Players of Gor

2 Carnival

"Master!" laughed she who seemed to be a naked, collared slave, flinging her arms about my neck, pressing her lips fervently, deliciously, to mine.

"Oh!" she cried, as my hands checked her thighs. She was truly a slave. The brand was on her left thigh, high, just under the hip. Sometimes free women, during the time of carnival, masquerading as slaves, run naked about the streets.

I slid my hands possessively up her body and then, between my thumbs and fingers, held her under the arms, half lifting her, half pressing her to me. I then returned her kiss. "Master!" she purred, delighted. I then turned her about and, with a good-natured, stinging slap, sped her on her way. She disappeared, laughing, among the crowds.

"Paga, mate?" inquired a mariner.

I took a swig of paga from his bota and he one from mine.

I stepped to one side, nearly trampled by a gigantic figure on stilts.

I was jostled by a fellow blowing on a horn.

There might easily have been fifteen thousand people in the great piazza, the largest in Port Kar, that before the hall of the Council of Captains. It was ringed with booths, and platforms, and stages and stalls, and booths, and platforms and stalls, too, with colorful canvas, with their eccentrically carved wood, with their fluttering flags, and signs, like standards, illuminated by lamps and torches, throngs gathered about them, and flowing between them, bedecked and studded the piazza's inner precincts.

Here it seemed there were a thousand things for sale and a hundred shows. Sweating men, stripped to the waist, with wands tipped with cylinders of oil-drenched, flaming wool, appeared to swallow fire. Jugglers performed awesome tricks with rings, balls and sticks. Clowns tumbled; acrobats spun and leapt, and climbed, one upon the other, until, abetted by the gravity of Gor, they swayed thirty feet above the crowd. One man somersaulted on a strand of tarn wire strung between posts. Another fellow had a dancing sleen.

The lovely assistant of a magician, dressed in the robes of a free woman, but unhooded and unveiled, so probably a slave, appeared to put him in manacles. She then helped him into a sack inside a trunk. When he crouched down, lying in the trunk, she seemed to tie shut the sack over his head. She then, with great show, thrusting bolts home, seemed to close and lock the trunk. As a last touch she flung three hasps over three staples and seemed to secure the whole system with three padlocks. A fellow from the audience was invited forward to test the locks. He tried them, stoutly, and then, grudgingly, attested to the placement and solidity. He was requested to retain the keys. The lovely young woman then stepped into a nearby vertical cabinet. The crowd looked at one another. Then a drum roll, furnished by a fellow to one side, suddenly commenced and, steadily, increased in volume and intensity. At its sudden climax, followed by an instant of startling silence, the door of the vertical cabinet burst open and the magician, smiling, to cries of surprise, of awe and wonder, stepped forth, waving, his hands free, greeting the crowd. He wasted not a moment but searched out the startled fellow with the keys and began swiftly, one by one, to unlock the padlocks. In a moment, thrusting back the externally mounted security bolts, the padlocks already removed, he had the trunk open. The crowd was breathless, sensing what might, but could not, be the case. he jerked the sack inside to an upright position. I noticed that it was now secured with a capture knot, a knot of a sort commonly used in securing captives and slaves. He undid the know. Then, to another drum roll, he opened the mouth of the sack. At the climax of this drum roll, after its moment of startling silence, the figure of a beautiful, naked, hooded female, her wrists locked in slave bracelets, sprang up. The magician bowed to the crowd.

It seemed the act was done. But few coins were flung to the platform. "Wait!" cried a man. "Who is it?" asked another. "It is not the same one!" cried a fellow, triumphantly. The magician seemed distraught, in consternation. It seemed he could not wait to gracefully evacuate the stage. "Show her to us! Show her to us!" cried the crowd. Reluctantly, as though yielding most unwillingly, as responding only of necessity to such peremptory duress, he unbuckled the hood. Then he drew if off with a flourish. It was she! The same girl, of course! She smiled, and shook her head, throwing her lovely tresses behind her. Then, as the crowd cheered, and coins fell like rain on the platform, she, helped by the magician, stepped forth from the sack and trunk. She knelt on the platform, smiling. She wore a collar. This was easily detected now that she was neither hooded nor in the robes of a free woman. She still wore the slave bracelets, of course. I had little doubt that they were genuine, and confined her with snug and uncompromising perfection. That would be a typical Gorean touch.

I myself threw a golden tarn disk to the boards. The slave looked at it in wonder. Perhaps she had never seen one before. It would buy several women such as she. "Thank you, Kind Master!" she cried. "Thank you, Kind Sir!" called the magician, snatching it up.

"They are skillful," commented a man, standing near me.

"Yes," I granted him, and then turned away, back into the crowd.

The man who had spoken was not masked, nor was I. On the other hand, masks are common at carnival time. Many in the crowd wore them. Popular, too, at this time, it might be mentioned, are bizarre costumes. Such things, maskings, and disguisings, and dressing up, sometimes in incredible and wild fashions, are all part of the fun of carnival. Indeed, at this time, there are even parades of costumes, and prizes are awarded, in various categories, for most ingenious or best costume. Most of the dressing up, of course, is not done for the sake of winning prizes but just, so to speak, for carnival, just for the fun of it. It is something that is done at carnival time. To be sure, I suppose there are various psychological benefits, too, other than the simple fun and pleasure of it, attendant on the maskings and disguisings. They might, for example, give one an opportunity to try out new identities, to relieve boredom, to break up routines, to release tension, and so on. They also provide one with an opportunity for foolery, jokes, pranks, and horseplay. Who was that fellow, for example, who poured paga on one's head? And who, the free woman might wonder, was that fellow who gave he so sudden, so unexpected, so fierce a pinch? Indeed, perhaps she is fortunate that her very veil was not lifted up and her lips pressed by those of a stranger, or was it a stranger? And who are those fellows in the robes of the caste of physicians, apparently administering medicines to one another, after which they leap and roll about, seemingly in great distress? Are they physicians? It seems more likely they are sawyers or sailmakers from the arsenal. Carnival, too, with its freedom and license, is often used by both men and women as a time for the initiation of affairs, and for arrangements and assignations, the partners often not even being known to one another. In such relationships another advantage of the mask is clearly demonstrated, its provision of anonymity to the wearer, should he or she desire it.

