles. I took this position instantaneously.

That I did this did not cause him any pleasure. No one in the room thought anything of it. I was simply a prone slave girl who had been commanded to standard binding position. No one in the room, including myself; would have expected me to do other than comply. Lack of compliance by a slave girl to a command in the Gorean world is unthinkable. She obeys.

The captain spoke swiftly with two of the men in the room. Then he spoke, too, to one of the slave girls, who, addressed, knelt before him. She left the tent.

I could hear the men outside. There was some rattle of weaponry.

The girl who, earlier, had been beaten and tied at the wagon wheel, was brought into the tent. She looked at me and went and lay, miserable, in a corner of the tent. The other girl, too, re-entered the tent.

The captain made ready to depart from the tent, to take command of his men.

I lay there, unbound, but in binding position. I had not moved. I did not wish to be slain.

The captain looked down at me, and then, as though in response to an afterthought, said to one of his men, "Tie her."

The captain's helmet was brought to him. I felt my wrists and ankles being tied. My wrists were tied with the loop of thong which had bound my right wrist previously, when I had been brought to the tent.

The captain turned me over with his foot. Then he knelt on one knee beside me. I felt the point of his sword in my belly. "I will see you later," said he, "pretty little Kajira." I felt the point of the sword push in. I winced. "Speak," said he. "Yes, Master," I wept.

"A barbarian," said one of the men.

"Yes," said the captain, getting up.

"But a pretty one," said one of the men.

The captain regarded me, bound at his feet. "Yes," he said. Then he donned the helmet, turned, and left the tent.

The other slave girls in the tent, save she who had been beaten, who lay miserably in a corner of the tent, looked angrily at me. One rubbed the bruise on her shoulder. "Kajira," she hissed. I turned to my side, in the dirt. I wept. I lay a captured slave girl, in the tent of enemies.

Gone then was the romance of slavery. I moaned with misery. I had been used to create a diversion, had been employed as a mere pawn. I had been exposed to danger, as though I might have been a mere slave. Did my master not love me? Did he not care for me? Did he not reciprocate the feelings which I had for him? I wept, an insignificant slave.

I heard the men leaving the camp. Then the camp was empty, save for the wounded, and the slave girls, of which I was one.

"Dina," said the girl with the bruise to me. She had called me that because of my brand, the Dina, or Slave Flower. Girls who wear the brand are sometimes spoken of as Dinas. As she had said "Dina," it had been a term of abuse. The Dina brand is one of the more frequently found of the specialized brands on Gor. Dinas, such as I was, were relatively common girls.

The camp was now quiet.

The bruised girl came over to me. "Dina!" she said, and kicked me. Then she returned to the other girls.

"Our poor mistress," cried the girl who had kicked me. "Pity her!"

I heard the sounds of the night outside the tent, the insects, the cries of fleers.

Surreptitiously, for I did not wish to be struck or again kicked, I tried to move my wrists and ankles. It was useless. Thongs had been used, not rope; the knots, simple and efficient, had been made by a warrior. With a minimum of means I was held with absolute perfection. A Gorean warrior had bound me.

I heard again, from outside, the cries of the hook-billed fleer.

I reared up.

The slave girls cried out, then were silent. Swords lay at their throats.

My master was in the tent, following his men through the rent silken wall.

One of the men carried a looped coffle chain, with wrist rings.

"Master!" I cried out with elation. I struggled to sit up. He crouched beside me and, with his unsheathed blade, slashed apart the leather which bound me. I flung myself to his feet, pressing my lips to his sandals. "Master!" I wept with joy. He had come back! He had not left me. But he pulled away from my hands and lips at his sandals, and issued orders to his men. The four slave maids crouched terrified, under swords, in the center of the tent, including she who had been beaten. Some men left the tent.

"Kneel to be coffled," said one of the men. The girls knelt, closely, one behind the other. There were six wrist rings on the chain he carried. He placed the girl who had been whipped by the Lady Sabina first in the coffle line. "Left wrist coffle," he said. They lifted their left wrists, frightened. Interestingly, the man snapping the wrist rings on the girls' left wrists did not put the first girl in the first ring, but the second. When the four maids were coffled there was, thus, an empty wrist ring both at the head and the rear of the line. "Stand, Slaves," said the man. "Lower chain." The girls stood. Then, ordered, they lowered their wrists. They were then in line, standing, coffled.

