Magicians of Gor

12 The Countries of Courage

"Put it down here," I said.

We were in a deserted alleyway, about two pasangs from the shop, rather between it and the Anbar district. It might well appear that we had been on our way to that district.

"Over her, more," I said. Marcus and I put the chest against one wall, that it might not move further in that direction. I then stepped back a bit and forcibly, with the flat of my foot, with four or five blows, kicked back the side of the chest, forcing it some inches inward, breaking it muchly from the ends, tearing it free of the nails and the lid. I delivered similar blows to the two ends of the chest, splintering it loose of nails and the back. the girl within cried out in misery. I then, with my hands, seizing it, now muchly freed, flung up the lid, revealing her within, and she cried out again, and hid her head, putting her hands over it. She lay there, terrified, among the splinters and nails, the sides and ends muchly loosened, collapsed about her. I then turned to the shambles of the chest to its side, spilling her to the stones of the alley. Shuddering she was on her belly to us and crawled to my feet, pressing her lips to them.

"She desires to please, as a slave," observed Marcus.

"Do you object?" I asked.

She now pressed her lips similarly upon the feet of Marcus.

"No," he said. "She is obviously a slave, and is both comely and desirable. Too, she is of Ar, and all of the women of Ar should be slaves."

She then knelt before us, the palms of her hands on the stones, her head down to them, as well.

"Doubtless she has seen slaves kneel in such a way," said Marcus.

"Probably," I said. It was a common position of slave obeisance.

"She is a slave," he said.

"She is frightened," I said.

"She is a slave," he said.

"That, too," I granted him.

"Look up, girl," said Marcus.

She looked up, frightened.

"Are you a slave?" asked Marcus.

Her lip trembled.

"She is legally free," I pointed out.

"Are you a slave?" pressed Marcus.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes, what?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. I suspected she had used that word to men before only in her imagination, or speaking it softly to her pillow in the night. "Legally free," he said, "but still a slave, and rightfully so?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said.

"Lacking only the legalities of the brand and collar?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"Yet she is young to be a slave," I said.

"Do you think we cannot be slaves?" she asked.

"Some men enjoy them," said Marcus, "squirming in the furs, panting, begging for more."

The girl closed her eyes, and sobbed. I wondered if she understood these things. "She is young," I said.

"Do you scorn me for my youth?" she asked. "Do you think we do have feelings? Do you think we are not yet capable of love, that we are not yet women? You are wrong! How little you understand us! We are young and desirable, and ready to serve!"

"You are young," I said. "Your surrender cannot be the full surrender of the mature woman, the woman experienced in life, the woman who has come to understand the barrenness of the conventions by which she is expected to abide, who has discerned the vacuity of the principles to which she is expected to mindlessly subscribe, who has learned the emptiness of the roles imposed upon her by society, roles alien to, and inimical to, the needs of her deepest self. You are not such a woman, a full, mature, knowledgeable, cognizant woman, a woman profoundly in touch with her passion and deepest self, one who has come to understand that her only hope for true happiness and fulfillment lies in obedience, love and service, one craving the collar, one yearning for a master."

"No, no, no!" she wept. "I am young, but I am a woman, and alive! Do you think that intelligence and maturity are prerogatives only of such as you! No! I am quick at my studies! I am alert! I think much! I am dutiful! I want to make a man happy, truly happy, in the fullest dimensions of his being, not a part of him, leaving the rest to hide, or shrivel and die! I cannot know my bondage if he does not learn his mastery! Why should his birthright be denied to him, and mine to me? As the master needs the slave so, too, the slave needs the master! I was taken aback by her words. I recalled how quietly she had lain in the box, that her veil had been disarranged when first the guardsmen, and Marcus and myself, had looked upon her. She was undoubtedly of high intelligence. Such is valued considerably, of course, in a slave. It makes them much better slaves. How much more tactful, sensitive and inventive are intelligent slaves! Indeed, the intelligence of some slaves blossoms in bondage, seemingly at last finding the apt environment for its flowering. To be sure, when a girl knows she may feel the lash for a mistake, she tends to become considerably more alert. "What have we here," asked Marcus, "a little scribe?"