Masks, incidentally, at times other than carnival, are not entirely unknown on Gor. They are often used by individuals traveling incognito or who do not, for one reason or another, wish to be recognized in a certain place or at a certain time. Their use by brigands or highwaymen, of course, is a commonplace. They are also sometimes used by gangs of high-born youths prowling the streets, usually looking to catch a slave girl for an evening's sport. Lower-caste gangs, engaged in similar pursuits, seldom affect masks. They can afford, of course, to be relatively open about their interest, and its indulgence. They are comparatively invulnerable to the nuisances of scandal.

"Paga!" cried a fellow.

We exchanged swigs from our botas. He reeled away into the crowd.

Three fellows walked by supporting swirling carnival figures. These particular constructions had huge, stuffed, bulbous, painted heads, and great flowing robes. They were some nine feet tall. They are supported on a pole and the operator, holding the pole, supporting the figure, is concealed within the robes. He looks out through a narrow, gauze-backed, rectangular opening in the robes. The figures bobbed and nodded to the crowd.

Children fled by, playing tag.

I saw a woman stripped to the waist. She had a brief cloth tied about her hips. She was collared. She looked at me, over her shoulder, and turned away.

In at least a dozen places on the great piazza there must have been groups of musicians.

I saw Tab, a caption once associated with my holding, one with whom I still had occasional dealings. He was with his slave, Midice. She clung to his left arm. It was too crowded here even to heel him properly. I called out to him. But, in the press, and noise, he did not hear. His scabbard was empty. So, too, was mine. We had checked our weapons before entering the piazza.

"I shall have to trouble you for your sword, Sir," said one of the Arsenal Guards, on duty here tonight.

"No," had said another. "Do you not recognize him? That is Bosk, the Admiral, he of the Council of Captains."

"Forgive me, Captain," had said the man. "Enter as you are."

"No," I said. "It is perfectly all right." I surrendered my sword to him, and the knife, too, I commonly carried, a quiva, a Tuchuk saddle knife, balanced for throwing. I myself had voted in the council for the checking of weapons before entering the piazza during carnival. The least I could do, it seemed to me, was to comply with a ruling which I myself had publicly supported.

I remembered now where I had seen the man who had spoken to me near the platform of the magician. He had been waiting near one of the checking points opening onto the piazza, that point through which I had entered. It was there that I had seen him.

The checking of the weapons is accomplished as follows: One surrenders the weapons and the guard, in turn, tears a ticket in two, placing one half with the weapons and giving you the other half. This ticket is numbered on both ends. In reclaiming the weapons one matches the halves, both with respect to division and number. My half of the ticket was now in my wallet. The ticket is of rence paper, which is cheap in Port Kar, owing to its proximity to one of Gor's major habitats for the rence plant, the vast marshes of the Vosk's delta.

"Captain," said a voice.

I turned about. "Captain Henrius?" I asked. He, grinning, thrust up the mask. It was he. I thought I had recognized the voice. The young Captain Henrius was of the lineage of the Sevarii. Once he had been of my house but now held sway in his own house. With him was his lovely slave, Vina, who once had been intended to be the companion of gross Lurius of Jad, then, sharing his throne, to be proclaimed the Ubara of Cos. She was now a slave in Port Kar. I had not recognized her immediately for the gaudy paints which had been applied to her body. She knelt beside Henrius, holding to his thigh, that she not be forced away from him in the crowd.

"Someone is looking for you," said Henrius.

"Who?" I asked.

"I do not know," he said.

"He suggests that you meet him among the purple booths, in Booth Seventeen."

"Thank you," I said.

Henrius, then, with a grin, readjusted his mask, drew Vina to her feet and, with her in tow, by an elbow, vanished in the crowd.

I looked after them. I was fond of them both.

A free woman, in swirling robes of concealment, veiled, appeared before me. "Accept my favor, please!" she laughed. She held forth the scarf, teasingly, coquettishly. "Please, handsome fellow!" she wheedled. "Please, please!" she said. "Please!"

"Very well," I smiled.

She came quite close to me.

"Herewith," she said, "I, though a free women, gladly and willingly, and of my own free will, dare to grant you my favor!"

She then thrust the light scarf though an eyelet on the collar of my robes and drew it halfway though. In this fashion it would not be likely to be dislodged.

"Thank you, kind sir, handsome sir!" she laughed. She then sped away, laughing.

She had had only two favors left at her belt, I had noted. Normally in this game the woman begins with ten. The first to dispense her ten favors and return to the starting point wins. I looked after her, grinning. It would have been churlish, I thought, to have refused the favor. Too, she had begged so prettily. This type of boldness, of course, is one that a woman would be likely to resort to only in the time of carnival. The granting of such favors probably has a complex history. Its origin may even trace back to Earth. This is suggested by the fact that, traditionally, the favor, or the symbolic token of the favor, is a handkerchief or scarf. Sometimes a lady's champion, as I understand it, might have borne such a favor, fastened perhaps to a helmet or thrust in a gauntlet.

It is not difficult, however, aside from such possible historical antecedents, and the popular, superficial interpretations of such a custom, in one time or another, to speculate on the depth meaning of such favors. One must understand, first, that they are given by free women and of their own free will. Secondly, one must think of favors in the sense that one might speak of a free woman granting, or selling, her favors to a male. To be sure, this understanding, as obvious and straightforward as it is, if brought to the clear light of consciousness, is likely to come as a revelatory and somewhat scandalous shock to the female. It is one of those cases in which a thing she has long striven to hide from herself is suddenly, perhaps to her consternation and dismay, made incontrovertibly clear to her. In support of the interpretation are such considerations as the fact that these favors, in these games, are bestowed by females on males, that, generally, at least, strong, handsome males seem to be the preferred recipients of such favors, that there is competition among the females in the distribution of these favors, and that she who first has her «favors» accepted therein accounts herself as somewhat superior to her less successful sisters, at least in this respect, and that the whole game, for these free women, is charged with an exciting, permissive aura of delicious naughtiness, this being indexed undoubtedly to the sexual stimulations involved, stimulations which, generally, are thought to be beneath the dignity of lofty free women.