Outside I heard bosk being hitched to wagons. Other bosk I heard being freed and driven into the woods.

I wondered if the camp would be fired. I supposed not, for the glow of the burning silk and canvas in the night sky might too soon apprise the camp's soldiers of what had occurred. An obvious trail had been left for the soldiers to begin to follow; then the men of my master had circled about to return to the camp. The trail would become difficult to detect, then perhaps disappear. The men of the camp had not had trained sleen. While the pursuing soldiers followed a false scent, my master's men returned to their camp, from which, later, in a new direction, they might make their departure. My master prepared to leave the tent. I wanted to run beside him, but he would not permit it. He pushed me back. I must remain within. He left the tent.

The man who had coffled the girls now stood back, looking at them. "May I speak?" begged the first in the line, she who had been earlier whipped. "Yes," he said. "I hate my mistress," she said. "I am ready to love you, Master!" "Do you not enjoy being owned by a woman?" he asked. "I want to love a man," she wept. "Shameless slave," cried the last girl in the line, she who had lamented the fate of her mistress, and who had called me "Dina," and kicked me. "I am a woman and a slave!" cried the first. "I want a man! I need a man!"

"Do not fear, Slave," grinned the man who had locked her in her wrist ring, "you will not be neglected when wench service is wished."

"Thank you, Master," she said, and stood very straight, very proudly.

"Brazen slave," scolded the last girl in the line.

"Comb the hair of the spoiled brat of a merchant, if you wish," said the first. "I will dance naked before a man."

"Slave!" cried the last girl in the line, horrified.

"Yes, slave!" said the first, angrily, proudly.

I heard a wagon being driven from the camp. In it, I suspected, lay the dowry riches of the Lady Sabina of Fortress of Saphronicus. The location of the lady herself I did not know, but I had little doubt she was in a safe place, probably blindfolded, gagged and chained to a tree somewhere. I wondered if she had been permitted to retain her clothing.

"Do you have pretty legs?" asked the man of the second girl in the line.

"Yes, Master," she said, smiling.

"You are aware," he queried, "of the penalties for lying to a free man?"

"Examine them, Master," she said, smiling, boldly. "It will not be necessary to beat me."

The last girl in the line cried out with indignation.

The man, with his knife, cut away much of the long, flowing white gown the girl wore, considerably shortening it, until it was provocatively high, ragged and exciting, on her thighs.

"It will not be necessary to beat you," he acknowledged.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

The last girl in the line snorted angrily, tossing her head in the air.

"Do you have pretty legs?" asked the man of the second gowned girl in the coffle.

"I do not know, Master," she whispered. "I am only a girl's maid."

"Let us see," said the man, and, as he had with the first, transformed the flowing classic, sleeveless garment into a sweet scrap of lovely slave livery.

"May I speak?" asked the second gowned girl.

"Yes," he said.

"Are my legs-pretty?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"A girl is pleased," she said. She, too, like the others, stood straight.

"How shameless you are, all of you!" scolded she who was the third of the gowned girls in the line, the last in the line.

"And you?" inquired the man.

"I am a woman's slave," she said proudly. "I am above such things." She did not look at him. "I have dignity," she said.

"But a slave girl is not permitted dignity," he said. Then he said, "We will see your legs." He then, with his knife, shortened her gown, as he had those of the others, until its shreds, too, ragged and exciting, were high on her thighs. She stood before him, her legs, though those of a girl's maid, bared to his eyes.

"Excellent legs," he said.

She shuddered, but I did not think that she was entirely displeased with his appraisal. All women wish to be attractive to men. "I–I want to be a woman's slave," she said, I thought a bit uncertainly.

"Do you fear men so?" he asked.

She did not speak.

"What you want," he pointed out to her, "is not important." He regarded her. "Is it?" he asked.

"No, Master," she said.

He touched her about the throat and chin. "Have you never been curious about the touch of a man?" he asked.

"Come to me," said the first girl. "I will love you like you have never been loved before!"

"He is touching me!" cried the last girl.

"Wanton slave!" laughed the first.

The man then went to the first girl and took her in his arms. She cried out with pleasure and pressed herself to him, melting and yielding to his tunic and leather. He subjected her mouth and lips to a kiss which could have been only the prelude to fierce slave rape.

"I can kiss, too," cried the last girl. "Master! Please, Master!"

"No," moaned the first girl. "She is nothing. Stay with me. I am sensuous. You do not know what it is to have had a slave girl until you have had me!"

