Witness of Gor

24

It can not be so late, I thought, the bar ringing so many times, I have not slept that long. Look, the sun is still high. It can be no more than late afternoon!

I saw two men running across the terrace, robes fluttering behind them.

Far off I saw a woman in the robes of concealment rushing away.

I saw a fellow by the balustrade pointing outward, toward the mountains. “Look!” he was crying. “Look!”

I suddenly became aware that the bars were those of alarm, ringing incessantly.

The pad of the lock gag was in my mouth. The curved metal bars were like a bit between my teeth.

I rose to my knees. Then I rose to my feet. I could stand at the ring, as the leash permitted it.

I could hear other bars, too, now, about the city.

“There!” cried the fellow by the balustrade.

I went to the end of the chain. I stood up on my tiptoes, even pulled the ring up.

I could see, now, over the balustrade, a line of tarns, perhaps some twenty or so, knifing their way toward some part of the city, to my right, beyond the bridge, beyond the docking area.

They are not of this city, I thought. They are strangers! It is a raid! They have come through the defenses!

I, standing, watched them.

They seemed placid enough, so far away, moving swiftly, in single file, toward the right, toward some other part of the city.

Perhaps they had moved in stages, by night, coming closer and closer to the city, concealing themselves by day in ravines, now, at this time of day, making their dash toward the city. They might have three Ahn until darkness. That was quite possible the time they had allotted for their work. Then they would doubtless attempt to withdraw, their work done, whatever it might be, under the cover of darkness.

Then I turned back toward the wall, in a rattle of chain, for a gigantic shadow, frightening me, fleeting and wild, had been cast upon the wall. It was a tarnsman of the city, hurrying forth, overhead, to intercept the raiders. Behind him there came two more. One of the tarns screamed. It was an incredibly loud, frightening, piercing sound. It rang from the wall.

What could twenty men, or so, do against a city?

The line of tarns in the distance had no disappeared.

Surely it could be only a token raid, a response, a reprisal, at best.

A line of guardsmen hurried across the terrace.

Some men now emerged from buildings. Some made their way over to the balustrade. Others crossed the bridge, toward the docking area. Whatever was going on did not, it seemed, concern this part of the city. I saw even the robes of a free woman coming out onto the terrace.

Some more tarns, from the city, hastened by, overhead.

The bars continued to sound.

“What is it?” cried a man.

“Strangers! Tarnsmen!” he heard.

“A raid,” said another.

“Whence?” asked a man.

“Who knows?” asked another.

“How man?” asked one.

“Not many,” said a man.

“Twenty, thirty,” said another.

“So few?” said a fellow. “They must be mad!”

“They cannot be interested in the city,” said another.

“There must be a tarn caravan approaching the city!”

“It would have its escort,” said a man.

“There are non scheduled,” said another, one with the sleeves of a blue robe rolled up.

“What could they want?” asked a man.

“Women?” suggested a man.

I backed away a bit toward the wall. We, I knew, to men such as those on this world, did count as booty, obedient, trainable, well-curved booty. We learned to serve our masters well. And, indeed, women such as I, slaves, as we were domestic animals, constituted booty in a most uncontroversial, immediate and obvious sense, a form of booty as taken for granted here, as, on another world, cattle to Huns, horses to Indians. To be sure, we were not the only sort of animal which counted as booty. Many other sorts would have, as well, even the mighty tarns. And, as I have indicated, we are not specially privileged. Here, on this world, even the free woman counts as booty.

“What was their direction?” asked another.

“There!” said a man, pointing.

“That is it,” said a man, convinced.

“The pens!” said a fellow.

“Yes,” said another.

“But it is madness,” said another. “The pens are guarded.”

“They must be mad,” said another.

“Look!” said a fellow. “There come our lads!”

“Are they ours?” asked a man.

“See the banners!” said another.

I stood up, again, on my tiptoes, to look, between the men. There must have been nearly a hundred tarnsmen now in flight.

Only too obviously were they on the trail of the earlier party.

“Those poor sleen,” said a fellow. “They will be cut to pieces.”

Though none seemed to notice me, I thought it best to kneel. There were, after all, free men present.

“They can stop the bars,” said a fellow.

“No,” said another. “Let the city stay alert.”

“It may even be over by now,” said a man.

This seemed to me possible, particularly if the strangers had reached the pens. They would be, I assumed, well secured, well defended. Too, tarnsmen and guardsmen from about the city had doubtless rendezvoused at that point by now. But moments ago I had seen tarnsmen even from this part of the city hurrying in that direction.

“We may as well go home now,” said a man.

“But why would so few men try to reach the city?” asked a fellow. “And why, so few in number, would they strike at the pens?”

“They are mad,” said a fellow.

“Drunk,” suggested another.

A man looked down at me, and I quickly lowered my head, that I not meet his eyes.

“It is over now,” said a fellow.

“We do not know,” said a fellow. “There may still be fighting.”

“There were less than fifty, surely,” said a man.

“I think it would be over,” said another.

At about that time the bars began to diminish, first one stopping sounding, and then another.

“Yes,” said a fellow. “It is over now.”

They began then, wishing one another well, separating the one from the other, to take their diverse ways from the terrace.

I lifted my head.

It was still bright, still late afternoon.

I wondered if, elsewhere, some skirmish was done, some steel reddened.

It was a strange feeling, being where I was, where it seemed so quiet, the sky so blue and calm, the clouds moving overhead, unhurried, knowing that not far away some terrible action might be ensuant, perhaps at the pens. But the bars had stopped sounding. It was done then. It was over.

I sat back against the wall.

I wondered where the Lady Constanzia and the scarlet-clad fellow might be. One supposed they might have taken cover with the sounding of the bars. Or perhaps she had been braceleted while he went to investigate, perhaps one bracelet put about her left wrist, and the other about the linkage of a stout fence, or perhaps she had been knelt before a stanchion, her wrists braceleted about it.

Some folks were strolling now on the terrace. I closed my eyes, against the heat, the sun.

“Look!” I hear. It was a man’s voice. It came from somewhere in the vicinity of the balustrade.

I opened my eyes and stood up, by the ring. I looked in the direction in which he was pointing, out, over the balustrade. Several others, too, were looking. Some of these were near the balustrade. Others had turned about, from where they were on the terrace.

“Look!” he cried again.

I could now see, in the distance, that to which he must have reference. It was another flight of tarns. They seemed tiny, so far away. It was difficult to judge their number.

“Tarns!” said another fellow, now, too, pointing. Two more men ran to the balustrade.

The tarns seemed larger now. They must be coming very rapidly, I thought. It seemed clear that there were more tarns in this group than in the first group, perhaps considerably more, but by how much the numbers of this group might exceed those of the first group it would be very difficult to say, that for two reasons, their formation and orientation. They were in single-file, like the first group, but they were not moving to the right, as had the first group, an orientation that had made possible a fairly exact estimate of their numbers. Rather, this time, in file, they seemed to be moving directly toward us. If one had not been looking at an exact point in the sky one might not even have noticed them. Too, they seemed at a fairly low altitude, approaching parallel to the ground. They might not be more than a few yards height above the walls. At times they were difficult to detect for the mountains behind them.