In short, the game of favors permits free women, in a socially acceptable context, by symbolic transformation, to assuage their sexual needs to at least some extent, and, in some cases, if they wish, to make advances to interesting males. There is no full satisfaction of female sexuality, of course, outside of the context of male dominance. I wondered what the free woman whose favor I wore would look like, stripped and in a collar. How would she look, how would she act, I wondered, if slave fires had been lit in her belly. I did not think she would then be distributing silken scarves to make known her needs to men. She must then do other things, such as putting a bondage knot in her hair, offering them wine or fruit, dancing naked before them, or kneeling before them, whimpering and whining for attention, licking and kissing at their feet and legs.

I saw again the woman in the collar, she who was stripped to the waist, she who had a brief bit of cloth tied about her hips. As our eyes met she looked away, quickly.

I took a step towards her and she turned hastily away, frightened, and began to make her way through the crowd. I followed her, indirectly, circling about. As I had expected, in a few moments she stopped and turned about, to see if I was following. She stood there, uncertainly, scanning the crowd, looking back the way she had come. Had she been pursued? she did not know. Then suddenly I stepped behind her and pulled her back against me. She could not move. She was as helpless, my hands upon her beauty, as one locked in one of the body cages of Tyros.

"Sir!" she said, frightened, stiffening.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Master!" she quickly said, correcting herself.

"You are a slave, aren't you?" I asked.

"Yes, of course!" she said.

"Of course, what?" I asked.

"Of course, Master!" she said.

"You have nice breasts," I said.

"Thank you, Master," she whispered.

I slid my hands down her body, to her waist, and hips, holding her all the while.

"You have a nice body," I said. "I think you would bring a good price on the slave block."

"Do you think so?" she asked, pleased.

"Yes," I said. "But what is this cloth at your hips?" I asked. "Its quality, incidentally, seems a bit too good to be accorded to a mere slave." My hands, reaching about her, fumbled at the strings on her left hip.

"Do not remove it," she begged, "please! "Please!"

My hands paused.

"As you are a mere slave," I said, "what possible difference could it make?"

"Please," she begged.

"Very well," I said. I removed my hands form the string, but held her in place, facing away from me, by the waist.

"May I turn around?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She shuddered with pleasure, commanded, placed under the will of another.

"There are doubtless slavers in the piazza tonight," I said. "If you do not want the collar, you should not court it."

"As I am only a mere slave," she said, "I could not possibly begin to understand the words of Master."

She cried out as I, half spinning her about, tore the cloth from her hips.

"It seems your master forgot to brand you," I said.

She snatched back the cloth and, angrily, tearing it and pulling it, refastened it about her hips.

"Take me to a pleasure rack," she said.

"You are a free woman, " I said. "Go yourself."

"Never, never!" she said. "You know I cannot do that!"

"Master," said a voice. "I am a slave. Take me to a pleasure rack!"

I looked down. Kneeling on the tiles of the piazza at my feet was a naked slave.

"I have not forgotten your kiss," she said. "Take me to a pleasure rack, I beg you!"

I remembered her. She was the naked, collared slave who, a few moments ago, had seized me and kissed me. I had returned her kiss, in the fashion of a master.

"I have sought you in the crowds," she said.

The free woman cried out in fury.

I reached down and drew the slave to her feet and then, holding her by the arm, turned away from the free woman.

The free woman gasped, rejected, scorned, of less interest than a slave.

The slave now held my arm, I permitting it, closely, that she not be pulled away from me in the crowds.

"This is not the way to the pleasure racks," she said.

"You must be patient," I said.

"Yes, Master," she moaned, pressing more closely against me. She would be patient. She had no choice in the matter. she was a slave.

I looked back and saw the free woman, turned away, forlorn, her arms clutched about herself, half crouched over. Her body shook with sobs. She trembled with need. I saw that she had strong drives. I smiled. Such drives would bring her, sooner or later, to a man's feet, the only place they can be satisfied.

I paused to watch a portion of a farce. I would let the girl clinging to me increase in her heat.

The girl playing the part of the Golden Courtesan was not unlike Rowena, whom I remembered from three nights ago in the holding of Samos. She had something of the same beauty, the same figure, the same long, golden tresses. The role of the Golden Courtesan, incidentally, when it occurs in more sophisticated Gorean comedy is usually played, like the other roles in such comedies, and in most forms of serious drama, masked. One possible reason for this, though I think tradition probably has much more to do with it, is the such roles in more sophisticated comedy, like roles in more serious drams, are generally played by men. In the major dramatic forms Goreans generally, mistakenly, in my opinion, keep women off the stage. Some feel this practice is a result of the fact that women's voices carry less well than men's voice in the open-air theaters. Given the superb acoustics of many of these theaters, however, in which a coin dropped on the stage is clearly audible in the upper tiers, I feel the practice is more closely connected with tradition, or jealousy, than acoustics. Too, it might be noted that many dramatic masks have megaphonic devices built into them which tend to amplify the actors' voices. If women are generally precluded from participation in the major dramatic forms, they are, however, more than adequately represented in the great variety of minor forms which exist on Gor, such as low comedy, burlesque, mime, farce and story dance. To be sure, these women are usually slaves. Free women, on the whole, affect to find the professional stage, particularly in its manifestations in the minor forms, unspeakably disgusting and indecent; they feign horror at the very thought of themselves going on the stage; it would be much the same thing, surely, as being displayed publicly on a slave platform or slave block. They usually attend performances incognito.

