The Usurper

46

Cornhair shook her head a little, rustling the loop of chain wound about her neck, padlocked behind the back of her neck, fastening her to the others.

“Lift your head, stand straight,” said the slaver’s man.

Cornhair lifted her head, and straightened her body.

The long chain passed through rings, fastened to the wall behind the slaves. Every four or five feet, or so, it was wound about a slave’s neck and, as with Cornhair, two of its links were fastened together, behind the girl’s neck, with a padlock. In this fashion a girl may be easily added to the chain, or removed from it. The slave shelf on which the slaves stood was some one hundred feet in length and some four feet in depth. It was about three feet in height, from the street. The hands of each slave were manacled behind her back. The height of the shelf makes for easy viewing from the street, and the surface of the shelf, reached by four steps, entirely along its front, is wide enough to allow a prospective customer to ascend to its surface and more closely examine a slave, to test her limbs and body for soundness, to examine her skin for blemishes, her teeth for regularity, and so on. The prospective buyer may also test the slave for responsiveness, as that is extremely important in a slave. She is not a free woman. It might also be mentioned that most female slaves are extremely, helplessly responsive. That seems to be an accompanying characteristic of the condition, and the collar. Also, they do not wish to be whipped. The market, as one would suppose, was one of Telnar’s woman markets. There were several such markets in Telnar. This particular market was known as Tenrik’s Woman Market. It was in one of Telnar’s more shabby districts. It had seen its share of looting and arson. Indeed, from where Cornhair stood, her back to the wall, one of some twenty to twenty five or so slaves, she could see two burned-out shops. Some debris had been gathered together and placed to one side. Aside from this, things had returned muchly to normal here, and elsewhere, in Telnar. The guard planks of shops, with their rods and slung chains, which would be run through plank rings, were again stored to the side. Once more guardsmen, in their pairs, or larger numbers, made their rounds. Shutters were opened at higher levels. In two windows Cornhair could see plants. From another window, a pole was extended, on which washing hung. Men and women were about, passing by, conversing, shopping. A tunicked slave hurried by. Occasionally a man or woman paused to look at the slaves on the shelf. Cornhair could hear the tapping of a smith’s hammer somewhere. Within the last hour a redhead had been sold from the chain.

Across the street, some fifty feet or so away, and to the left of Cornhair, as she was chained, there was a small restaurant, catering mostly to workmen, little more than a room, a kitchen, and a counter. Within there were four tables, and outside, two tables on the street. In such a place one might get some bread, olives, and cheese, which one might wash down with beer or a cheap, pale kana. Soup, if one wished it, could be ladled out from a lidded receptacle within the counter itself. Many took their orders with them, wrapped in folds of brown, waxed paper.

Cornhair felt the tip of the slaver’s man’s switch at the side of her neck. Frightened, she straightened her body more.

“I have seldom seen a slave so switched,” said the slaver’s man, examining Cornhair’s tortured skin.

“My Mistress found me displeasing,” said Cornhair.

“Women do not know how to handle women,” said the man.

“They handle them as they wish,” said Cornhair.

“Pray to Dira,” he said, “that a man buys you.”

Dira, the goddess of love and beauty in the Telnarian pantheon, herself a slave girl, the slave girl of the gods, was the goddess of slave girls.

“I shall surely hope that a man buys me, Master,” she said.

This hope was common amongst female slaves. The natural subordination of the female is to the male. There you have the perfect complementarity of owner and owned, of Master and slave. Men may own, dominate, and master their slaves without compromise, but they are also quite likely, having what they want, to be satisfied with them, and happy with them. Indeed, many men, at least to other men, boast of the quality of their rope sluts and chain bitches. Too, as every slave girl knows, men are easy to please. When a man has what he wants, he is content. Why should he not be? Most men are kind to their slaves and treat them well, as they would any other beast they own. Indeed, it is rumored some men, unwisely perhaps, actually grow fond of their meaningless, luscious chattels. Indeed, the female slave is very special amongst the beasts a man might own. In his slave the man has all the intelligence, beauty, needs, depth, emotions, and feelings of the human female, all her excitement, desirability, sensitivity, helplessness, and vulnerability, and it is all his, all safe in his collar.