"I am no stranger to scrolls," she said.

"You are still young," I said.

"That does not mean I cannot feel," she said. "That does not mean I am stupid." I had no doubt that in time she would make an excellent slave. Indeed, I could well imagine her, even now, serving in a house, deferentially, with belled ankles.

"I heard one speaking earlier," she said, "of the loot area in the district of Anbar."

"Can you not wait to be shackled and thrown into the loot pits with other women, to await the collar and brand?" inquired Marcus.

"Take me there!" she demanded.

Instantly, appropriately, he lashed her head to the side with the back of his right hand.

She was struck to the ground with the force of the blow and at a snapping of his fingers, and his gesture, she struggled again to her knees before us, her mouth bloody. Her eyes were wide. It was perhaps the first time she had been cuffed. Marcus glared down at her. He did not have much patience with slaves. Phoebe had often learned that to her dismay. To be sure, she was scarcely ever struck or beaten now. She had become a superb slave in the past few months, under Marcus' tutelage.

"Forgive me, Master," she said. "I was not respectful. It was appropriate that I be cuffed."

In her eyes there were awe and admiration for Marcus. She saw that he would not hesitate to impose discipline upon her.

"It is common," I said, "for a slave to request permission to speak."

"Forgive me, Master," she said, putting down her head.

"You said you were no stranger to scrolls," I said.

"To some, Master," she said. "I did not mean to be arrogant. If I have not been pleasing, lash me."

"Have you read," I asked, "the Manuals of the Pens of Mira, Leonora's Compendium, the Songs of Dina, or Hargon's The Nature and Arts of the Female Slave?"

"No, Master," she said, eagerly. Such texts, and numerous others, like them, are sometimes utilized in a girl's training, particularly by professional slavers. Sometimes they are read aloud in training sessions by a scribe, a whip master in attendance. Most girls are eager to acquire such knowledge. Indeed, they often ply one another for secrets of love, makeup, costuming, perfuming, dance, and such, as each wishes to be as perfect for her master as it lies within her power to be. Also, of course, such diligence is prudential on her part. She will be lashed if she is not pleasing. Also, her very life, literally, is in his hands. Perhaps a word is in order pertaining to the Songs of Dina. Some free women claim that this book, which is supposedly written by Din, "a slave", which continues to appear in various editions and revisions, because of its intelligence and sensitivity, is actually, and must be, written by a free woman. I suspect, on the other hand, that it is truly by a slave, as is claimed on the title page. There are two reasons for this. First, "Dina' is a common slave name, often given to girls with the "Dina' brand, which is a small, roselike brand. Second, the nature of the songs themselves. No free woman could have sung of chains and love, and the lash, and the glory of masters as she. Those are songs which, in my opinion, could be written only by a woman who knew what it was to be at a man's slave ring. As to the matter of the poetess' intelligence and sensitivity, I surely grant them to the free women, but maintain that such are entirely possible in a slave, and even more to expected in her than in them. I suspect their position may even be inconsistent. When a women is enslaved, for example, surely they do not suppose that her intelligence and sensitivity disappear. Surely they would not expect theirs to do so, if they had them. No, she still has them. Also, it has been my personal experience, for what it is worth, that slaves are almost always more intelligent and sensitive than free women, who often, at least until taken in hand, tend to be ignorant, smug, vain and stupid. Also, it might be noted that many women are enslaved nto simply because it is convenient to do so, the ropes are handy, so to speak, or because they are beautiful of face and figure, but actually because of their intelligence and sensitivity, qualifies which appeal to many Gorean men. indeed, as I have suggested, the intelligence and sensitivity of many women actually tends to blossom in bondage, finding within it the apt environment for its expression, for its flowering. This may have to do with such matters as the release of inhibitions, happiness, fulfillment, and such. I do not know. "What of the Prition of Clearchus of Cos?" I asked.