I heard a second wagon being driven from the camp. I thought it might be one of the produce wagons, but, as it later turned out, the treasure freight of the dowry wagon had been divided between two wagons, the produce in one discarded, to lighten the load and make driving swifter.

My master then re-entered the tent. "Rape her later," he said to the soldier who held the first girl in the coffle in his arms. Reluctantly the soldier put the moaning girl from him.

"Yes, Captain," grinned the soldier.

"When we are to be raped, and must serve you as slaves," begged the first girl, she who had been in his arms, "let me be the first to be raped, the first to serve you as a slave."

"You will not be forgotten, my beautiful little slut," he promised her.

"Thank you, Master, " she whispered.

"Do not forget Donna either," said the second girl.

"Nor Chanda," said the third.

"Nor Marla," said the fourth.

"Lehna is first," said the first girl.

The soldier regarded the fourth girl. Under his eyes she stood very straight in the coffle. The wrist ring was closed on her left wrist, inflexibly, fastening her with the other girls.

"Nor Marla?" he asked.

"Nor Marla," she said.

"Are you not a woman's slave?" he asked.

"Save me a place at your feet, Master," she said. "I am a man's slave."

My master walked about the coffled girls. Then he returned to his original place of stand. "Four beauties," said he, "a good catch. We shall have much pleasure with them, and then, should we choose to sell them, we will get a good price."

How right it struck me that he had said this of the beauties, and yet, in its way, how horrifying to me, an Earth girl. Why did these men not hide their dominance; why did they not pretend it did not exist; why did they not suppress it; why did they not thwart and repudiate the birthright of their nature; why did they not make themselves miserable; why did they not torture themselves and diligently cultivate weakness like the men of Earth, shortening their lives and praising themselves for the constriction and mutilation of their instincts? Were they not powerful enough to be manipulated, strong enough to be weak?

"Coffle her," said my master, looking at me.

I stiffened. Surely the coffle was not for me. I was his girl. I was not a new slave. I had served him well.

The soldier whistled, as though lie might have been summoning a pet sleen, and lifted an open wrist ring, the last ring on the chain. I ran angrily to the chain.

"We must make haste," said my master.

I felt my wrist taken, and the metal of the wrist ring snap shut upon it. I was coffled.

How angry I was to be chained with the new girls. I felt the chain hanging from my wrist, dangling from the wrist ring of the girl coffled before me. I was furious. I was well fastened. I could not escape.

My master looked down at me.

I lowered my eyes. I wore his chain.

He turned away from the coffle and, moving the slashed silk of the rear wall of the tent with his hand, brushing it to the right, not looking back, disappeared into the darkness.

"Marla was not kind to a poor slave when she was helpless," said Marla, the girl before me. "Maria is terribly sorry. Please forgive Maria."

"What?" I said.

"Marla is sorry, Mistress," she said. "Please forgive Marla." The girl was clearly frightened.

It seemed strange to me, that she had addressed me as Mistress, and her fear. Then I realized the legitimacy of her fear, that of a slave girl. She was the one who had called me "Dina," and who, when I had been bound, had kicked me. Now she was owned by my master, and she was a newer girl than I. She did not yet know the nature of the relationships in which she was now helplessly implicated, relationships which could be every bit as perilous and significant as the physical bond of steel on her wrist. Was I first girl? Was I over her? Did I have switch rights upon her body, as Eta had upon mine? Would I be cruel to her? Would I make her suffer? Would she have to please the masters incredibly, and constantly attend them, that they might perhaps be moved to shield her to some tiny extent from my vengeance? Too, she was coffled before me, and this put her much at my mercy. Chained as she was I might, if I chose, make the march a misery of unexpected blows and torments for her. Her fears, in the light of these considerations, were understandable.

"I forgive you," I told her.

Immediately the girl straightened herself insolently, and dismissed me from her awareness. She had, she assumed then, nothing to fear from me, and I might be contemptuously ignored. This irritated me. Doubtless she considered herself, and quite possibly correctly, my superior in beauty, and thus planned to soon stand higher in the relationships of bondage than I, a lesser girl. Having nothing to fear from me she would freely and opportunistically insinuate herself among the men. Slave girls compete for the attentions of masters. Each strives to be more pleasing to them than the other. The quality of a slave girl's life is commonly a direct function of her pleasingness to her master. Whether she Is a treasured love slave or an ignored pot-and-floor wench depends much upon her. Gorean men, unlike the men of Earth, do not bother much with girls that are not pleasing to them. Yet even such may find their utility, and indirectly serve masters, perhaps sweating in the public kitchens of the high cylinders, or laboring, neck-locked, at the looms in the cloth mills, or digging, chained with others, in the sul fields. It is a rare girl who, having tasted the mills or sul fields, does not beg her proprietor to be sold again on the open market, that she may attempt anew, and perhaps more successfully this time, to be pleasing to a man.