Too, the intervention of the free male is often the only thing the slave girl can hope for, to protect her from the hatred, jealousy, and cruelty of the free woman. The free male is often the only thing standing between the slave and the free woman, resolute and unconstrained, driven by vindictiveness and malice.

“Tenrik will soon be about, himself,” said the slaver’s man, “to hang your placard about your neck.”

“What will it say, Master?” asked Cornhair.

“I do not know,” said the slaver’s man.

“Should we not be permitted clothing, Master?” asked Cornhair.

“Not on Tenrik’s shelf,” said the man. “Do you think you are a free woman?”

“No, Master,” she said.

“Men like to see what they are buying,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

The fellow then seized one of Cornhair’s wrists, behind her, it manacled, chained to the other, by three links. He shook the wrist, with a rustle of linkage.

“You are well held,” he said, releasing her wrist.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Tenrik will be along presently,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

It had now been six days since the raid of Abrogastes on the capital, leading to the encounters in the palace, and the abduction of the two royal princesses, Viviana and Alacida. As nearly as Cornhair could gather, the abduction was not generally known.

The last few days had surely been amongst the worst in Cornhair’s life. In the lofty behaviors of her days of freedom, long ago, she had given little attention to the men and women she had routinely dismissed and slighted. They were not even enemies. They were too far beneath her. They were little more, from her point of view, than humiliori, save for their pretensions. Sometimes she mocked them, more often she ignored them, patently. Whereas she had frequently received the gratifications attendant on the superior person’s license to despise and humiliate inferiors, she had failed to realize, in her naïveté, that these others, however mistakenly, might take themselves as seriously as she took herself, and that slights, and such, unavenged, not replied to, might rankle, and fester, for years. How pleased then would so many have been, had they discovered the downfall of that haughty, thoughtless patrician, even of the senatorial class, the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, who had been the source of so many of their most keenly felt humiliations. Cornhair, in the matter of the Lady Gia Alexia of the Telnar Darsai, had fallen into the clutches of an enemy whom she had wholly forgotten, and even earlier, when aware of her, would never have accorded the dignity of being regarded as a rival, let alone an enemy.

“There!” had cried the Lady Gia Alexia, as she had snapped the collar on Cornhair’s neck. And then had come the first of Cornhair’s many switchings. The Lady Gia Alexia, almost beside herself with fury, had laid the switch liberally on the body of her slave, until scarcely an inch of Cornhair had not felt its stroke. She was even struck across the face, and she feared she might be blinded. She put her head down. She was struck even on the back and sides of the neck, and on the calves and ankles, as well as on her back and belly, sides, and arms and legs. “Please stop, Mistress! Please, stop, Mistress!” had begged Cornhair.

“There you are,” laughed the Lady Gia Alexia, lowering the switch, her arm weary, “once the rich, arrogant Publennia, scion of the Larial Calasalii, now a blubbering, beaten slave! Is it not true?”

“Yes, yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair. “Please do not beat me more!”

“Can you cook, slave?” asked the Lady Gia Alexia. “Can you sew?”

“No, Mistress,” wept Cornhair, her body a shuddering terrain of stinging fire.

“Can you do hair? Can you draw baths? Can you mix cosmetics, perfumes, use the pencils and brushes?”

“No, Mistress,” wept Cornhair. “Such things were done for me.”

“Useless slave!” said the Lady Gia Alexia.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“Perhaps you can launder, scrub floors, and carry a market basket behind your Mistress?”

“Yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair.

“And carry notes for me, to my male friends?” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” wept Cornhair.

“I have chains in my domicile, left over from a former tenant,” she said. “I am sure they will fit you nicely.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“You are familiar with slave gruel, are you not?”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“We will find a pan for you,” she said. “In the domicile, as you are a beast, you will, of course, not use your hands to feed yourself. Too, as you are a beast, you are not to stand upright. You may, of course, sit on the floor, kneel, lie down, be on your belly, be on all fours, or such. Too, you are not to use human speech unless permitted. If you wish to speak, you must approach me on all fours and whimper, for permission.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

Such strictures, of course, impractical on the street, were limited to the domicile.