"A Cosian?" said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"That will not be found in Ar," he said.

"It used to be," I said, "at least before the war."

"Yes, Master," she beamed. "I have read it!"

"You, a free girl, have read it?" I asked. To be sure, the book is a classic. "Yes, Master!" she smiled.

"Does your father know you have read it?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said.

"What do you suppose he would do to you, if he found out?" I asked.

"I think he would sell me, Master," she said.

"And appropriately," I said.

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

"Stand," I said. "Turn about. Cross your wrists behind you."

"Yes, Master!" she said, eagerly, complying.

"Oh!" she said, bound.

"Turn about," I said.

Swiftly she did so, and looked shyly up at me. She tested the fiber on her wrists, subtly, attempting to do so inconspicuously, trying its smugness and strength, its effectiveness. She put down her head and suddenly, inadvertently, shuddered, with pleasure. I had used capture knots. She knew herself helpless. I supposed it was the first time she had ever been bound.

"May I speak?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I am tied as a slave is tied, am I not?" she asked.

"As slaves are sometimes tied," I said.

This comprehension was suddenly reflected, or exhibited, in her entire body, in fear, and desire and pleasure, she flexing her knees, twisting, her shoulders moving, and then, again, she stood before me, looking up at me, but now trembling.

"It is appropriate, is it not?" I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I regarded her.

She looked away.

She was trying to deal with her helplessness, to understand it, and its import. I wondered what her feelings would have been had she been a legal slave, and known herself totally at our mercy.

"Will it be necessary to leash you?" I asked.

"No," she said.

I then leashed her. "Now you will not run away," I said.

"I will not run away," she said.

"I know," I said. I looped the long end of the leash three times. She looked at the swinging loops, apprehensively. Most slave leashes are long enough to serve not only as a leash but also as a lash. The length, too, permits them to facilitate a binding, both of hand and foot. A common technique is to run the leash through a slave ring and then complete the tie as one pleases, simply or complexly. Many leashes, such as the one I had just put on the girl, are cored with wire. This prevents them from being chewed through.

"Tarry here a moment," I said to Marcus. To the girl I said, "Precede me." She went ahead of me some paces down the alley before I stopped her. "Do not turn about," I said.

I then turned back to Marcus. I pointed to the remains of the chest and touched the knife at my side.

He nodded and drew his knife. On the lid of the chest he carved a delka, and then set the lid against the remains of the chest, that the sign might be prominently displayed. As we were not in the officer's chain of command, he in charge of the guardsmen of Ar whom we had earlier encountered. I did not (pg. 196) think he would be likely to follow up the matter on the girl's disposition. He would presumably take it for granted, that she might even now be in the loot pits of the district of Anbar, awaiting the technicalities of her enslavement. Had he been interested in the matter he would doubtless have seen to it himself, or had his men see to it. Perhaps, on the other hand, he did not trust them, as they were of Ar. I did not know. If an investigation were initiated, which seemed to me unlikely, as many women were delivered on one pretext or another to the loot pits, and there would not be likely to be much interest in any particular one of them, Marcus and I could always claim that she had come into the power of the Delta Brigade, and we had thought it best not to gainsay their will in the matter, and indeed, I suppose, in a sense, that was true, as Marcus and I, were, or were of, as it seemed better to put it now, given the most recent information at our disposal, the Delta Brigade. Too, even if the matter were not perused further, there would now be at least one more delka in Ar. In a few moments we were out on the streets. Even though such sights were not rare in Ar, in the past months, a free woman, leashed, in the custody of guardsmen or auxiliaries, presumably having been appropriated for levies, or perhaps merely having been subjected to irrevocable, unappealable seizure at an officer's whim, yet men turned to regard her as we passed. In spite of her youth she was well formed. In four or five years I had no doubt she would constitute an extraordinary luscious love bundle helplessly responding in a master's arms. A fellow made a quick noise with his mouth as he passed her. She lifted her head, startled, in the leash collar. The meaning of the sound would be unmistakable, even to a girl, signifying as it did the eagerness and relish which the mere sight of her inspired in him. her face was soft and lovely, gently rounded. Her hair was long and dark.