I have mentioned that masks are commonly worn in serious drama and sophisticated comedy, such as it is; I might also mention that they are not worn in most of the minor forms, such as mime or story dance, unless called for by that plot, as in the case of brigands, and so on; farce, on the other hand, represents an interesting case for in it some characters commonly wear masks and others do not; the Comic Father, the Pendant, usually depicting a member of the Scribes, and the Timid Captain, for example, are usually masked, whereas the young lovers, the Golden Courtesan, the Desirable Heiress, and others, are not. Some roles, those of saucy free maids, comic servants, and such, may or may not be masked, depending on the troupe. As you may have gathered many of the characters in Gorean comedy and in the minor forms are, for the most part, stock characters. Again and again one meets pompous merchants, swaggering soldiers, fortune tellers, parasites, peasants and slaves.

These stock characters are well known to Gorean audiences and welcomed by them. For example, the Pompous Merchant and the Wily Peasant are well known. The audience is already familiar with them, from numerous performances in dozens of plays and farces, many of them largely improvised around certain standard types of situations. They know generally how the characters will act and are fond of them. They are familiar even with mannerisms and dialects. Who would accept the Comic Father if he did not have his Turian accent, or the Desirable Heiress if she did not speak in the soft accents of Venna, north of Ar? What would the Timid Captain be if he did not, beneath his long-nosed half-mask, have those fierce mustaches to twirl, the formidable wooden sword dragging behind him? Even gestures and grimaces are well known, looked for, and eagerly awaited. This type of familiarity, of course, gives the actor a great deal to build on. The character, even before he greets the audience in the initial parade of the actors, is for most practical purposes established, and in rich, complex, detail; furthermore it is anticipated with relish and welcomed with affection. This being the case it is interesting to note that one actor's Merchant is not the same Merchant as that of another actor. Somehow, within the outlines of the role, and the traditional business associated with it, these actors manage to make their versions unique and special onto themselves. I suspect that there are no purely interpretive arts; all arts, I suspect, are ultimately creative.

"Please, Master," whimpered the girl holding my are, pressing herself against me. "Please, Master."

I looked to one side, to the ground at the side of the raised platform. Two girls were there, standing back, waiting. Judging from the brevity of their bell-like skirts, given that shape doubtless by a lining of crinoline, and their bare arms, with puffed, short sleeves, I took them to be Saucy Maidens, probably a Bina and a Brigella. The Brigella, in particular, was lovely. I had little doubt if I should tip those skirts to the side I should encounter slave brands. The skirts, incidentally, are made to tip. This is utilized in various sorts of stage business. For example, one comic servant may pretend to inadvertently drop larmas, one by one, off a platter, which the girl, one by one, bends over to retrieve, another servant behind her. Then, while the girl chides them for their clumsiness, they change places, and, to her feigned exasperation, repeat the trick. The skirt may also be lifted up, for example, by the wily Peasant, reported looking for a lost ox, and so on. The audience, of course, generally has the same preferred coign of vantage as the lucky servant or the Wily Peasant.

With the two girls was a rather paunchy, harassed-looking fellow, with long sideburns and a rimless cap. Another fellow, a sailmaker, I think, was negotiating with him for his Golden Courtesan. The paunchy fellow was shaking his head. he did not wish, surely, to see her off the stage during a performance. The sailmaker was willing to wait. Then it seemed that the paunchy fellow, though sorely tempted, decided to hold on to the girl. Doubtless he needed the money, but what would he do without a Golden Courtesan? She probably also played the role of the Desirable Heiress. The same girl is often used for both roles. I looked back to the stage. The Golden Courtesan was probably unaware that she had nearly changed hands.

"Master," whimpered the girl beside me.

"Kneel," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she moaned, and knelt beside me. I did not wish her to interrupt the performance.

I looked back to the paunchy fellow and saw him, with his swaying belly, looking out into the crowd, somewhat apprehensively. The two girls with him, the Bina and the Brigella, seemed somewhat ill at ease, too.

I returned my attention to the stage.

The Golden Courtesan, facing away, was now feigning indifference to the suits of both the Comic Father and the Pedant. Two servants, Lecchio and Chino, are also in attendance. Chino, usually the servant of the Comic Father or the Merchant, is willowy and mischievous, with a black half-mask, with slanted eye holes, with red-and-yellow diamond-figured tights and pullover. Lecchio, usually the servant of the Pedant, is short and fat, a willing dupe of Chino and a sharer in his fun. He wears a brown tunic with a hood which he sometimes pulls over his head to hide embarrassment. The Comic Father and the Pedant pursue their suits. Chino and Lecchio conspire. Chino kicks the Comic Father and then looks away, studying clouds. In a moment Lecchio kicks the Pedant. This is repeated several times. Soon the Comic Father and the Pedant, each thinking the other is the assailant, are in furious controversy. It seems they will fight. Chino, followed by Lecchio, points out that their rich garments might be soiled, that their wallets might even be lost in such a scuffle. The Comic Father and the Pedant then give their robes and wallets to the servants and begin to berate one another and pull beards. The servants, of course, immediately don the garments and, swinging the wallets on their strings, meaningfully parade in front of the Golden Courtesan, who, of course, taking them for rich suitors, goes away with them. The Comic Father and the Pedant, now without their robes and wallets, soon discover the trick. Crying out they give chase to the servants.

The girl kneeling beside me held my leg and pressed her cheek against my thigh. She kissed me. She looked up at me. "Please take me to a pleasure rack, Master," she said.

"Be patient," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she moaned.

The next performance, following on the heels of the first, was a love-potion farce, a form of farce with many variations. In this one the principal characters were the Golden Courtesan, Chino, the Merchant and the Pedant. The Merchant was played by the harassed, paunchy-looking fellow I had seen earlier. The Pedant, this time, was depicted not as a member of the Scribes but as a member of the Physicians. In brief, the Merchant, intending to visit the Golden Courtesan, sends Chino for a love potion. Chino, of course, obtains not a love potion but a powerful laxative from the Physician. The Merchant takes the potion and visits the Golden Courtesan, with Chino in attendance. Predictably, the Merchant must continually interrupt his initial advances which, of course, are bumbling and clumsy, and not much to the liking of the courtesan, to rush hastily to the side of the stage where, conveniently, amy be found a great pot. Chino, meanwhile, exaggeratedly, in these interstices, is assuring the courtesan of the merchant's prowess as a lover. he is so successful that the courtesan soon begins to pant and call the merchant, who, eagerly, rushes back, only in a moment, unfortunately, to be forced to beat a retreat to the pot. Chino then again begins to reassure the confused, uncertain courtesan. Soon he is demonstrating, even, with caresses and kisses, all in the name of the merchant, just how skillfull the merchant would be. The couresan becomes more and more helpless and excited. Meanwhile the Physician comes by to check up on the efficacy of his potion. His conversation with the merchant provides ample opportunity for 'double-entendres' and talking at cross-purposes. The physician, in departing, puzzled that the potion has not yet taken effect, assures the merchant, sitting on the great pot, that he should allow it more time, that doubtless he will soon feel its effects. The merchant, however, convinced that this is not his day, now hobbles home, clutching the great pot. Chino grins and shrugs. He then leaps upon the Golden Courtesan. The time, after all, has been paid for.