I was furious with the posture, so proud and sensual, of the girl before me. I wondered why I had forgiven her. It had seemed the natural thing to do. I had done it, unthinkingly. It was not irrational, of course. For example, she was beautiful, and any dominance which I might have over her might be temporary, and then our relationship might be reversed. What if she much pleased my master one night and he gave her switch rights over me? Also, on another march, it might be I who would be coffled before her, and at her mercy.

Yet I was angry. She now ignored me. Her victory had been cheaply won.

Suddenly, angrily, I kicked her.

She cried out, startled. I stood straight, as though I had done nothing. The soldier with the coffle, who was gathering jewelry into a scarf from various coffers in the tent, pretended that he had not noticed my action. Masters do not much interfere in the squabbles of slaves. Let them impose their own internal order among themselves. On the other hand, they would not approve if one slave injured or marked, or reduced in value, another. That would be serious, and not to be tolerated.

The girl before me now no longer stood proudly and sensually. She was now only a frightened, chained girl, at my mercy. She was coffled before me.

"On the other hand," I said to her, "I may not forgive you either."

"Marla begs forgiveness, Mistress," she whispered.

"I may forgive you and I may not," I said.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl. She trembled. The chain shook on her wrist. I was pleased. Too, if she feared me, perhaps I could, for a time, frighten her away from my master. She was a lovely female, Marla, and I had little doubt she would be incredibly delicious in the arms of a man. I suppose that I was jealous of her.

The soldier in charge of the coffle slung the scarf, loaded with jewelry from the coffers in the tent, over his shoulder. He grinned at me. I looked down, and smiled.

"We must make haste, Slaves," said he. We readied ourselves. I looked at him. He was not regarding me.

He was Gorean, and a man. It was not that he had dared to be a man. It was rather that he simply was a man.

"Attend me, Coffle," said he, "for bondage march." He held his hand, the visible signal of preparation, poised over his thigh.

We tensed.

But, strangely, though of Earth, I did not object to a world in which men, like larls, were healthy. I wanted them that way, rich and glorious in their power. I sensed, perhaps, my complementarity to them. Only in a world where there were true men could there be true women.

I felt the steel on my wrist, with its chain.

He struck his right thigh with his open hand, suddenly, sharply. We moved out, slave girls, on the left foot, that the pace of the march be uniform.

We were owned.

As I passed the soldier, who stood behind, to follow the coffle, to guard it, I felt weak. I tried to brush my left shoulder against him, but he, with his hand, roughly thrust me to the side. He did not then desire my touch. I and the others must wait, to see if he would permit us to touch him later.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I had wanted to touch him, and had not been permitted to do so. It was his will, the will of the man, which determined matters.

"Har-ta," said he. "Faster." Lehna, who was first girl on the chain, hastened.

Suddenly I was terrified. My will literally meant nothing. Anything might be done to me. The guard had not permitted me to do so much as brush against him. If I could not even placate a man sexually, I was completely without power. Even my attempt to please a man was dependent upon his permission that I should attempt to do so.

I shuddered.

I, hurrying, looked up into the black, starlit Gorean night. I trembled. I, though a girl of Earth, was chained in coffle under three barbaric moons.

"Har-ta," said the soldier.

Again Lehna hastened.

In moments we were leaving the camp, wading the stream.

I felt the cold water about my ankles, and then calves; then I felt it over my knees; then I felt it swirling at my thighs; we lifted the chain to hold it out of the water.

"Har-ta," said the soldier, he in whose charge we were.

Again we hurried. One does not daily under the command of a Gorean master.

I felt the pebbles and stones of the bank beneath my feet. The chain pulled forward on my wrist. I looked up at the wild moons.

I was a slave girl.

"Har-ta!" I heard. "Har-ta!"

The chain pulled forward again.

I, hurrying, stumbled behind the others.

I did not know into what bondage I was being led. I knew only that it would be absolute.