As mentioned earlier, the last few days had been amongst the worst in Cornhair’s life. She was confined to lowly domestic labors, primarily the scrubbing of floors, naked and shackled, and, in this task, was loaned out, for a pittance, to several neighbors. She was also used for laundering, polishing leather, polishing silver, and such. Occasionally, she accompanied her Mistress to the market, bearing her basket, some steps behind her. Once, on the street, encountering some of her friends, the Lady Gia Alexia had turned to Cornhair, and had held out her switch to her. “Take it, if you wish,” she said. “I give you permission to strike me with it.” “No, no, Mistress!” had cried Cornhair, terrified, and fell to her knees, and put down her head, and piteously, in her terror, kissed, again and again, the Lady Gia Alexia’s slippers. One of her friends had laughed. “Now,” she said, “dear Gia, you need not cut off her ears and nose.” Cornhair, of course, from her days of freedom, was fully cognizant of the penalties which might attend such things, perceived imperfections in a slave’s deportment or service, things, for example, such as failing to speak deferentially to a free person, let alone such things as raising one’s hand to a free person, or striking a free person.

Nights were unpleasant for Cornhair, for the Lady Gia Alexia kept her in close chains, and chained by the neck, closely, to a ring in the foot of her couch. The morning and bedtime switchings, brief as they were, were also unpleasant.

Cornhair, in her days of freedom, with her slaves, and, later, after her reduction in wealth and status, consequent upon the Larial Calasalii’s loss of patience with her profligacy, with her single slave, Nika, had never considered that she herself might one day find herself in her present position, herself a slave at the mercy of a free woman.

The free woman hates the slave; the slave lives in terror of the free woman. And Cornhair was now a slave.

Aside from her various tasks, scrubbing, laundering, and such, Cornhair had also been utilized, as is not unknown for a free woman’s slave, to convey messages on behalf of her Mistress.

Naturally it is much preferable to use one’s own slave for such a purpose, particularly in certain instances, than to rely on the slave of a friend, a friend who has friends, with whom she is accustomed to exchange pleasantries.

The free woman’s slave, as she is inconspicuous, generally not known, and such, is, accordingly, a frequently relied upon instrument in her Mistress’ adventures. She constitutes an invaluable go-between in situations where a visible presence of the Mistress would be perilous, if not unthinkable. Indeed, the intrigues and assignations of a free woman would scarcely be conceivable were it not for the mediation of the free woman’s slave. By means of the slave, of course, bearing the relevant notes back and forth, assignations, trysts, secret meetings, and such, may be conveniently and discreetly arranged.

Four times, and twice in one day, Cornhair had borne a note from her Mistress to a gentleman in the Lycon district, an attorney and rhetor, Titus Gelinus, prominent in the courts. Indeed, his cross-examinations, summations, and perorations were commonly greeted with applause by auditors, many of whom, it seems, had crowded into the galleries to hear him speak. This was particularly impressive because, apparently, this applause was not previously arranged for, and paid for, as was rumored to be the case in many trials. Sitting in on trials, and following interesting cases, and such, was a favorite pastime of many citizens of Telnar, at least those who, apparently, had little else to do.

Cornhair knew little of the law. She did know, even from her days of freedom, that the testimony of slaves was taken under torture.

“There are many welts on your body,” had said Titus Gelinus, when first Cornhair had knelt before him, head down, and held up, in two hands, she small, scented note she was to deliver.

“My Mistress was not pleased with me, Master,” had said Cornhair.

“I suspect she is seldom pleased with anyone,” said Titus Gelinus.

Cornhair remained silent.

“Are you a good slave?” asked Titus Gelinus.

“I am a slave,” said Cornhair. “I try to be a good slave.”

“Look up,” said the rhetor.

Cornhair looked up, but avoided meeting the rhetor’s eyes.

“I have seen many such as you on the rack,” he said.

Cornhair, again, was silent. She did shudder.

Titus Gelinus then took the note, held it briefly to his nose, smelled it, and then opened it, and glanced at it, following which, with an annoyed gesture, he put it on a silver dish, on a marble-topped table to the side.