“They’re coming this way!” said a fellow.

“Go,” said a man to a free woman. “Leave! Get indoors! Get off the terrace!”

I saw a child, with a ball, running toward the balustrade.

“Run!” said a man.

“There is no danger!” said a fellow. “The bars are not sounding!”

“They have to be our lads!” said another. “It is a second pursuit!”

“Disperse! Disperse!” said a guardsman, near the balustrade. “Move! Move!”

The flight did indeed seem to be approaching with great rapidity.

“Go!” said the guardsman. He actually pushed a fellow. That is seldom done with free persons.

If the approaching riders had banners they had not yet unfurled them. To be sure, this is normally done only when recognition is practical, or important. It might be mentioned, too, that the unfurled banner, at high speeds, is difficult to manage. It requires a strong man under such conditions to keep it from being whipped from its boot. It also, because of drag, reduces airspeed. Too, obviously, it handicaps its bearer in combat. His compensation is the banner guard, usually four of his fellows whose duty it is to protect him and the ensign. Actual instructions in flight are usually auditory rather than visual. They tend to be transmitted not by manners, or standards, or even pennons, but by tarn drums, trumpets, and such. Even riderless birds, as I understand it, will often respond to these signals, the charge, the wheel to one attitude or another, the ascent, the dive, the retreat, and such. In measured flight, tarn drums may also supply the cadence for the wing beat.

“Go!” said the guardsman.

“The bars aren’t sounding!” protested a man.

“Go!” cried the guardsman.

I saw a woman turn about and began to hurry from the terrace.

“There!” said a man. “See! The banners! The banners of Treve!”

There was a cheer from those on the terrace.

Still the flight proceeded toward us.

“Run!” screamed the guardsman. “Run!”

“No!” cried a man.

“Look!” cried another.

“See the banners!” cried another.

“Run!” screamed the guardsman. “Run!”

Suddenly, overhead, only yards above us, there was a terrible sound of screaming tarns, and a blasting storm of wings. I hear a terrible scream of a tarn and saw one of its wings cut from its body by the almost invisible, swaying tarnwire. I saw another great bird tangled in it, tearing at it, bloodily. Another had thrust its talons about the wire and was wrenching it about. Two birds thrust though the wire, darting within its interstices. The terrace was filled with screaming, running people. There was a mass of color and robes. On the terrace the tarn which had lost its wing was screaming and flopping about. Another tarn broke through the wire. I then saw some five men, suspended from a rope, lowered from a hovering tarn, descent to the terrace. The guardsman who had been at the balustrade rushed toward them. I backed against the wall, to which I was chained. Even so, I was buffeted by people fleeing, seeking the edge of the wall. Some fled over the bridge. Some fled toward the steps at the end of the terrace. I saw more tarns darting through the wire, guided by a fellow, still mounted on his tarn, on the terrace. Some other men were running toward the posts supporting the wire. Another fellow, suspended from the saddle, the tarn hovering, was cutting at the wire with a two-handled tool. Other riders soared overhead casting down wired weights to drag at the wire, perhaps to pull it down, perhaps to increase its tautness, rendering it more vulnerable to stress. I saw one of the tarns on the terrace seize a fellow in its beak, and then half of him was cast to the side. Another tarn had four men grasped in its talons. Its head seemed alert, lifted, its eyes wickedly bright, scanning to the left and right. There must have been some fifty intruders now on the terrace, some in the saddle, others dismounted. I could see more tarns coming over the mountains. Doubtless they would be directed in, though the gaps in the wire, it cut from the posts by the men who had scaled them. I saw a woman showered with blood from the mutilated tarn. Its rider, now dismounted, drew his sword, and, with one stroke, cut its throat. The woman fled. I heard orders being issued. I did not know the accents. Save for the intruders the terrace was now mostly empty. Those who had been here, who had managed the matter, had fled. But there were, in many places on the terrace, crumbled forms.

I saw the ball which had been the child’s rolling in the wind across the terrace. The guardsman who had cried out at the balustrade lay in blood only a few yards from me. Beside him lay two of the intruders. I became vaguely aware, now, that the bars were again sounding. The defenses of this part of the city, I gathered, had been drawn away, to defend the pens. But surely the alarm was now once again out. Surely it could be only a matter of minutes before a defense could be mustered. I smelled smoke. But what if the tarnsmen of Treve, those in the vicinity, were in pursuit of the first flight? What if it had drawn them away? Could they hear the alarm bars behind them, in the city? Could they be recalled? Could a messenger catch up with them? How much time would it take to do so, and then return? And would the officers of the pursuit return to the city? Their priorities might be otherwise. The pursuit of intruders, I knew, was tenacious, relentless. It would be important to the pursuit that the secret of the city be kept. Any who knew it might later be a guide to thousands. However many had slipped into the city might, in accord with some sober military calculus, be left for later. In a sense, were they not now isolated, trapped? There must be tarnsmen left in the city, though. Surely there must be! I was sure, too, there would be numerous guardsmen, spearmen, bowmen. Did they know where the intruders were? It was perhaps two Ahn until darkness. There were now several of the intruders, some mounted, others not, on the terrace. I would have guessed their number at some one hundred and fifty men. One fellow seemed to be in command. He seemed to be issuing orders, fiercely, impatiently, but I could not hear them. I saw several men, in squads, rush away. Some of these squads went into buildings, adjoining the terrace. One went toward the stairway, across the terrace. Another turned about, toward me. I lay down at the foot of the wall, my knees drawn up, terrified, looking down at the stones. They sped past me. When I looked up, I realized the one party had gone to seal off the stairway, and the other, that which had run past me, perhaps without even really seeing me, had gone to the bridge. These were the two principal access points to the terrace. To be sure, it could doubtless be reached in some other fashions, though narrow passageways, over the balustrade from below, descending from adjacent roofs, perhaps through certain buildings.

On the terrace, now discarded, lying among bodies, I saw some of the banners of this city, which had been displayed during the approach to the city. Too, here and there, on the stones, occasionally glinting in the oblique rays of the lowering sun, strands of it, like lengths and tangles of metallic webbing, was tarnwire.

To me this incursion seemed madness.

Surely there were less than two hundred men here.

Obviously they could not take the city.

I saw one of the intruders light a torch. He hurried into an adjacent building. Two other followed him. What could be the purpose of these men here? I had just seen the fellow with a torch enter a building. Indeed, I had smelled smoke, earlier. Certainly fires must have been started. But I did not think they could burn the city, not unless they were prepared, in effect, except perhaps for certain districts, to enter and torch it, building by building. And many Gorean dwellings are not easy to access. In many the only access is in virtue of bridges which are often high above the ground level, bridges which may be easily defended, even destroyed. Whereas the buildings, and towers, might be burned out, it would be practical, on the whole, to do it only from the inside. This was not a place which might be destroyed by a single lamp, brushed by a sleeve from a table, or by the focused rays of a lens, poised over straw, waiting for the sun.

But if they could not take the city, nor destroy it, what was their purpose in coming here?

It must be gold, I thought, or women.