In a moment the actors had returned to the stage, bowing. With them, too, were some of the actors from the earlier farces, usually presented in rounds of four or five. Some tarsk bits rattled to the boards. These were gathered in by the Chino and Lecchio. The Bina and Brigella, too, were now passing through the drowd with copper bowls. They were both very lovely, in particular, the Brigells. Such girls, like the other actresses wiht a small troupe, usually serve also as tent girls. It helps the troupe to meet expenses. I placed a tarsk bit in the towl of the Brigella. "Thank you, Master," she said.

The paunchy fellow, his belly swinging, now out of character as the merchant, was informing the qudience that a new round of farces, all different, would be performed within the Ahn. I saw his eyes momentarily cloud and, glancing back, I think I detected a possible cause for his distress. In the crowd was an officer of the Master of Revels, with two members of the Council Guard.

I drew the girl beside me to her feet. "Oh, yes," she breathed, "now," holding me, pressing her naked, collared beauty piteously against me, "take me to a pleasure rack. Now, please. I am so ready. I am so hot!"

"Not yet," I told her.

I then bought her a pastry from a vendor. "Eat it," I told her, "slowly, very slowly. Make it last a long time."

"Yes, Master," she said.

When a woman is ordered to eat a pastry in this fashion, she knows that she is barely to touch it, and then only once in a while, wit her small teeth. Rather, primarily, almost entirely, she is to address herself to it with her tongue. This puts her under a good discipline, is a good exercise for the tongue and tends to increase sexual heat. N the case of the free woman the tongue is usually something which serves rather conventional purposes, for example it helps her to talk. IN the case of the slave girl, however, it serves other purposes as well.

I moved along the front of the stage, through the crowd, the slave, the pastry clutched in her hands, at my elbow.

I paused only a yard or two from the end of the stage, before a kaissa booth.

I saw a large figure walking by. It might have stalked off one of the long, narrow, roofed stages or Ar, such as serve commonly for serious drama, spectacle and high comedy. It wore the 'cothornoi', a form of high platformlike boots, a long robe padded in such a way as to suggest an incredible breadth of shoulder, a large, painted linen mask, with exaggerated features, which covered the entire hed, and the 'onkos', a towering, imposing headdress. Such costumes are often used by major characters in serious dramas. This exaggeration in size and feature, I take it, is intended to be commensurate with their importance. They are, at any rate, made to seem larger than life. I did not know if the fellow were an actor or simply someone adopting such a costume, all in the fun of carnival. As he walked away I noted that the mask had a different expression on the back. That device, not really very common in such masks, makes possible a change of expression without having recourse to a new mask.

A fellow, a pulley-maker I recognized from the arsenal, and the arsenal kaissa champion, rose to his feet, from where he had been sitting cross-legged before the kaissa board in the kaissa booth. "A marvelous game," he said, rubbing his head, bewildered. "I was humiliated. I was devastated. I do not even know how he did it. In fourteen moves he did it! In fourtenn moves he captured three pieces and it would have been capture of Home Stone on the next! Perhaps there were illegal moves. Perhaps I did not see everything he did!"

"Try another game," encouraged the paunchy fellow, he who had been associated with the stage and who, it seemed, had an interest also in the kaissa booth. "Perhaps your luck will change!"

But the pulley-maker, almost reeling, made his way away, through the crowds.

"Why did you do that?" asked the paunchy fellow of the man sitting behind the board.

"he thought he knew how to play kaissa," said the man behind the board.

"How much have you taken in tonight?" asked the paunchy fellow, angrily, pointing to the copper, lidded pot, with the coin slot cut in its top, chained shut, near the low kaissa table.

The fellow behind the table began to move the pieces about on the board.

The paunchy fellow seized up the pot. He shook it, assessing its contents. "Four, five tarsk bits?" he asked. Judging from the timing and the sounds of the coins bounding about inside the pot there was not much there.

"Three," siad the fellow behind the board.

"You could have carried him for at least twenty moves," siad the paunchy fellow. He replaced the copper coin pot, chained shut, beside the kaissa table.

"I did not care to do so," said the fellow behind the board.

Interestingly the man behind the board wore black robes and a hoodlike mask, alsso black, which covered his entire head. He did not wear the red-and-yellow-checked robes of the caste of players, he was not, thus, I assumed, of that caste. Had he been of the players he would doubtless have worn their robes. They are quite proud of their caste. His skills, howver, I conjectured, must be considerable. Apparently the arsenal champion, one of the best twenty or thirty players in Port Kar, had been not match for him. Perhaps he had engaged in illegal moves. That seemed more likely than the fact that he, a fellow like him, associated with actors and carnival folk, and such, could best the arsenal champion. It ws carnival time, of course. Perhaps the champion had been drdink.

"If the game is not interesting for htem, if they do not htink they are really playing, seriously, they will not want a second or a thrid game," said the paunchy fellow. "We want them to come back! We want the board busy! That is how we are making the money!"

The price for a game is usually something between a tarsk bit and and a copper tarsk. If the challenger wins or draws, the game is free. Someteimes a copper tarsk, or even a silver tarsk, is nailed to one of the poles of the booth. It goes to the challenger if he wins and the game is free, if he draws. This is because a skillful player, primarily by judicious exchanges and careful position play, can often bring about a draw. Less risk is involved in playing for a draw than a win, of course. Conservative players, ahead in tournament play, often adopt this stratagem, usuing it, often to the fury of the crowds and their opponents, to protect and nurse an established lead. A full point is scored for a win; in a draw each player obtains a half point.