The rhetor had then returned his attention to Cornhair. “You are new,” he said.

“I have only recently had the honor of being put in Mistress’ collar,” said Cornhair.

“You are well-curved,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” said Cornhair.

“You should be a man’s slave,” he said.

Cornhair put down her head, and dared not respond. Cornhair realized that he, no more than anyone else, had questioned that she should be a slave, only that she would be more suitably owned by a male. And Cornhair herself, as we have gathered, had come to the realization, from her deepest thoughts, fought against for so long, in stark contrast to all that she had been taught, and her former life of arrogance and affluence, that she was appropriately a slave. That former life had been a lie. She belonged in a collar, at a man’s feet. She could not be herself otherwise; she could not be whole otherwise.

“Do you know the contents of this note?” asked Titus Gelinus.

“No, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Can you read?”

“Yes, Master, but I did not read the note.”

“Your Mistress wishes a tryst in a secret place,” he said.

“She is a free woman,” said Cornhair.

“Doubtless she fears for her reputation,” he said.

“Doubtless, Master,” said Cornhair.

“I am tempted to oblige her,” he said.

“I am sure she would be delighted, Master,” said Cornhair.

“You are pretty,” he said. “Perhaps you are worth a roll on the rug at the foot of my couch.”

“Please, no, Master!” said Cornhair. “I am a woman’s slave!”

“You are to be denied the touch of men?”

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair. “Please do not put me to your pleasure, lest I be maimed, mutilated, or slain by my Mistress!”

“She would know?”

“I fear so, Master,” said Cornhair.

“I grow weary of your Mistress, and the others, their kind,” he said. “I would, if I could, bar them from the galleries. Let them keep to the theaters, let them adore actors who portray heroes; let them applaud and acclaim poets, singers, gladiators, wrestlers, muleteers, drivers of four-horse and two-horse teams, athletes, vegetable growers, whoever, whatever, and refrain from wasting my time.”

“Is there a response to the note, Master?” asked Cornhair. “My Mistress will be waiting.”

“Tell your Mistress,” he said, “I have never received a more remarkable note.”

“I am sure she will be pleased,” said Cornhair.

“I am a man of influence and power,” he said.

“That is my understanding,” said Cornhair.

“Times are uncertain, and trying,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” said Cornhair.

“Would your Mistress’ ankles look well in shackles?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” said Cornhair, uneasily. “I have never thought of it. But perhaps, Master, she is a woman.”

“Good,” said Titus Gelinus, attorney and rhetor. “Leave through the kitchen. Ask for food, and a draught of kana.”

“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair, gratefully.

“You will take such things on your knees,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” said Cornhair.

Two days ago the Lady Gia Alexia had been returning from the market, and Cornhair had been following her, four paces behind, with the shopping basket.

The Lady Gia Alexia was, if possible, in a less favorable mood than usual. Certainly she had bargained in the market in a most demanding and abusive manner, which modality of discourse seemed, however, to have had little, if any, influence on the quantity, quality, or cost of her purchases. The underlying disgruntlement on the part of the Lady Gia Alexia, which had spilled over into the unpleasantries in the market, had to do, as the reader may already suppose, with Titus Gelinus. As yet, despite the Lady Gia Alexia’s zeal and importunities, no private meeting had been arranged with the rhetor.

Understandably, given the dispositions and personality of the Lady Gia Alexia, this lack of progress was conjectured to have, quite possibly, something to do with the bearer of her notes.