To my left I saw one of the raiders dragging a free woman toward the center of the terrace. Her hood and veils had been disarrayed. His hand was in her hair. He threw her to her knees in the vicinity of the officer. I then saw another raider conducting another free woman forth. Her hood and veils were also disarrayed. She was bent over. She hurried beside him, as she could, his left hand in her hair, her head held down, at his hip. It is a common leading position for female slaves. In the pens I had often been conducted from one place to another in that fashion. It is painful. His right hand held a drawn sword. It was bloodied. This woman, too, was put to her knees near the officer.

Yes, I thought, they are after women, and gold!

But the two women were not stripped. They were not bound, or chained. I did not see them being tied over saddles, or to saddle rings. There seemed no cage baskets with raiders. I saw no plate, or candelabra, no vessels of silver or gold, being brought forth. Had it not yet been fetched?

And how would these goods, these loots, of precious metal, of soft flesh, of unusual fabrics, of rare spices, be transported whence these intruders derived?

Did they think this would be easy?

At any time the men of Treve might fall upon them!

What an irrational and improbably wager they lay with the fates of the mountains and steel! What an abuse of economic realities was here enacted! Were the odds of defeat so difficult to calculate? Was it so hard to judge of the speed of birds, the distance to safety, the numbers of the pursuit, the determination of the pursuers? What could they hope to obtain here that might render them willing to accept risks so irrational?

One man had conjectured that they might be drunk but the bravado of a drunken spree might suffice for the scaling of a wall or the storming of a gate but it would not carry men for days across mountains, hiding by day, moving by night. Then it must be, I thought, as another had conjectured, they must be mad, the whole of them, the several of them, together, they must all be mad. Was a woman or two, a sack of plate, a handful of gems, worth their lives? Did they value their lives so lightly? It must be that, I thought, they must all be mad.

Across the terrace, now, to my left, as I now knelt, my back to the wall, I saw some people being herded out, onto the terrace, from one of the buildings. There were perhaps thirty or forty of them. They were being brought to the center of the terrace, where the officer held forth. They were put in a circle, on their knees, huddling there, crowded together. The two women who had been brought for the earlier were now among them. Men with swords drawn stood about.

But they could not be mad, I thought, not so many.

The women in the group were still clothed.

Surely they would remove their clothing and assess them, and secure those of most interest, those destined then, could they but reach safety, for the pens, and the block.

But they were still clothed.

I saw a fellow drawn forth from the huddled group and thrown before the officer, or commander, of the intruders. Then, a moment later I, shrinking back against the wall, aghast, saw him put to the sword. Then another was drawn forth, he, too, suffering, after a moment, the same fate. There were cries of misery from the huddled group. It surged, uneasily. Intruders at its periphery tensed, swords raised, to strike down the first who might leap up, who might try to run.

I then, to my horror, saw a woman pulled forth from the group. It was a woman! She, too, in a moment, was put to the sword.

I pulled at the bracelets on my wrists. I only hurt myself. Such devices, close-fitting, obdurate, restrain us, with perfection. I pulled against the leash collar with the side of my neck, but it was close about my neck, then above the kajira collar. The linkage of the chain clinked, the ring creaked, pulled up, straightened, from the wall. Then, held as securely as before, as helplessly, I sank back to my knees, in misery. The chain was then slack, dropping down from the back of the leash collar, looping up to the ring.

I saw a slave girl fleeing from one of the buildings. She ran, erratically, like a frightened, confused animal, here and there, on the terrace. She avoiced the intruders. She fled toward the bridge. She must have seen men there. She turned back. She started toward the stairway across the terrace, but, in a moment, stopped. There were men there, too. She fled then to the balustrade and crouched down by it, trembling, making herself small. But she was put pursued. I did not understand it. None came after her, with a rope or chain, or even a loop of fine wire. Her legs, I had thought, had been excellent. She had certainly seemed worthy, I would have thought, of interest. It seemed likely that she would, in a neck chain, on a block, obedient to the instructions of an auctioneer’s whip, have stimulated spirited bidding. But she crouched by the balustrade now, trembling, neglected.

I saw another man drawn out of the group. He, too, in a moment, was put to the sword.

A shadow moved swiftly across the terrace. I looked up, wildly. It was a tarnsman, aflight, undoubtedly a warrior of the city! The intruders, too, looked upward. Had there been doubt as to their location in the city, which seemed doubtful, it had now been dispelled. Surely guardsmen of the city must have formed by now. And so, too, would have warriors quartered within the walls, though the accustomed precincts of their duty lay not within the city itself. The guardsmen, the warriors, either, would surely far outnumber the intruders. Why did the intruders not fly? Did they not realize the danger in which they stood?

I saw another man put to the sword, then another woman.

I saw two more slave girls flee out of a building. They, too, like she before them, saw nowhere to run. One, a redhead, ran to the wall to throw herself to her belly there, under a slave ring. She covered her head with her hands. She was some twenty yards to my left. The other, a blonde, finally fled to the balustrade to join the other girl there. The drop from the terrace to the next level, below, at the balustrade, was more than a hundred feet. None of the intruders showed interest in the slaves. Yet all, like most of in this city, which seemed to have its pick of slaves, were clearly of high quality.

I saw another man drawn out of the group and put to the sword.

This must be some mad form of reprisal, I thought, pulling these people out, butchering them.

Had such a thing been done by the men of Treve in their city?

Perhaps.

But I did not think it likely. The motivations of the men of Treve, as I understood them, were predominantly economic. I did not think they would be above pillaging and burning, but I would not have expected them to behave in this fashion. In particular I would not have expected them to put women to the sword. Women, from the point of view of the men of Treve, and from the point of view of most of the men on this world, as I understand it, are to be seen in terms of other purposes.

Another man was put to the sword.

But if it were mere massacre that was upon the mind of these men, if simple butchery was their intent, why did they not fall upon the huddled, kneeling group as a whole? Why did they not, in some two dozen fierce, merciless strokes, make the terrace run red with blood? Indeed, why had they bothered to bring them forth, here, to the terrace? Why had they not slaughtered them before, in the very vestibules, in the corridors, on the stairways of the buildings themselves?

I saw then another group brought forth from a building. It was smaller than the first group. Perhaps it had been cut off in one of the buildings, a rear entrance sealed. With this group, of some twenty or thirty individuals, including some children, I glimpsed the bared legs and arms of some tunicked slaves, at least five or six of them. The tunics of two, at least, were of silk. These women, these slaves, though animals, were being herded along, shoulder to shoulder, frightened, with the free individuals.

I heard swordplay, from my left, and about the corner of the wall. Some defenders of the city, it seemed, doubtless come across the docking area, were now engaged in contest for the bridge leading to the terrace. It was some fifteen feet in width. I could not see what was occurring. I could hear the clash of metal.

In a moment the sounds were ended. I waited, expectantly, to see fleeing intruders, or triumphant guardsmen, stream onto the terrace. But there was nothing. The challenge then, it seemed, had been repelled. There had not been enough men to force the bridge.

The new group of prisoners had now been flung among the others.

The sun was lower now, over the mountains.

There wee cries of misery as another fellow was dragged out of the group and, before the commander of the intruders, put to the sword.

Men among the intruders looked up, tensely, at the skies.