"you must manage to lose once in a while," said the paunchy fellow. "That will bring them back! That way, in the the long run, we will make much more money!"

"I play to win," siad the fellow, looking at the board.

"I do not know why I put up with you!" said the paunchy fellow. "You are only a roustabout and vagabond!"

I noted the configuration of the pieces on the board. The hooded fellow had not begun from the opening position, arriving at the configuration after a series of moves. he had simply set the pieces up originally in that position. Something about the position seemed familiar. I suddenly realized, with a start, that I had seen it before. It was the position which would be arrived at on the seventeenth move of the Ubara's Gambit Declined, Yellow Home stone having been placed at Ubara's Builder One, providing red had, on the eleventh move, departed from the main line, transposing into the Turian line. Normally, at this point, one continues with the advancement of the Ubara's Initiate's Spearman, supporting the attack being generated on the adjacent file, that of the Ubara's Builder. he, however, advanced the Ubar's Initiate's Spearman in a two-square-option move, grining it to Ubar's Initiate Five. I wondered if he knew anything about kaissa. Then, suddenly, the move seemed interesting to me. It would, in effect, launch a second attack, and one which might force yellow to bring pieces to the Ubar's side of the board, thereby weakening the position of the Ubara's Builder's File, making it more vulnerable, then, of course, to the major attack. It was an interesting idea, I wondered if it had ever been seriously played.

"You must learn to lose!" said the paunchy fellow.

"I have lost," said the hooded fellow, "I know what it is like."

"You, Sir," siad the paunchy fellow turning to me, "do you play kaissa?"

"A little," I said.

"Hazard a game," he invited. "Only a tarsk bit!" he then glanced meaningfully at the hooded fellow, and then turned and again regarded me. "I can almost guarantee that you will win." he said.

"Why is your player hooded?" I asked. It did not seem the kind of disguising that might be appropriate for carnival.

"It is something from infancy, or almost from infancy," said the paunchy fellow, shuddering, "from flames, a great fire. It left him as he is, beneath the mask. He is a disfigured monster. Free women would swoon at the sight. The stomachs of strong men would be turned. They would cry out with horror and strike at him. Such grotesquerie, such hideousness, is not to be tolerated in public view."

"I see," I said.

"Only a tarsk bit," the paunchy fellow reminded me.

"Do not fear that you will not win," said the hooded fellow, in fury, placing the pieces in position for the opening of play. He then, imperiously, removed his Ubar, Ubara, and his Builders and Physicians, from the board, six major pieces. He looked angrily at me, and then, too, he threw his tarnsmen into the leather bag, with drawstrings, at the side of the table. he spun the board about so that I might have Yellow, and the first move. Thus I would have the initiative. Thus I could, in effect, for most purposes, choose my preferred opening. "Make your first move," he said. "I shall then tip my Ubar and the game will be yours."

"Can you not be somewhat more subtle?" inquired the paunchy fellow of the hooded man.

"I would not consider playing under such conditions," I said.

"Why not?" aske dthe paunchy fellow, pained. "You could then say truthfully that you had won. Others need not know the sort of game it was."

"It is an insult to kaissa," I said.

"He is right," said the hooded fellow.

The slave girl, whimpered, looking up at me. The pastry, which she had been diminishing, bit by miniscule bit, flake by tiny, damp flake, with her tongue, was clutched in both her hands. As she ate thus, the palcement of her arms constituted a provocative modesty, on e terminable, of course, at my will. Similarly, her small, delicate wrists were close together, so close that they might have been linked by slave bracelets.

"Please, Master," she whimpered.

"Hazard a game," suggested the paunchy fellow.

I looked down into the eyes of the slave girl. She looked up at me, and slowly and sensuously, with exquisite care, licked at the sugary, white glazing on the pastry. She might be helpless with need, but I saw she had had training.

"I have another game in mind," I said.

She looked up at me, flakes of the pastry and glazing about her mouth, and kissed me. "I want to love you," she said. I tasted the sugar on her lips.

"I can understand such games," said the paunchy fellow. "It is pleasant to have a naked islave in one's arms."

"Yes," I agreed.

"Put them all in collars," he said. "Teach them what they are for, and about. No woman is worth antying until she is put in a collar. None of them have any worth until they are made worthless."

"What do you think?" I asked the slave.

"It is true, Master," she said.

"Now that fellow," said the paunchy fellow, gesturing to the hooded fellow, "is different from us. He lives only for kaissa. He does not so much as touch a woman. To be sure, it is probably just as well. They would doubtless faint with terror at the very sight of him."

"Do you wish to play, or not?" asked the hooded fellow, looking up at me.

"Under the conditions you propose," I said, "I would not accept a win from you, if you were Centius of Cos." Centius of Cos was perhaps the finest player on Gor. He had been the champion at the En'Kara tournaments three out of the last five years. IN one of those years, 10,127 C.A., he had chosen not to compete, giving the time to study. In that year the champion had been Terence of Turia. In 10,128 C. A., Centius had returned but was defeated by Ajax of Ti, of the Salerian Confederation, who had overcome Terence in the semifinals. In 10,129 C.A., last En'Kara, Centius had decisively bested Ajax and recovered the championship.

At the metnion of the name Centius of Cos, the hooded player had stiffened angrily. "I assure you I am not Centius of Cos," he said. He then, angrily, thrust the pieces intot he leather bag tied to his belt, put the board under his arm, and, limping, withdrew.

"It is still early!" called the paunchy fellow after the hooded man. "Where are you going?"

But the hooded fellow had disappeared between the booths, going somewhere to the rear.

"I am sorry," I said. "I did not mean to upset him."

"Do not worry about it," said the paunchy fellow. "It is always happening. He is a touchy fellow, impetuous, arrogant and reckless. Doubtless the ground should be grateful that he deigns to tread upon it. His kaissa, on the other hand, seems strong. It is probably too good, really, for what we need."