Cornhair was still in the tunic in which she had been turned over to the two agents of her mysterious buyer, that given to her in the outlet of House of Worlds on Varl Street, here in Telnar. It had been laundered several times, of course, in the interval between the House of Worlds and this current trip to the market, several days later. It was a light garment, and certainly not substantial, either in its length or weaving. Given the washings, its normal wear, and, we fear, the attentions of the lady Gia Alexia’s switch, often applied to its miserable occupant, it had become a bit parted, here and there, and, here and there, somewhat tattered, even ragged. As a result, certain aspects of Cornhair’s appearance were accentuated, if possible, even more so than is commonly the case with such a garment, designed, it seems, as much to reveal as conceal. It seems probable that the Lady Gia Alexia’s intention in the matter of her slave’s clothing was, at least in her view, to debase and degrade the slave. Had Cornhair been a free woman doubtless she would have been appropriately debased and degraded, but, of course, she was not a free woman. As a slave she took such a slight garmenture for granted. It was cultural for such as she, even as the collar. Too, slaves are commonly content with their bodies, indeed, happy with them. It seldom occurs to them, as it often occurs with free women, to be ashamed of their bodies. They rejoice in their naturalness, in their health and beauty; enjoying the same entitlements in this regard as would be accorded to any other lovely domestic animal. Too, it must be noted that slave garmenture is quite comfortable, and permits a considerable freedom of movement, two features not always found in the garments of the free woman, more constrained by convention and the dictates of propriety. Lastly, women wish to appeal to men. What woman does not wish to be found attractive? What woman does not wish to be found stimulating? What woman objects to being found exciting? Surely it is flattering and reassuring to a woman to know that she is desirable, that men want her, that men would like to have her in their collar. And what woman, then, finds herself the most wanted, and desired, of all women? The woman on the slave block, the one chained at his feet, the one in his collar.

Do you think the slave does not know how she is seen by men? Do you think she does not know how they turn to regard her in the street, how they assess her, how they speculate on what it would be to own her?

She is the most female, and desirable, of all women, the female slave.

“Oh!” cried Cornhair, almost spilling produce from the basket.

Had the Lady Gia Alexia not been so determined to enact her vengeances on the former Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, she might have provided her with a garment more suitable to a woman’s slave, one longer, more opaque, and such.

The Lady Gia Alexia spun about, angrily, switch in hand. “What is wrong?” she demanded.

“I was touched, Mistress!” wept Cornhair.

It was crowded, near the market. It was not clear who might have accosted the slave, in passing.

“Shameless, provocative slut!” said the Lady Gia Alexia, striking Cornhair across the upper left arm with her switch.

Cornhair knelt, head down, clutching the basket to her. She was then struck thrice more, once on the left side of the neck, once on the right side of the neck, and then, again, on the left side of the neck.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” said Cornhair. “I cannot help that I have the body I have, that I am in a collar!”

The Lady Gia Alexia backed away a pace.

“I do not see what men see in slaves,” she said. “Their beauty cannot begin to compare with that of a free woman.”

Cornhair kept her head down.

“Are you attractive?” she asked Cornhair.

“Some men have found me so, I think, Mistress,” whispered Cornhair, hoping not to be again struck. Her arm and neck still stung.“Do you think Titus Gelinus might find you more attractive than I?” asked the Lady Gia Alexia.

“Surely not, Mistress,” said Cornhair, shuddering.

The switch moved near her, but did not strike her. Cornhair could see its shadow.

“I cannot risk that,” said the Lady Gia Alexia. “Men are so stupid.”

“Forgive me, if I have been displeasing,” said Cornhair.

“I shall borrow, or rent, a plainer slave,” said the Lady Gia Alexia.

“Mistress?” said Cornhair, looking up.

“I have had enough of you,” said the Lady Gia Alexia. “Tomorrow morning I will see what I can get for you.”

“Mistress is going to sell me?” asked Cornhair.

“Yes,” said the Lady Gia Alexia, “and I trust you will not be so fortunate as to be purchased by a woman. That would be too good for you. Men are stupid, lustful beasts, gross brutes. Therefore, it is my hope that you will find yourself at the mercy of one.”

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Cornhair.

“Indeed, that is almost certain,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“Weep, lament, and cry ‘woe’,” she laughed.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“And I will make sure of something in your sale which will make a difference,” she said, “something which some may find of interest.”

“I do not understand, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

“You will see,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” said Cornhair.

The slaver’s man had now left Cornhair in her position on the shelf, with the others, the long chain running through its rings from the girl to her left, looped and padlocked about her throat, and then continuing on through the rings to the girl on her right, who was similarly secured, and so on.

Cornhair’s hands were manacled behind her. She was unclothed. Men, it seemed, liked to see what they were buying.