The commander, impatiently, angrily, swept his arm toward the wall. The slave girls in the group, those who could do so, rose to their feet, unsteadily. Others were jerked to their feet by intruders, storming among the kneeling figures. An order was barked. In two cases a blow was delivered. The slaves hurried from the group, to come to the wall, where they knelt, or lay, or crouched down, terrified. They had been separated out from the free individuals. I noted, startled, the brunette, long haired, her legs muchly bared in brief scarlet silk, in a golden collar, who had been among the first to flee the wall. She now lay near me, under the first slave ring to my left. She seemed half in shock. She was looking down at the stones, frightened, her legs drawn up. I do not think she knew me. The scarlet silk informed me, and all who might look upon her, that she was to be understood as a pleasure slave. In her ears were large golden rings. They said much about her, what she was, and how men were to view her, and what they were entitled to expect of her, everything, and such. She, like myself, was a pierced-ear girl. Her golden collar, if not the rings, suggested that her master was rich, and, indeed, he was. I knew him. The slave who lay beside me, not even realizing it, was she who belonged to the officer, he whom I had served recently in his compartments. She was the slave I had met long ago on the surface of one of the towers, she whose name was “Dorna.” Like myself, she was now only a pierced-ear girl. To be sure, she had silk, and a golden collar.

Smoke was now emanating from three of the buildings bordering the terrace.

A free woman was seized by the hand, and drawn forward, out of the group, to be flung on her knees before the officer. I saw her look wildly to he right, to the wall, where the slaves were, as she was dragged forward. Then she was on her knees. It was she whom I had first seen dragged by the hair toward the center of the terrace.

A moment later I saw a sword raised over her head. “No!” she screamed.

I could hear her even at the wall. She tore down the robes from her shoulders, thrusting them down over her hips, even onto her calves. “I am a slave!” she screamed. “I am a slave!” The sword wavered, then lowered. The officer pointed to the wall. The female rose up, sobbing, band began to run toward the wall. A command arrested her and she stopped. She had not removed her slippers. She kicked them off and then ran to the wall, to kneel there, trembling. The slave girls drew away from her. They feared her, as she must surely be a free woman.

“I, too, and a slave!” cried out another woman in the crowd. It was she whom I had seen being led at the intruder’s hip, the second woman who had been brought to the center of the terrace. She, too, tore down her robes. Those near her in the group pulled back, isolating her. So she knelt naked in her heap of robes, in a small open space in the group. An impatient gesture from the commander of the intruders ordered her, too, to the wall. Frenziedly she pulled off her slippers and ran to the wall, to huddle there with the other woman. Four more women, too, then, proclaiming themselves slaves, purchased thusly their release from the group and, in turn, commanded, fled to the wall.

I heard then, suddenly, war horns, trumpets.

Men of Treve, no, in force, I thought, had come to the bridge. I did not know how long a handful of intruders could hold it. Toward the center of the terrace some intruders held the reins of several tarns.

We could hear shouting now, from the vicinity of the bridge.

I also saw intruders pointing out, over the balustrade. There were several tarns in flight, moving rapidly in this direction.

Two of the intruders, from the group at the center of the terrace, hurried toward the wall, swords drawn. The slaves were muchly pinned against it. I, of course, was held well in place by the impediment on my neck.

The slave, Dorna, may not even have seen them coming. She was looking down. It seemed she feared even to move.

One of the fellows with a sword was well to my left, much farther down the wall. The other was less far away. The farther fellow went to his right, the nearer one to his left, approaching us. Roughly did he interrogate those at the wall, including the stripped women, those who had proclaimed themselves slaves. “Where is the entrance to your pits, to your depths?” he cried, sword at the ready. I conjectured suddenly, sick, that this may well have been the object of the intruders interest. Perhaps some in the group had known one of the entrances but had refused to divulge the information, and had, thusly, honorably, at a stroke of the sword, perished. But most of those who had been slain, I was sure, would not have known any of the entrances. Such things are not public information. But they had been slain, too. I was sick. I had seen even free woman put to the sword. How terrible were these men, how desperate, how determined! One, or, at least, one who was free, who might know an entrance, it seemed, would have been well advised to reveal it. The truth or the sword was the choice offered to those hapless prisoners drawn forth from the group and put before the commander. Again and again he had given the sign that had brought the sword down on a bared neck.

“Oh!” cried the slave next to me, in pain, Dorna, kicked like a common slave, though she wore scarlet silk and a golden collar. “Where is the entrance to the pits, the depths!” cried the intruder.

“I do not know, Master!” she wept. “I do not know!”

This, I was sure, was true. She had been taken from the top of the tower before I had been entered into the concealed shoot which had sped me far below the city, to the net suspended over the pool, that to which the giant urts had access.

“Oh!” she cried, again kicked.

He then turned to me and pulled my head up by the hair. He saw the hinged metal plates across my mouth, those attached to the gag’s leather binding, the curved bars, inserted deeply between my teeth, emerging then at the sides of my mouth, curving about my neck, the whole locked behind the back of my neck, secured there with a thrust-lock.

He raised his sword in fury, in frustration, and I closed my eyes. I expected to die. Then I was flung angrily to my left side, and I fell there, on my chain, almost beside Dorna. The intruder was hurrying now about the wall, toward the bridge.

I heard another trumpet.

A tarn now flashed by, a few yards overhead.

It was less than an Ahn now till darkness.

I saw some of the intruders mount their tarns. Some of the great birds smote their way upward through the dislodged wire, to meet the newcomers.

I saw one of the intruders from the group across the terrace, at the stairway, hurrying back to the main group.

Two more buildings adjacent to the terrace were now aflame.

The intruder who had come from those stationed at the stairway rushed before the commander, pointing back toward the stairway. I saw then the commander, with several men, hurrying in that direction. In that direction, I knew, ay one of the entrances. It was the only one I knew, other than the unenviable one which lay at the top of the tower. The men at the stairs, as far as I knew, had not had to defend them, unlike the men at the bridge. Perhaps, disburdened of the necessities of defense, they had apprehended someone who knew, or pretended to know, a ground-level entrance, perhaps the one I knew, to the depths. In any event, the commander had hurried toward the stairway. Almost at the same time a line of guardsmen appeared far to my left, emerging from one of the buildings. They had perhaps forced the rear entrance, and used this as an avenue onto the terrace. An instant later I saw intruders, fleeing past on my left, having come doubtless from the bridge. One, only yards away, pitched rolling to the terrace, the quarrel of a crossbow in his back. In what seemed a breath later I saw guardsmen of Treve, swords drawn, burst onto the terrace, come, too, doubtless from the bridge. One intruder turned to fight, but was cut down by five men. Others hurried across the terrace, toward the far stairway. The men who had guarded the group near the center of the terrace now rushed from the group, some to seize the reins of tarns, others running toward the stairway. There came a cheer from the group, as it rose now to its feet. Guardsmen of Treve raced across the terrace, from the left, trying to cut off the retreat of the intruders. Some men fought at the tarns. Some seven or eight tarns rose into flight. I saw one fellow cut away from the reins of his tarn, and the great bird rose, riderless, following those which had taken flight. Another fellow was thrust from the saddle by a spear, wielded by a warrior of the city. Tarns of Treve flew overhead. The free women who had stripped themselves rose, dazedly, to their feet, by the wall. Dorna lay where she was. She seemed still in shock. I think she may have had only a dim sense of what was occurring. I could not speak to her, for the gag. One of the free women went from the wall, to recover her clothing. It was in the hands of one of the men from the group. But he did not give it to her. She looked at him, startled. His eyes were terrible. He pointed to the wall. Frightened, she shrank back, before him. He pointed to the ground, by the wall. She knelt. He pointed again to the ground, angrily. Then she lay there by the wall, frightened, on her belly. Another woman who had risen up from where she had been by the wall and had gone back to retrieve her clothing was being dragged back, naked, by the hair. She was then brutally thrown against the wall. She was then beside it, down on her right knee, next to it, the palms of her hands on it. And then she sank down beside it, on her knees, her hands on her thighs. Her right side was to the wall. She looked back over her left shoulder, frightened, at the man who had returned her to the wall. Another woman leaped up, but a fellow blocked her way. She stood before him, she regarded him, angrily. But then her lips began to tremble. Then she backed away from him, a foot. Then, suddenly, her head was snapped to the side, lashed to the side by the back of his hand. She spun about and fell against the wall. She was then on her knees by the wall. She looked up at him. There was blood at the side of her mouth. She remained on her knees. He looked down upon her. She crept closer to the wall. The six women who had proclaimed themselves slaves then huddled there, together, against the wall. Men stood about. They would remain, for the time, where they were. The slave girls edged farther away. To be sure, they remained, too, substantially where they were, at the wall, where the intruders had placed them.