"Perhaps he should apply for membership in the caste of players," I suggested.

"He does not seem interested in that," he said.

"Oh," I said.

"Besides, he is a grotesque monster," he said. "Even the slaves fear him."

"I understand," I said.

"Too, if he were really any good, honestly speaking, between you and me, he would not be with us."

"I see," I smiled. To be sure, there was more moeny to be made in the kaissa clubs and on the high bridges. It was interesting to me that the fellow had limped. I had once known a kaissa player who had done that. To be sure, it was long ago.

"Have you, yourself, ever played him?" I asked.

"No," said the fellow. "I do not play kaissa."

"I see," I said.

"You are Boots Tarsk-Bit?" asked a voice.

The voice came from behind us. The paunchy fellow with me turned white.

I turned about.

"Greetings, Captain," siad the man.

"Greetings," I said to him. It was the officer of the Master of Revels. Behind him were the two members of the Council Guard.

"Hold," said the officer to the paunchy fellow, who, it seemed, had backed away, turned, and was bout to disappear between the stage and the kaissa booth.

"Did you call?" asked the paunchy fellow, pleasantly, turning.A meaningful gesture from the officer, pointing to a spot in front of him, brought the puanchy fellow alertly back into our presence. "Yes," he inquired, pleasantly.

"I believe you are Boots Tarsk-Bit," siad the officer, "of the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit."

"He must be somewehre about," siad the paunchy fellow. "If you like, I shall attempt to search him out for you."

"Hold," said the officer.

The paunchy fellow returned to the spot in front of the officer.

"That is he," siad one of the guards wiht him.

"No offense meant, good sir," siad that paunchy fellow, "A mere jest!"

"You are Boots Tarsk-Bit," said the officer, consulting an inked handbill, clipped wiht other papers. "Actor, Entrepreneur, and Impresario, of the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit?"

"At your service," said the paunchy fellow, bowing low. "What may I do for you?"

The girl was now kneeling beside me, with her head down. She had assumed this position immediately upon the appearance of the officer and ghe guards.

"We are here in connection with the matter of a license," said the officer.

"Yes," said the paunchy fellow, Boots Tarsk-Bit, pleasantly.

"Do you have one?" asked the officer.

"Would you care to come to my quarters?" asked Boots. "We have some lovely larmas there, and perhaps you and your men would like to try my Bina and Brigella."

"In the license," said the officer, "there is the provision that girls associated with companies such as yours, if slaves, may be commanded to the apartments and service of whomsoever the council, or a delegated officer of the council, directs."

"I scarcely ever read all the provisions of the licenses," said Boots. "Such things are so tedious."

"Do you have a license?" asked the officer.

"Of course!" said Boots, indignantly. "They are required, as is well known. No fellow with the least sense of ethics would think of being without one."

"May I see your license?" inquired the officer.

"Certainly," said Boots, fumbling about in his robes. "It is right here-somewhere." He examined his wallet. "Somewhere," he assured the officer. "Alas," he said, after the second ransacking of his robes, and his third examination of the wallet. "it must be in my quarters, perhaps in the wardrobe trunk. I shall return in a nonce. I trust that I shall not discover that I have been robbed!"

"Hold," said the officer.

"Yes?" said Boots, turning back.

"According to our records," said the officer, "you have no license. You did not petition to perform, and you did not obtain a license."

"I remember distinctly obtaining the license!" said Boots.

The officer glared at him.

"Of course, it might have been last year," said Boots. "Or maybe the year before?"

The officer was silent.

"Could I have neglected such a detail?" asked Boots, horrified. "Could such a thing have slipped my mind? It seems impossible!"

"It is not really so hard to believe," observed the officer. "It has happened three years in a row."

"No!" cried Boots, in horror.

"It is folks like you who give scoundrels and rogues a bad name," said the officer.

"What are you writing?" asked Boots anxiously.

"A disposition order," said the officer.

"To what effect, may I inquire?" pressed Boots.

"Your properties," said the officer, "including your actresses, will be confiscated. They will look well in state chains. You yourself will be publically flogged in the piazza, and the, for five years, banished from Port Kar."

"It is carnival time," I said to the officer.

"Captain?" he asked.

"What is owed?" I asked.

"The licensing fee is a silver tarsk," he said.

"Surely," I said to Boots Tarsk-Bit, "your players have taken in a silver tarsk?"

"No," he said. "We have, so far tonight, taken in only ninety-seven tarsk-bits, not even ten copper tarsks." Coinage on Gor baries considerably from city to city. IN Port Kar, and genreally in the Vosk Basin, there are ten tarsk bits to a copper tarsk and one hundred copper tarsks to a silver tarsk.

Surely you have some money saved," I said.

"Not enough," he said. "We live from day to day. Sometimes there is nothing to eat."

"More than a silver tarsk is actually involved, Captain," said the officer. "There is the matter of the last two years, as well, considerations of interest, and the customary emluments."

"I am runed," said Boots Tarsk-Bit.

"Let us not be hasty, officer," I said. "Boots Tarsk-Bit is an old friend of mine, a friend from long ago."

Boots looked at me, startled. Then he nodded, earnestly. We had known one another for quite some time now, at least ten Ehn.

"If you wish, Captain," smiled the officer, "I shall not pursue the matter further." He knew me. He had been with the fleet on the 25th of Se'Kara.

"Boots, of course, as is well known," I said, "is an honest fellow."

Boots looked startled.

"He always pays his debts," I assured the officer.

"I do?" asked Boots. "I do!" he then said quickly, firmly, to the officer.

"So pay the man," I said.

"With what?" inquired Boots, speaking to me in an intense whisper.

"With your earnings," I told him.

"They are not even ten tarsks!" hissed Boots to me, his eyes bulging.

"Check the pots of your Bina and Brigella," I said.

"I have checked them," He said.

"Check them again," I said.

He turned away, and then turned back, to stopp down and pick up the copper pot by the kaissa table.

"Leave it," I said.

He shrugged and then, straightening up, took his leave.