Men occasionally inspected the slaves. Sometimes they climbed to the height of the shelf, to inspect them more closely, to handle them, and such.

Cornhair could see the small restaurant across the street, to her left. A girl, a slave, was ladling out soup from the pot recessed in the counter. Another slave, briefly tunicked, was waiting on one of the interior tables. Such establishments commonly buy attractive female slaves, which is good for business. There is a turnover amongst such slaves, as men occasionally wish to take one home. Indeed, in its way, two girl markets faced one another across the street, the slave shelf and the restaurant, whose waitresses might be purchased. The waitresses had an advantage over the shelf girls, as they might move about before the Masters, chat with them, flirt with them, and such. Within the restaurant, on its right side, as one looked inward, was a narrow stairway, which led up, Cornhair supposed, to some rooms or apartments on a higher floor. There were few private homes in Telnar. Most of the buildings were four to six stories in height. The building across the street was four stories in height. The slaves would not be housed upstairs, as they were slaves. Presumably they would be housed in the back of the restaurant, or in its cellar.

Cornhair had been assured that Tenrik, owner of Tenrik’s Woman Market, where she was exhibited, would soon be about, to hang her placard about her neck.

It was warm on the shelf.

The intruders, the raiders, had not taken her with them. So easily she might have been the slave of barbarians! So easy it is to carry a woman away in ropes or chains! That still might occur, of course. Many girls had changed hands a number of times, and had worn their collars on several worlds, barbarian, imperial, primitive, and so on. The slave rose was known on agricultural worlds, industrial worlds, jungle worlds, desert worlds, sophisticated worlds, provincial worlds.

Cornhair was aware of being approached.

She straightened her body, and lifted her head.

She felt a placard, on its cords, being hung about her neck.

“May I speak, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” she was told.

“I thank Master for the soothing balm,” she said. It had been applied by a slaver’s man before she was brought to the shelf and added to the chain. She knew it need not have been applied.

“The welting will subside in time,” he said.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“May I inquire what I was sold for?”

“Vain bitch,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Twenty-five darins,” he said.

“That seems very little,” said Cornhair, puzzled. Had she not recently sold for forty darins?

“Your Mistress let you go cheaply,” he said.

“That I might know myself worth so little,” she said.

“Doubtless,” he said. “But she specified certain conditions.”

“Master?”

“That certain entries be included on your placard.”

“What, Master?” asked Cornhair, frightened.

“You were a poor slave, I gather,” he said.

“I tried to be a good slave,” she said.

He adjusted the placard.

“The first entry,” he said, “is ‘See that this slave is treated as she deserves’. That should encourage your new Master or Mistress to be ready with the whip, to punish you richly for the least flaw or dalliance, the least imperfection, in your service.”

“Yes,” said Cornhair, in misery.

“The second entry,” said Tenrik, “is that you were once the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of the Larial Calasalii.”

“No, no, Master!” begged Cornhair. “Scrape it away. Rub it out! Do not let that be known! The Larial Calasalii were hated. They were ruined! That is behind me! That is far away! Please, Master! I am now only a poor slave! Remove it from the placard. Men would hate me! I would be treated badly! I would live under the lash! I might be tortured, and slain!”

“It was a condition of your sale,” said Tenrik.

“Please, no, Master!” begged Cornhair.

Tenrik turned away, and left the shelf.

Cornhair pulled futilely at her wrists, manacled behind her. She struggled, shaking the chain looped about her neck. She sobbed.

Then she stood still, head down, the placard dangling about her neck.

She recalled the words of her former Mistress, that she would make sure of something in her sale, which would make a difference, something which some might find of interest.

“Perhaps I will not be sold,” she thought. “Perhaps no one will want me. Perhaps I will be auctioned somewhere, in a different market, as before. Perhaps he who buys me will have no interest in the placard. Perhaps he will be unable to read, or unable to read Telnarian. Perhaps he will know nothing of the Larial Calasalii. Perhaps he will have no interest in such things. This is a small market. Telnar is a large city. I have little to fear.”

It was now late in the afternoon.

The street was more crowded.

“Make way!” she heard. “Make way!”