"She moves well," commented Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"I think she has just begun to sense how men might view her," mused Marcus. "I think so," I said.

"It is interesting," he said, "when a women first begins to sense her desirability."

"True," I said.

"And hers is such that a price can be put on it," he said.

"Yes," I said. Her desirability was so exciting that it could only be that of a slave.

"Look at her," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"She is ready for the block now."

"Perhaps," I said.

"I am sure she would perform well," said Marcus. "And if she were reluctant to do so, or hesitated for a moment, I am sure any lingering scruples would be promptly dissipated by the auctioneer's whip."

"Undoubtedly," I said. I had seen such transformations take place many times at the sales. It is not so much, I think, that the lash, in such a situation, as a punishment, changes the woman's behavior, that she obeys because she does not wish to be whipped, but rather that the whip convinces her that she is not free to be sensuous, sexual, marvelous creature which she is in herself and has always desired to be. In this sense the whip does not oppress the woman but rather liberates her to be herself, wild, uninhibited, free in a sense, even though she may be bound in chains, and sexual. To be sure, the whip is also used to punish women, and they do fear it, and mightily, for such a reason. Sometimes it is used too, of course, merely to remind them of what they are, slaves. "How graceful she is," he commented.

"Yes," I said.

I suspected that a perceptive master might have a woman such as she trained in slave dance, that she might please him also in this way. I could imagine her, even now, in the floor movements of the slave dance. I wiped sweat from my brow. How beautifully walked the girl, how conscious now, how proud, how pleased, she seemed, in the abundance of her beauty, her desirability and power. How different she was from many of the free women we had seen earlier being led through the streets, piteous, overfed, stumbling creatures following behind on their leashes, their heads down, loudly bemoaning their fate. But even those, I suspected, given diet, exercise and training, could in time, be transformed into dreams of pleasure.

"Slave!" hissed a free woman to the girl. Then she was behind us. Her voice fraught with hatred.

"She thinks you are a slave," I said.

"Yes," laughed the girl, delightedly.

For some reason free women hate female slaves. They are often quite cruel even to those whom they themselves own. I am not certain of the explanation of this seemingly unreasoning, inexplicable hatred. Perhaps they hate the slave for her beauty, for her joy, her truth, her perfections, her desirability, her happiness. At the root of their hatred, perhaps, lies their own unhappiness and lack of fulfillment, their envy of the slave, joyfully in her rightful place in nature. In any event, this attack on the part of the free women, which happily had been only verbal, as they often are not, and the abused slaves in any event dare not protest or object, as they are at the mercy of free persons, was in its way a profound compliment. So beautiful and exciting was the girl that the woman had naturally assumed she was that most marvelous, helpless, lovely and degraded of objects, the female slave.

"Turn left here," I said to the girl.

"Masters?" she asked, stopping.

"Left," I said. As she was free I did not demur to repeat a command. Also, punishment for having to repeat a command is always at the option of the master. For example, a command might not be clearly heard, or might not be clear in itself, or might appear inconsistent with the master's presumed intentions. Whether punishment is in order or not is then a matter for judgment on the master's part. In this case, of course, as we were on Tarngate, at Lorna, she has every reason to question my direction.

"Masters," said the girl, "may I speak?"

"Yes," I said.

"This is not the way to the district of Anbar," she said. Perhaps she thought we were strangers, brought in as auxiliaries, and did not know the city. To be sure, there were many areas in Ar which I did not know.

"That is known to me," I said.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We are taking you home," I said.

"No!" she cried, aghast.

I regarded her.

"You are to take me to the loot area in the district of Anbar!" she said. "When I was within the chest I heard it so said!"

"You are going home," I said.

"We could sell her," said Marcus.

"Yes!" she said. "Sell me!"

"No," I said. "You are going home."