I lay then at the foot of the wall.

I could scarcely move. I was alive!

The sun had now sunk behind the mountains. Some lamps were brought, and set in mounts on the wall, and elsewhere about the terrace. Bodies were being removed. Those of the city, and those of the intruders, I supposed, would receive quite different dispositions. Artisans, in the light of lamps and torches, began to repair the tarnwire. In the morning, I supposed, slaves would clean the terrace.

It seemed very quiet now.

I realized that the bars had stopped sounding.

Dorna still lay quite near me.

It was well after darkness when I heard the sound of accouterments, and the light of a torch fell upon the wall. I struggled to my knees and put my head down. There must be free men present.

I saw a heavy, bootlike sandal, the sort worn by warriors, which can sustain long marches over stony soils, which provides protection from the slash of course grasses and strike of leech plants, nudge Dorna.

She whimpered.

Again the bootlike sandal moved against Dorna’s body, prodding it.

“Slave girl,” said a voice.

“Master?’ whimpered Dorna, questioningly. As she had said the word ‘Master’ it had not been simply as a customary from of deferential address, suitable for use in the addressing any free man by a female slave, but in it, rather, it seemed that she had, to her relief, recognized, or thought she had recognized, the voice of her won master. And I, too, was sure I recognized the voice. He was not looking at me, but at Dorna, at his feet. I lifted my head a little and then put it down, again, quickly. Yes, it was he, the officer! I did not think he recognized me. But how well I recalled him! In what detail and perfection he had had me! I had served his supper. I had danced before him, as a slave. I had been well put to his uses. He had slept me, later, nude, on the floor beside his couch. Toward morning he had once again drawn me to him and used me once more to slake his lusts. How I had leaped to his touch, how I had clung to him, how I had held him and kissed him, and licked him, and begged him, gratefully, sobbing, not to stop.

“Yes,” he said.

He, being a total man, had made me a total woman. He, being a total master, had made me a total slave.

“Have they gone?” whispered Dorna, frightened.

“It is over now,” he said.

I thought she sobbed, in relief.

He then kicked her, gently, with the toe of the bootlike sandal.

“Oh!” she said, wincing.

“Should you not be kneeling?” he asked. Quickly she knelt before him.

He regarded her.

She spread her knees.

“Master,” she begged, frightened.

“Yes?” he said.

“Were they of Tharna?” she begged.

“They wore no insignia,” he said. “There was nothing to identify them officially.”

“Were they of Tharna?” she begged.

“No,” he said. “They were not of Tharna.”

She looked up at him.

“They had not come for you,” he said.

“And they were not his men?”

“No,” he said.

I was not certain that I understood her allusion. I did recall she had had a former master, one she much feared.

She regarded him, anxiously.

“They had not come for you,” he said.

“But what was their purpose here?” she asked.

“It lay elsewhere,” he said. ‘It lay in the tunnels, in the pits, in the depths. That is where the last of them died, some forty of them. They fought like crazed men. Few could stand against them. Every trap, every secret device, was sprung upon them. They sought alternate routes. In the corridors they met the war sleen and the hunting sleen of the pits. Tharlarion, even, and worse, were permitted into the tunnels. Perhaps a hundred guards died.

“Master is bloodied,” said Dorna.

“The blood is not my own,” he said.

Indeed, he seemed there at night, by the wall, in the torchlight, and the light of the small lamps, a very terrible figure. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Behind him there was a shield bearer. Over his left shoulder hung the scabbard of a sword, the hilt of the weapon visible within it. In his left hand he cradled a helmet. It would muchly enclose the head. On it, mounted over the crown, from front to back, was a crest of sleen hair. The opening in the helmet was something like a “Y” in shape. There was blood on the helmet. Blood, too, was on his thighs. I had seen him before not as a warrior. I had seen him in robes on the height of a tower, on a great chair, as might have been some ruler, some dispenser of justice, and I had seen him in the softness of lounging robes, in his own compartments. In his size, his strength, his intelligence, his power, he had been fearsome enough, even then. But I had not seen him until now in the garb of war, in the leather of the warrior, the sword at his shoulder, his helmet in hand. I did not want to look at him now. I was afraid. And I now understood, better than before, how a man might come to power on this world, and the sort of men that might rise to sit upon the chairs of state.

“The intruders wore no insignia,” he said, “but they were of Ar.”

“Master?” asked Dorna.

“There is no mistaking the accents,” he said. “I know them well.”

Dorna shuddered, it seemed, in relief.

“And many,” he said, “in receiving their death strokes, cried out ‘Glory to Ar!’”

Dorna was silent.

“It is strange that they were here,” he said, musingly. “They could not have been authorized. They must have betrayed oaths.”

“I do not understand,” said Dorna.

“It does not matter,” he said.

“There is the matter of slaves, and of free women, Captain,” said one of the men with the officer.

“Let the slaves return to their masters,” he said.

A sign was given and one of the soldiers went down the wall, permitting what slaves were there to leap up and speed from the terrace, some through buildings, some over the bridge, others, crossing the terrace, to descend by the far steps.

“This one is chained,” said one of the soldiers. I kept my head down. I did not wish to be recognized.

“Let me see her,” said the officer.

I winced, my head pulled up, by the hair. Tears sprang to my eyes. I blinked against the torchlight, which fell fully upon my countenance.

“I thought so,” said the officer. “It is the Earth-woman slave.”

I could not lower my head because of the soldier’s grip in my hair.

“Did you know that Earth women make good slaves?” the officer asked one of his men, a subaltern.

“Yes, Captain,” said the fellow.

“A stroke or two of the whip and they immediately understand the nature of their new life,” said the officer.

“Yes, Captain,” grinned the fellow.