Cornhair first saw two soldiers, or two whom she took to be soldiers, from the uniforms and accouterments, but the uniforms were none she recognized. Certainly they were not those of familiar contingents in the imperial forces, or those of guardsmen. These two soldiers, for they were soldiers of a sort, each carried a staff, some four feet in length, some two inches in width, with which they pressed aside men and women, cleaving a passage through the crowd. These two men were followed by another man, a large, proud-walking, darkly bearded man of fierce aspect. He, too, was uniformed, but differently. Cornhair understood him to be an officer, or official, of sorts, in any event, a person of some importance and authority. Behind him, armed with swords and bows, were four men, following in twos. This small entourage, then, consisted of an officer, or official, and six men, two to clear the way, and four in support.

The officer, as we shall speak of him, stopped, and viewed the shelf. Presumably there would be little of interest here to one of such apparent degree. The slaves were lovely, but, then, that is common with slaves. Presumably not one of the commodities which Tenrik hoped to vend were high slaves, exquisitely and lengthily trained slaves, unusually gifted slaves, familiar, say, with the songs of Tenabar IV and Sybaris, mistresses of the lyre, lute, and giron, knowledgeable in the literary classics of antique Telnaria, skilled in the dances of the desert world, Beyira II.

Cornhair did not know what such men might be doing in Telnar, or, particularly, in this rather shabby district. Surely they should be about some business in the vicinity of the palace, in, say, the administrative halls or courts.

The officer then turned away from regarding the goods on the shelf, and spoke to one of his subordinates, who then turned and, to the amazement of Cornhair, entered the restaurant across the way, and ascended the narrow stairway within it, on its right side, as one would look inward, which would lead up, doubtless, to various rooms or apartments. Some such rooms may be rented for the hour, or the night. In this way, they may serve the purposes of the less affluent in much the same way as more elegant and more discreet surroundings may serve the purposes of the better fixed and more discerning.

A short while later the subordinate descended the stairs followed by, to Cornhair’s dismay, the Lady Gia Alexia.

The Lady Gia Alexia then, with great deference, and servile awe, approached the officer. They conferred briefly. The Lady Gia Alexia then pointed to Cornhair, and the officer said something to his subordinate, the man who had fetched the Lady Gia Alexia, and he approached the shelf, and ascended to its surface.

Cornhair shrank back against the wall.

The subordinate lifted the placard on its cords away from Cornhair’s neck, descended from the shelf, and, in a moment, presented it to the officer, who perused it briefly, and returned it to him. The subordinate then returned to the shelf, ascended again to its surface, and hung the placard again about Cornhair’s neck. These proceedings had not escaped the notice of Tenrik, who now appeared beside Cornhair.

“Perhaps Master, or his principal,” he said, glancing toward the officer below, “is interested in a slave?”

“This slave,” said the subordinate, indicating Cornhair.

“Fifty darins,” said Tenrik, to begin the bargaining.

“One darin,” said the subordinate.

“Surely Master jests,” said Tenrik. “Consider the eyes, blue as the velvet of the skies of Corydon, the hair as golden as the shimmering crops of the Corn World, in the third planting, the exquisiteness of her features, so exquisitely, so helplessly, so vulnerably feminine, the delights of her bosom, the narrowness of her waist, the sweet width of her hips, the softness of the shoulders, the sweetness of her thighs and calves, the slimness of her ankles. Cheap at fifty darins.”

“One darin,” said the subordinate, “but you will receive this gold darin, should you sell her for a single darin.”

Tenrik grasped the gold piece. “She is yours, for a single darin!” he said.

“Master!” wept Cornhair, in protest, and Tenrik seized her by the hair, turned her head toward him, and cuffed her twice. Tenrik was not ill disposed toward her. Indeed, he had just made a considerable profit on her. But she should have known better.

The subordinate placed a single copper darin in Tenrik’s palm. He then drew a small, folded sheet of paper from his purse, unfolded it, and gave it to the merchant. “Deliver her to this address,” he said.

“Ah!” said the merchant, his eyes widening, regarding the opened bit of paper.

Cornhair dared not speak.

The subordinate then withdrew from the shelf, and rejoined the officer and the others.