She tried to back away but in an instant was stopped, the inside of the leash collar tight against the back of her neck. "Perhaps you have forgotten that you are leashed, female," I said.

She approached me and fell to her knees before me, the leash looping up to my hand. She put her head to the stones, at my feet. I think she then, better than before, understood her helplessness, and the meaning of the leash, and why I had put it on her.

"I thought you said you would not run away," I said.

She lifted her head. "I cannot run away," she said. "I am leashed!"

"Yes," I said.

"I am in your power," she said. "You can do with me as you wish. I beg to be taken to the loot pits. I beg to be taken there, or sold?"

"No," I said.

"Keep me then for yourselves!" she said, looking from me to Marcus, and back again.

"No," I said.

"Surely you do not doubt that I am a slave, and need to be a slave!" she wept. "I do not doubt that," I said. "But I think it is a bit early to harvest you."

"Surely that is a matter of opinion," said Marcus.

"True," I granted him.

"Surely you have seen such slips of girls chained in the loot lines of conquered cities," he said.

"Yes," I admitted.

"They do no discriminate against them there, do they?" he said.

"No," I said.

"And surely you have been pleasured in various taverns by such," he said. "Yes," I said. "Even though they do not yet have the full perfections of their femaleness upon them."

"What scruple then," asked he," gives you pause?"

"She is rather young," I said. "Also we owe something to her father."

"What is that?" he asked.

"He is a brave man," I said.

"Brave?" asked Marcus. "Did you not observe his wringing of hands, his wailing unmaniless, his terror, his obsequiousness, not see to what extent he would go to accommodate himself to Cosian will?"

"It is true, Masters," said the girl, "if I may speak, as I gather I may, as you seem to insist upon treating me as a free woman. My father is a negligible coward."

"No," I said. "He is a brave man."

"I believe I know him better than you," she said.

"Surely Marcus," I said, "you would not begrudge the fellow a certain dismay over the destruction of his shop and the grievous impairment of his means of livelihood."

"His reaction was excessive," said Marcus.

"Exaggerated, you think?"

"If you wish," he said.

"For the benefit of whom, do you suppose?" I asked.

"I do not understand," said Marcus.

"What would you have done?" I asked.

"I would have scorned the Cosian openly," said Marcus, "or set upon him, and the others, with my sword."

"Are you a tradesman?" I asked.

"No," said he. "I am of the Scarlet Caste."

"And what if you were a tradesman?"

"I?" he asked, angrily.

"Do you think that in castes other than your own there are no men?"

"I would have scorned them even if I were a confectioner," said Marcus.

"And hurled sweets at them?"

"Be serious," said he, irritably.

"And presumably, by now," I said, "You would have been beaten, or maimed or slain, and your property confiscated. At the least you would have been entered on one of the lists of suspicion, your movements subject to surveillance, your actions the objects of reports."

"This is more of your Kaissa," said he, distastefully.

"As a warrior," said I, " surely you are aware of the virtues of concealment, of subterfuge."

"No," said he girl. "My father is a coward. I know him."

"You have mistaken concern for cowardice," I said.

"My father does not understand me," she said.

"No fathers understand their daughters," I said. "They only love them."

"You saw to what an extent he would go to accommodate himself to Cosian will," said Marcus.

"To protect his daughter," I said. "Surely you, in his place, in his helplessness, lacking you sword, your skills, would have done as much, or more."

"I do no want his protection," said the girl. "He keeps me from myself!"

"He see you in terms of one ideal," I said, "while it is actually another, one more profound, which you manifest."

"I do not want to go back to him," she said.

"He loves you," I said.

"I despise him!" she said.

"It is true that sometimes strangers understand a woman better than those closest to her, and see what she is, and needs. They see her more directly, more as herself, and less through their own distorting lenses, lenses they themselves have ground, lenses which would show her not as she is but as they require her to be."

"I hate him!" she said.

"And love him," I said. "You will always love him."

"He is a coward!" she cried.

"No," I said.

"I know him!" she said.

"You do not," I said.