“Why did you hid?” the officer asked me. “Were you afraid?”

I whimpered once.

“Is someone to come for you?” he asked.

I whimpered once, again. I did not know if the Lady Constanzia and the scarlet-clad figure would come back for me or not, but this seemed the most likely, and honest, answer I could give.

“Civilians will be soon be permitted to return to the terrace,” said the officer.

I whimpered once, acknowledging that I understood him.

At a sign from the officer, the soldier released my hair. I sobbed with relief. His grip had been tight and painful. It is customary on this world, of course, for slaves to be handled in such a fashion, with uncompromising firmness and authority. The men here keep us precisely in line. They do not choose to be weak with us.

“She is a pit slut,” said the officer. “If she is still here in the morning, see that she is remanded to custody, pending claiming.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the man.

After all he had made me do, after all he had had from me, was this, then, all he now had to do with me, hardly even recognizing me? But then I recalled he was a free man, and I was only a slave.

He then turned to regard the girl beside me.

“Slave,” said the officer.

“Yes, Master,” said Dorna.

“You will return home,” he said, “and prepare my bath. You will then wash me. You will then prepare a light collation and serve me. These things are to be done naked.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Slaves are sometimes kept naked in a man’s compartments, of course. But, too, after men have risked death, it often pleases them to be served by naked women. Perhaps such a thing, so simple in itself, speaks to them of joy and life. To be sure, the flavor of nudity, as so many other things, depends much upon context. There is the foolishly outraged and defiant nudity of the stripped free woman, in her capture noose, who does not yet know how she appears to men and what will be done with her; there is her trembling nudity when she lies upon her belly in a hunting camp, awaiting her shackling; there is the nudity of the exposition cages, in which one must move and pose for potential bidders; there is the exposure on the slave block itself, as one is auctioned; there is the sweaty nudity of work, as when she scrubs tiles on her hands and knees in her master’s compartments; there is the nudity of the slave bathing her master; there is the nudity of the slave in the morning, kneeling before the master, waiting to learn if she may clothe herself; there is the beautiful warmth of a loving slave, nude and collared, serving wine in the light of a lamp of love; there is the nudity of the enflamed slave, aroused in her dance, who will beg for her master’s touch; there is the nudity of the women of the enemy serving at the feast of the victors, a nudity that celebrates the prowess of the conquerors and proclaims the fate of fair spoils of war.

There are many nudities, with nuances and flavors.

The common denominator here is the beauty of the woman, the capture of slave. It excites and delights men. Accordingly, they will have the joy of it. They will, as masters, have it subordinate to their will-and as it pleases them-fully, completely, utterly.

“Then, tonight,” he said, “you will be slept naked at the foot of my couch, chained by the neck to the slave ring.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I did not doubt but what she would be used before being spurned from the couch to the floor at its foot. I envied her a private master.

“Go!” he said.

I wondered if he would grant her a sheet, as he had me. But, I hoped, no more, no more! She, too, was a slave!

Doubtless she would be in the same collar and chain that I had worn. I wondered how many women had been slept thusly, the master done with them, on the tiles beside his couch, their head to its foot. I supposed a great many. He was a powerful Gorean male, and highly placed.

I wondered if I were the first Earth-girl slave who had had that experience.

It did not seem likely.

“Yes, Master!” she cried, and leaped up, and fled from the terrace, leaving through one of the buildings, that from which, earlier, she and others had been herded forth.

I wondered if she would please him as well as I. But, to be sure, much depends on the mysterious chemistries which can obtain between masters and slaves. How else explain the fascination that even a plain slave may sometimes exercise over the most powerful, rich, and handsome of men, to the puzzlement and dismay of beauties languishing in his pleasure garden? How else explain how a slave worthy of a ubar’s palace may in a market, unbidden, throw herself in her chains to her belly before an ugly, low-born, monstrous brute, pleading desperately to be purchased? Has she seen in him her master? Similarly, consider the power which such a brute may sometimes exercise over even free, beautiful, high-born damsels, such that, at the very sight of him, they will kneel and beg his collar. In him, perhaps, they, too, have seen their master.

But sometimes, too, a woman’s past may enhance how a man sees her in bondage. For example, it is doubtless pleasant for a ubar to have a conquered ubara at his feet, in his collar. She is then, of course, only a slave, but it is understandable that her past, like her hair and figure, may influence how she is viewed. Let her hope that, sooner or later, she will come to be viewed as only another slave. She does not wish to be tormented by her past, nor treated cruelly on account of it. Let the masters be merciful to her. Let them forget her past! Let them now treat her as only another slave! That is now all she is.

Dorna had lost no time in obeying.

I had gathered, from various things I had heard, here and there, that she may once have been an important and powerful personage in some city, perhaps in the city of Tharna, the men of which city it seemed she much feared. But such things, it seemed, must be long behind her. Her life had changed. She now wore a collar.

She was now only a slave girl, quick to obey her master. To be sure, her past might continue, in the senses which we have suggested, at least for a time, to exercise some fascination over her master. How amusing to have such a woman as a slave, to have her serve his meals, to order her, at so little as a snapping of fingers, to pose or dance, or to strip and hasten to the furs! But, sooner or later, one supposed, or might hope that, for her sake, her past would tend to be forgotten, and she might, for all intents and purposes, mercifully, if not for this master then for another, become only another slave. The officer was, as I recalled, not the first master she had had. She had had apparently at least one other, he who had first captured her, he who had first put the collar on her neck, one from whom she had been stolen, one whom she feared terribly, with all the terror of her embonded heart. When she had queried the officer as to whether or not the intruders had been his men, I supposed this former master might have been the one she had had in mind. On the height of the tower she had been reeling, sick with fear, at the very suggestion that she might be returned to him. And, of course, her fear was quite meaningful. She was only a slave. She could be simply bound and hooded, and returned to him, his then to do with as he pleased. I wondered if, sometimes in her kennel at night, hearing a sound, she might awaken, frightened, pulling the blanket about her, fearing that it might be he, her first master, who had come for her. But he would not, presumably, know where she was. Might she not be anywhere? On this world were there not hundreds of cities and thousands of slaves? No, from him she would in all likelihood be safe, unless her present master, if she might prove somewhat displeasing, might decide, perhaps as a joke, to return her to him. But then, as an option, might he not, under the same circumstances, and perhaps preferably, and perhaps more amusingly, see fit to return her to Tharna? Dorna, I was sure, would do her best to please her master.

“Did the intruders reach the lower corridors?” a man asked the officer.

“No,” said the officer.

One of the men with the officer, the captain, was clad not in the gear of war, but wore a blue tunic, and carried, on two straps, slung now beside him, a scribe’s box. It was flat and rectangular. Pens are contained, in built-in-racks, within it. Depending on the box, it may contain ink, or powered ink, to be mixed with water, the vessel included, or flat, disklike cakes of pigment, to be dampened, and used as ink, rather as water colors.

In it, too, in narrow compartments, are sheets of paper, commonly lined paper or rence paper. A small knife may also be contained in such boxes for scraping out errors, or a flat eraser stone. Other paraphernalia may also be included, depending on the scribe, string, ostraka, wire, coins, even lunch. The top of the box, the lid, the box placed on a solid surface, serves as a writing surface, or desk.