Cornhair saw that the officer then handed something to the Lady Gia Alexia, on which her small fist closed instantly, greedily.

The small group then turned about, and, remarshaling themselves, withdrew, returning in the direction from which they had come.

“Make way!” called the two soldiers, now, again, in the lead, brandishing their pressing, crowd-cleaving staffs. “Make way!”

The Lady Gia Alexia thrust her way through the crowd, to the foot of the shelf, and, looking about herself, and holding the object so that few were likely to see it, she opened her palm to Cornhair, who saw within it a golden darin. “Farewell, slave,” she said, laughed, and then turned away, and hurried through the crowd. She had been successful, it seems, in finding a suitable buyer for Cornhair. A golden darin, of course, would purchase several slaves of the normal market value of Cornhair.

“May I speak, Master?” begged Cornhair.

“Certainly,” said Tenrik.

“Those men who bought me,” said Cornhair. “I do not recognize the uniforms, the emblems, and badges.”

“There is no reason you should,” said Tenrik. “The forces in which they serve are private forces. They have no official position within the empire. Their army is a private army, to be sure, one of the largest and most dangerous in the empire. It is the first time I have dealt with them.”

As indicated earlier, certain men, and families, have retainers, armed or otherwise. Just as a man might have a bodyguard, he might have ten bodyguards, or a hundred, and so on. A band may become a company, and a company a small army, and a small army a larger army. It was not unusual in the empire, particularly on more remote worlds where the authority and power of the empire was limited, or absent, for powerful men to form such groups. In our accounts we have already met one such, that of the wealthy merchant, Pulendius, of Terennia. Captain Ottonius, long ago known as the peasant, Dog, had trained in his gladiatorial school. And, needless to say, such armies, being the instruments of their commanders, and occasionally the tools of ambition and greed, do not always restrict their activities to enforcing the law and keeping the peace. Similarly, it is not always wise, or safe, to inquire into the antecedents of dynasties. Brigands and bandits not unoften lie at the roots of kingdoms.

“Ho!” called Tenrik to his man, the slaver’s man. “Behold!”

The slaver’s man joined Tenrik on the shelf and looked at the paper in Tenrik’s hand, that given to Tenrik by the subordinate, that on which was inscribed the address to which Cornhair was to be delivered.

“By the sky,” said the slaver’s man, “I know the place, the great villa northeast of the city, overlooking the river, with the walls, the barracks, with the guards, the unleashed, prowling vi-cats.”

“I have never been there,” said Tenrik.

“Nor I,” said the slaver’s man. “It is not to be approached.”

“They will be expecting the slave,” said Tenrik.

“Master,” said Cornhair. “May I know who bought me, may I know who owns me?”

“It is on the paper,” said Tenrik.

“Master!” begged Cornhair.

“Take her from the shelf,” said Tenrik, to his man. “Wash her, and feed and water her. And then kennel her, stoutly. In the morning, we will put her in the wagon and deliver her.”

“Very good,” said the slaver’s man.

“And have her chained,” said Tenrik, “heavy chains.”

“But she is a woman,” said the man.

“Nonetheless,” said Tenrik, “put heavy chains on her.”

The padlock was removed from the two links of the common chain it bound, that looped about Cornhair’s neck, which chain, then freed, was opened and lifted away, over her head, which freed her from the common chain. She was not freed from the manacles which fastened her hands behind her. One key, incidentally, as is often the case, was matched to all the shelf padlocks and all the manacles used to hold the shelf stock. This constitutes a considerable convenience for the merchants and their staffs.

As she was in the presence of free men Cornhair immediately knelt.

“Master,” she said to Tenrik.

“Slave?” he responded.

“May I inquire,” she said, “to whom I belong, who owns me?”

“Keep her on her knees, your hand in her hair,” said Tenrik to his man.

Cornhair was then on her knees, her hands manacled behind her, the slaver’s man’s hand fastened in her hair, looking up at Tenrik.

“Master?” she begged.

Tenrik glanced, again, at the paper. “Rurik,” he said, “Rurik, Tenth Consul of Larial VII, Rurik, of the Larial Farnichi.”