"Surely you do not claim he is a brave man?" said Marcus.

"He did not identify us," I said.

"He did not recognize us," said Marcus.

"But he did," I said.

Marcus looked at me, angrily.

"Yes," I said.

"Our features were concealed," said Marcus.

"Do you think he would not recognize our builds," I asked, "our clothing, our sandals? Do you think this would be so hard to do, within moments of having seen us before?"

"If you feared this," he asked, "why did you reenter the shop?"

"Because of the patrol," I said. "I feared they might kill him, in vengeance for the carnage wrought in the shop. Too, we were in the vicinity, and it might seem unusual, surely, if we did not add our presence to the investigation. That might have attracted comment and inquiry, had it been noticed. Too, who knows, perhaps there could be more swordplay within."

"But you did not attack the patrol," he said.

"They were, as it turned out," I said, "mostly lads of Ar, and thusly it would have been not only impolitic but, in my opinion, actually objectionable to have done so. After all, we are, in our way, acting in support of Ar, the old Ar, the true Ar, and the officer, through obviously a Cosian sleen, was not a bad fellow. We cannot blame him for being angry that the carnage was wrought within his precinct, almost under his nose, and he could, at least, recognize, as her father could not, the true nature of this little slave slut before us."

The girl put down her head.

"You think the tradesman recognized us?" asked Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I saw it, in a flash, at first, in his eyes," I said.

"But he did not betray us."

"No," I said.

"He might have won much favor with Cos has he done so," said Marcus.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"He is a brave man," said Marcus.

"And only a tradesman," I reminded him.

"There are brave men in all castes," smiled Marcus.

"Look," I said, pointing to a wall on Lorna, near where we stood. I had not seen it before. "The delka," I said.

"We did not put it there," said Marus.

"And Lorna is a muchly frequented street," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"Yes," I said.

I looked down at the kneeling, leashed girl.

"I want to be forced to fear, and serve, and yield, totally to my master," she said.

"And undoubtedly in time it will be so," I told her.

"I am not ready, you think?" she said.

"No," I said.

"Perhaps in a day or two," grumbled Marcus.

"Why will you return me to my father?" she asked.

"Because you are young," I said.

"And?" she asked, skeptically.

"Because we owe your father something," I said.

"And you owe me nothing?" she said.

"No," I said. "We owe you nothing." Then I added, "Nothing is owed a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"On your feet," I said.

"I will get my collar!" she said. "If necessary I will slacken my veil. I will lift my robes in ascending a curb, that my ankles may be glimpsed. I will dare to walk the remote districts, and to tread high bridges!"

"Must a command be repeated?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said, quickly, rising.

"I will get my collar!" she repeated.

"I wonder if you will be as eager to wear it," I said, "when it is found on your throat and you cannot remove it, when you find that you are truly a helpless slave."

She turned white.

"I will try to serve my master well," she whispered.

"Let us hope he is a kind one," I said.

She looked at me, frightened.

"You could be bought by anyone," I said.

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

"Precede us," I said.

She went left, as I had directed, on Lorna.

"Walk well," I cautioned her.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Surely it is an error to let such a lovely slut go free," said Marcus.

"One as attractive as she will probably not be permitted to go free for long," I said.

We would keep to the main streets for a time. it would attract more attention, I feared, to march our captive between buildings, through backways and alleys, as though we wished to hide her. As it was, she was, in her way, well disguised, as her clothing could not be recognized nor, as she would customarily, at her age, be veiled, her face. When we reached the vicinity of delivery. In the meantime I thought it would do the exciting little chit good to be marched naked through the streets. Too, it was not unpleasant to walk behind her.

In time we had come to the vicinity of the shop and I directed her to the alley behind it.

We paused before the rear door of the shop.

I took up some of the slack in the leash and she turned and faced me, defiantly. "So I am rejected as a female," she said, "and you return me here?"

I handed the leash to Marcus.