“There is the matter of the free women,” said another man to the officer.

“Yes,” said the officer.

They went then a little to their right, some few feet to my left, as I knelt.

“There are six of them,” said a man. He was one of the civilians who had stood guard over the women, keeping them at the wall.

The women looked up, frightened, the torchlight revealing them. Some tired to cover themselves.

“Kneel in a line, here, facing the captain,” said a soldier.

“We are unveiled!” protested a woman.

“Hands on thighs,” said the soldier. “Backs straight. Do not speak.”

Hurriedly they formed themselves, as they had been told. The officer considered them.

“These are the ones?” he asked.

“Yes, Captain,” said a man.

“Captain!” cried one of the women.

“Silence,” said the soldier.

“Bring a whip,” said a man.

“I have one here,” said a voice. It was handed to him. The woman shrank back, kneeling back on her heels, pressing the palms of her hands firmly down on her thighs.

“Backs straight,” cautioned the soldier.

The women complied.

Again they were regarded.

They trembled.

“What is to be done with them?” asked a man.

“They have proclaimed themselves slaves,” said the officer.“Let them be slaves.”

“No!” cried the women. “No!”

The lash fell amongst them.

Those who had leaped to their feet were seized and flung back, down, against the others. Some tried two, even three, times, to leap up, to flee to freedom, but they could not penetrate the ring of men. Each time they were thrown back to their knees, with the others.

They were then crowded together, one over the other. Down came the lash! They cried out with pain, huddling together. One tried to stand, just a little, her knees flexed, her hands and arms raised to fend blows, but she was then, blow by blow, stroke by stroke, returned to her knees, and then when another blow fell she cried out for mercy, and threw herself to her belly, her hands over her head, sobbing. She had now learned what the whip could feel like. Some of the women knelt, holding out their hands for mercy, but the lash fell upon them, too, and they put down their heads, sobbing, bending over, almost double. Some kneeling, crying out, sobbing, clasped their hands together, lifting them to the men. But the lash fell. And then they were a small, writhing knot of terrified women, each trying to hide behind the other. The whip, hitting at the edges of the group, the left, the right, forced it in upon itself, and then, sobbing, cowering, they huddled together, tiny, within the ring of angry men.

The lash ceased its whistling speech. To its hard discourse they had learned how to attend.

“Chain them together by the neck,” said the officer. “And take them to the pens. See that they are branded by morning.”

Chains were brought and the six women were fastened together by the neck. They were then knelt again before the officer, facing him. How strange it must have been for them, free women, to find themselves in steel collars, linked to other such collars, by chains.

“Please, no more the whip!” wept one, seeing it poised in a fellow’s hand.

“Do not whip us more!” begged another, cringing.

“Please, do not whip us!” begged another.

“As slave girls,” said the officer, “you will doubtless become quite familiar with the whip.”

One of the women moaned. She seemed to me one who might have been cruel to slaves. Now she herself had felt the whip. Had she owned female slaves? If so, she had undoubtedly found the whip effective in controlling them. She would now find that it would be similarly effective in controlling her.

“Are you prepared to obey?” inquired the captain.

“Yes, yes!” said the women.

“Turn to the right,” he said.

They then, kneeling, were in line, one behind the other, their right sides to the wall.

“Keep your eyes straight ahead,” said the officer.

The women complied.

“You will learn to be females and please men,” he said.

One of the women gasped. Two of the others trembled.

“Sell them out of the city,” said the officer. Women wept.

“Do you wish a record of this, Captain?” asked the fellow in the blue tunic, he with the scribe’s box, on its straps, slung at his left side.

“No,” said the captain. “Keep no record of this. They have shamed the city, and the Home Stone. Let them go their way. Let them not be remembered. Let it be, in the records of the city, as though they had never been.”

One of the women sobbed.

“Put your hands behind your back,” said the soldier in charge of the small coffle. “Now hold your left elbow with your right hand, and your right elbow with your left hand.” This pins the arms back, the forearms parallel to the ground. Sometimes arms are tied in this position.

The women complied.

“On your feet,” said the soldier in charge of the small coffle. “Left foot first, step! Step!”

The coffle was then marched past me. It rounded the corner of the wall and would, I take it, cross the bridge, and the docking area, on the way to the pens.

I felt sorry for the free women, in a way, but I think I sensed, and they sensed, as the men about perhaps did not, for I sometimes think men are very stupid, that the fate inflicted upon them was not as grievous as might be supposed. To be a woman, a true woman, in its total dimensionality, is not only a not unenviable fate, it is a fulfilling, exciting, thrilling, profound, deep, beautiful, and glorious thing. Sometimes I feel sorry for men, just a little, but then I grow afraid, for I remember that they are, after all, the masters.

The fellow with the whip had followed the coffle.

Around the corner, perhaps on the bridge, I heard the crack of the whip, and a cry of fear.

I doubted that the leather had touched anyone, but it could have, of course.

But then, a moment later, I heard the whip again and, this time, a cry of pain.

Yes, I thought, shuddering, men were the masters.

The officer and his companions, that small retinue, then left the terrace.

Shortly after the departure of the officer and his retinue I think the terrace, previously muchly cleared, must have been reopened, for I had scarcely closed my eyes, sitting at the wall, when I felt hands fumbling at the lock gag, opening it. “Are you all right?” begged the Lady Constanzia. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Yes,” I said. Her companion, the scarlet-clad fellow, had removed his cloak. It muchly wound about his arm, constituting in its way, it seemed, an improvised shield. Strangers in this city are not permitted to carry weapons. He wiped the lock gag on his cloak and returned it to his pouch. I was pleased to see it disappear therein. I then began, for no reason I understood, to tremble. The Lady Constanzia kissed me. “They would not let us come to the terrace,” she said. “You are sure you are all right?” “Yes,” I said. The Lady Constanzia freed the leash from the ring. It then hung loose within the ring. The scarlet-clad fellow turned her about and took her in his arms. She lifted her lips to his. How soft she was in his arms! How she melted to him! She was then, surely, as a slave girl in the arms of her master. I was startled. How could this be? Was she not a free woman? Did she not know better? Had she not been taught? Had she no pride? But I saw her now, before me, as a slave girl in the arms of her master. “I love you, my master!” she whispered. He then crushed her to him. He sobbed. “Master?” she asked. He then, forcibly, put her from him. “It is nothing,” he said. She then knelt, as delicately, and naturally, as any slave. He seemed overcome by emotion. “Master?” she asked, again.

“Curse honor!” he wept, suddenly.

I am sure that neither of us understood his outburst.

“When will I see you again, Master?” she asked.

He looked down upon her, tears in his eyes. His fists were clenched.

“Master?” she asked.

“I do not own you!” he cried. “You belong to another!”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

“You are merchandise!” he wept. “You are mere property!”

“Yes, Master?” she said, puzzled.

“I must remember that!” he cried.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Your sort, and better, may be purchased in any market,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Why then,” he demanded, “do I feel as I do?”

“How is it that Master feels?” she begged.

“I fear I have grown fond of a slave,” he said.

“Cannot one grow fond of a slave, even of so small an unimportant a thing?” she asked.

“Curse the codes!” he cried.

“When shall we see one another again, Master?” she asked.

“Never!” he wept.

She looked at him, aghast. She almost rose to her feet, but she stayed kneeling. I gathered that he had seen to it, in the time they had had together, that she had received training. He had her under discipline, which is suitable, as he thought her a slave.

“Never,” he whispered, looking down at the stones.

“If I have displeased Master,” she said, in agony, “I will endeavor to improve my behavior!”

“I have dallied overlong in the city,” he said. “The extension granted to me, the last for which I might apply, expires tomorrow at sundown. I must, by then, conclude my business, and take transport for the foothills.”

“No!” she wept.

He then put his cloak about him, and turned about, and strode rapidly away.

“Master!” she called after him, in agony. “Master!”

After he had disappeared, taking his way through one of the buildings to the left, the Lady Constanzia collapsed to the stones of the terrace, weeping.

Her fat, though she was a free woman, was not that different, in conjectured, from that of many slaves. They could not go their own ways. They were bought and sold, and handed about, and taken here and there. I recalled a slave who had wanted desperately to serve and please a fellow, he whose whip she had first kissed. But her feelings, only those of a slave, had been unimportant. She had been sold from that house. She had been carried far away. She now served here. The case, I thought, was not really so different with the Lady Constanzia, as she was a prisoner. She could not go where she wished. Her disposition, too, as in the case of a slave, was in the hands of others. In the case of a slave, of course, the disposition is in the hands of the master. It is he with whom one must deal, if one wishes to acquire the woman. She is his to keep or sell, as he pleases. The average man of this world would no more think of stealing a slave within his own city, or a host city, one which has extended the courtesy of its walls, then he would of any other act of illicit and dishonorable brigandage. There is sometimes a double frustration involved in these things, that of the slave whose master will not sell her to one to whom she wishes to belong, and that of the fellow who wishes to own her, to whom she will not be sold, for one reason or another, perhaps for spite, perhaps because the owner wishes to keep her for himself, perhaps because the would-be purchaser cannot meet the owner’s price. The key to understanding these matters, of course, is to understand, simply, and clearly, that the female is an article of property, that she is owned. In the case of the Lady Constanzia, as she was a free woman, her disposition was, I supposed, in the hands of certain officials of Treve. I almost wished that the Lady Constanzia was a slave, and had a private master, that the scarlet-clad figure might have approached her master with the intent of negotiation her purchase. But perhaps his funds, even in such a case, would not have sufficed for her purchase? Perhaps his funds, those still at his disposal, were required for the discharge of his business here? And he would not steal her, it seemed. No, that would not be honorable. She did not belong to him. He could no more bring himself to steal her than he could have brought himself to steal a silver vessel, a golden plate, from a house in which he had been accepted as a guest. It was little wonder, then, that he, torn by desire and love, in bitter rage, cursed the strictures of honor. By the men of this world we are highly prized. They hunt us down and capture us, and make us serve them, and keep us for themselves. We are treasures to them. They will kill for us. But few of them, it seems, no matter how exquisite we are, no matter how beautiful we are, will compromise their honor for us. And I do not object to this for, without honor, how could they be men, and, if they were not men, true men, how could they be fit and perfect masters for us?

In time, red-eyed, the Lady Constanzia rose to her feet, unsteadily. She took the leash, pulling it from the ring.

“I am sorry,” I said to her.

“We had a wonderful day,” she said. “We did everything we saw everything.”

“I am sorry,” I said.

“I’m sorry we put the lock gag on you,” she said, “but we thought it best. We would not have wanted you to furnish information to others, about who I was with, where we might have gone, and such. I did not want to risk being summoned in early. You understand. We did not want to risk you spoiling our holiday.”

I nodded.

I recalled the frustration of the intruder who had been unable to question me because of the lock gag. I recalled the look in his eyes, and the readying of the sword, but he had not struck me. He had flung me, rather, angrily to the side. I had lain there, terrified. But I had survived. None of the slaves had been put to the sword. Our collars, it seemed, had saved us. This is not that unusual, incidentally. In the sacking of a city, salves, like other domestic animals, other valuables, and such, are often saved, while free folk may be put to the sword. Indeed, sometimes free women, I have heard, take the collars from their own girls, putting them about their own necks, that they may increase their chances of survival. They often then, self-collared, knot a rag about their hips, to conceal that they have no brand, and hurry into the streets, to surrender, as a slave, to one of the conquerors. Sometimes their girls pursue them, to point them out to the conquerors. Sometimes they subdue their former mistresses, remove the cloth at their hips, and bind them, and lead them on ropes to the conquerors.

“Can you stand?” asked the Lady Constanzia.

“yes,” I said, raising unsteadily.

In a few moments then we were making our way across the terrace to the brad steps far from the wall.

At the height of the steps I asked the Lady Constanzia to wait for a moment, while I looked back, across the expanse of the terrace. It seemed very brad. Here and there, on the wall, at the bridge, and to the right, and at certain places on the balustrade, were lamps. The sky was dark with clouds. One of the buildings, bordering the terrace, one now rather before me, and to my right, was still afire. Smoke rose from it to the dark sky. Artisans were still working with the tarnwire.

“Strangers held the terrace,” said the Lady Constanzia.

“Yes,” I said.

Toward its center was the place where the butchery had occurred.

How desperate had been those men. They had sought an entrance to the pits. They had apparently found one. In the corridors, I gathered, the last of them had died.

I looked back to the wall where I had been chained, that to which the slaves had been commanded, that against which the free women, those who had proclaimed themselves slaves, had also been confined. I could see the bridge across the way, that across which the free women, in coffle, had been marched, their arms held up, closely behind them, the elbow of the left arm grasped by the hand of the right, the elbow of the right grasped by the hand of the left. They would be, presumably, in the pens by now.

They might already be branded. My thigh tingled as I remembered my own branding in the pens, long ago. It had been quite painful. I had cried out in misery. A branding rack had been used, to hold us steady for the mark. Our hands had been braceleted behind our backs, to the belly chain, that we not be able to tear at the brand. My entire group, it was said, had been excellently marked. Certainly I was. But this was not surprising for the iron masters in such a place, of the caste of Metal Workers, are skilled. We had all been given the common kajira mark. Perhaps theirs would be the same. They were to be sold out of the city, I recalled. They would find themselves then at the mercy of strangers. Gone would be their privileged status, that of the free woman. Gone would be the protection of the law, of guardsmen, of the shared Home Stone. Let them then salvage what they could of their lives. Let them strive to learn how to please.

I thought of the slave girl, Dorna. The earrings had been quite attractive on her. I suspected that she might now be quite fond of them. That seems to be the way it is with the women of this world. They fear them. Then they love them. To be sure, they also made her only a pierced-ear girl. I supposed that she might now be bathing her master.

I then, on my leash, following the Lady Constanzia, descended the long stairway to the lower levels. I stepped carefully, as my hands were braceleted behind me.

In two places on the steps we saw dark stains, which I supposed to be blood.

“We saved a piece of fruit for you,” said the Lady Constanzia. “I put it in my tunic. I will give it to you below.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We continued on our way.

The Lady Constanzia was crying.