I turned her about and freed her hands. The leash was still on her neck. "Do you think I am not beautiful enough, or intelligent enough," she said, angrily, not facing me, "to be a slave?"

"Oh!" she gasped, suddenly, turned about, rudely, forcibly, by me, and held helplessly before me, by the upper arms. She was frightened. "You're hurting me," she whispered. "Oh!" she said, wincing, as I tightened my grip. She knew herself helpless. "Yes, Master," she suddenly breathed, her eyes closed. I saw that she understood masculine power, and would respond well to it.

I then, reluctantly, with some force of will, removed my hands from her. "You are both beautiful enough and intelligent enough to be a slave," I said. She looked at me. The prints of my grip lingered on her arms.

"Yes," I assured her.

"Then do not bring me back here," she whispered. "Take me to the loot pits, or keep me, or sell me, but do not bring me back here. No longer is this my home. My home I now know is in my master's house, or, if he will have it so, in his kennels."

I regarded her.

"Shall I knock?" asked Marcus.

I looked at the girl. She looked well, leashed.

"Yes," I said.

"If it were not for what you owed my father." She asked, "would you have brought me here?"

I considered the matter, and regarded her. "No," I said.

She smiled, through her tears, almost defiantly.

I suddenly seized her by the hair, and twisted her head back, and regarded her, her lovely throat and face. "No," I said.

"Then I am beautiful enough and intelligent enough to be a slave," she said. "Yes," I said.

She sobbed.

"Beauty and intelligence are well and good," I said, "but the best slave is she who loves most deeply."

"My master will be all to me," she said. I regarded her. She would never be truly happy until she was in her place, at a man's feet.

"Someone is coming," said Marcus.

I released her.

"So it is all the will of men?" she said, through her tears. "All the debts, all the owing, all the payments? And nothing is owed to me?"

"No," I said. "Nothing is owed to you. You are a slave."

"Yes, Master!" she said.

We heard a fumbling with the bolts and chains on the door, and a lifting of the two bars. Gorean doors are often firmly secured.

"Remove the leash," I said to Marcus. In a moment he had freed her neck of it. "Kneel here," I said to the girl, "head down, and cover yourself."

"Yes, Master," she whispered.

The door opened.

"Hurry inside," said the tradesman to the girl. She rose up and sped within, covering herself as she could. She turned once, inside the threshold, cast a wild glance at Marcus and myself, and hurried further within.

"I have been waiting for you," said the tradesman.

"How did you know we would return?" asked Marcus.

"You are men of honor," he said.

"I think it would be well," I said, "if you changed your name, and set up your business elsewhere."

"I have already considered the arrangements," he said.

We heard the girl cry out, startled inside.

"They have not yet come for the bodies," said the tradesman.

"They are sending a wagon," I said. "Doubtless it will not arrive until after dark." The girl, of course, would have only a very imperfect idea of what had occurred, as her father had doubtless hurried her to the chest upon the entry of the brigands. The details of the afternoon, however, would presumably be made clear to her by her father. He too, would presumably be interested in her afternoon. I suspected that her account to him would not be accurate or, at least, complete, in all aspects.

Marcus and I turned to go.

"Warriors," said he.

We again faced him.

"My thanks," said he.

"It is nothing," I said.

"Warriors!" said he.

"Yes?" I said.

"Glory to the Delta Brigade," he whispered.

"Glory to Ar," I said.

"Yes, to Ar!" he said, though naught but a simple tradesman.

"Glory, too, to Ar's Station," said Marcus, angrily.

"As you say," said the tradesman, puzzled. "Glory, too, then, to Ar's Station!" We then took our leave. It was time to report back to our headquarters, after which we would return to our own quarters in the Metellan district.

"He does not even know that his daughter is a slave," said Marcus.

She is legally free," I reminded him.

"A mere technicality," he said.

"It is not a mere technicality to those who fine themselves in legal bondage," I said.

"I suppose not," he granted me.

"Of course not," I said.

"But she is a slave anyway," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think he knows?" he asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"But she knows," he said.

"Obviously," I said.