"he will doubtless be back for it," smiled the officer.

"He cannot, in any event, escape from the city," said one of the guards.

I reached down and picked up the pot from beside the kaissa table.

I looked down at the slave kneeling on the tiels of the piazza beside me, naked and in her collar, clutching the pastry. "You may now eat the pastry," I said. "You may now finish it." "Thank you, Master," she said, happily. She had now been under my total command for something like half of an Ahn.

I put three silver tarsks into the pot. "These cover the licesneing fees for three years," I said. It then put another silver tarsk into the pot. "This," I said, "should more than cover any interst due on the debts outstanding."

"More than enough," granted the officer.

"This tarsk," I then said, slipping it into the pot, "is for the Master of Revels."

"You are most generous," Captain," said the officer, impressed. "That is more than is normally expected."

"And this tarsk," I said, "is for you and your men."

"That is not necessary, Captain," protested the officer.

The coin dropped into the pot. "It is carnival," I smiled.

"Thank you, Captain," said the officer.

"Thank you, Captain," said the guards.

I replaced the copper pot beside the kaissa table.

I looked down at the slave. "Have you finished the pastry?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," seh smiled.

"Clean your fingers. Suck and lick them," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. I was growing hot for her. I must soon get her to a rack.

"It is no use, kind sirs," said Boots Tarsk-Bit, returning, carrying the two empty coin bowls. "They are empty."

"What of that pot?" asked the officer, indicating the one beside the kaissa table. "That contains earnings accruing to your troupe, does it not, from your kaissa booth?"

"Alas, it contains only three tarsk bits," lamented Boots Tarsk-Bit.

"Do your trust him?" asked the officer of one of the guards.

"Not I, Sir," responded the guard.

"Open it," said the officer.

"Very well," shrugged Boots. Then, as he picked up the kettle, a strange looke suddenly came over his face. She shook it. From within it came the unmistakable dlink of several coins.

Feverishly he drew a key out of his wallet. In a moment he had unlocked the padlock on the chain and drawn it, sliding through the handles, rattling, free. He removed the lid from the kettle.

"Sly scamp, rotund rogue," scolded the officer. "You have been holding out on us."

Boots, his euyes wide, sorted through the coins in the pot.

"What is there?" asked the officer.

"Three tarsk bits," said Boots, "-and five silver tarsks."

"Three silver tarsks for licensing fees, present and past, one for interest, and one for the Master of Revels," said the officer.

Boots counted out the coins and handed them to the officer.

"Is there nothing for myself and my men?" asked the officer.

Boots drew out the last silver tarsk out of his sleeve and, sheepishly, handed it to the officer. I had not seen him place it there. He had done it very skillfully.

The girl at my feet now held my leg in her arms and kissed at my leg, whimpering.

"It seems a slave is ready for pleasure," grinned the officer, looking at me.

"Perhaps," I said, as though nonchalantly.

"The rack, Master," she whimpered. "Please take me to a rack!"

"I see that you wear the favor of a free woman," observed the officer. He referred to the rich, light, colorful scarf thrust through he eyelet of my robes.

"Yes," I said. I recalled the richly robed, veiled, wheedling free woman whom I had permitted to place it there. What a churl I would have been, considering how prettily she had begged, and she a free woman, not to have accepted it.

"Take me to the rack, Master, please, I beg it!" said the girl at my feet.

"I see that you, too, have accepted the favor of a free woman," I said.

"Yes," he said, grinning. The favor he wore was different from mine, both in border and color. In the game of Favors, of course, the favors are supposedly unique to the given woman, in pattern, material, texture, color, shape, decoration, and so forth. If they were not unique in this fashion they could not act as practical counters in the game. Similarly, of course, they would be less efficient in manifesting the results of the deeper competitions involved, those competitions in which women desperately strive against one another, each to prove themselves more desirable to men than the others. Each woman desires to be more pleasing to men than the others. This is significant. It is in their nature.

"It is interesting to me that free women play the game of Favors," I said.

"It gives them a way of flirting," he said. "Too it gives them an opportunity to put themselves, in a way, at teh mercy of the male, to engage in petitioning behaviour, suing for his indulgence. In this it is not difficult to see a form of symbolic submission, a making of themselves dependent on his will. Too, of course, it gives them a way of testing their desirability and publicly procliaming, or advertising, it."

"luscious, vain creatures," I observed. I myself had earlier speculated along these lines. To be sure, the game of Favors, like most games, customs and practices, was undoubtedly complex and multiply motivated. Too, sometimes things take on additional meanings and values as they are enriched in a a historical tradition ormore deeply or variously interpreted in different contexts.

"It also, of course, gives them a way of establishing ranking among themselves," said the officer, "which is probably about the best they can do until they find themselves enslaved, put naked on blocks and priced."

"I agree," I said. That certain games, such as that of Favors, provided a mechanism for establishing desirability ranking among females, something in which they seemed much interested, seemed clear.

"What do you think of free women?" asked the officer.

"I didn't know there were any, really," I said. Goreans have a theory that there are only two sorts of women, slaves and slaves.

"You know what I mean," he said.

"I suppose they are all right," I said. They were all right, I supposed.

"Slaves are incomparably superior," he said.

"That is true," I said. There was no comparison.

"Please, Master, take me to a rack," begged the girl at my feet.

Freedom, with its inhibitions, inertnesses and hostilities, tends to produce a blockage to the emergence of the depth female. In bondage this blockage is removed, freeing the woman to find her natural fulfillment, her fulfillment in the order of nature, that of a slave at the feet of her master.

"Please, Master," begged the girl. "I beg to be taken to a rack."

I pulled her by the arm to her feet.

"Happy carnival," I said to the officer.

"Happy carnival," said he.

"Happy carnival," I said to Boots Tarsk-Bit.

"Happy carnival," said he.

I thrust the slave ahead of me, and we pressed through the crowds. In a few Ehn we had crossed the piazza and come to the racks. There were two sorts, refined, adjustable strap racks, with beddings of flat, soft, criss-crossed straps, with sturdy stud-and-eyelet securing straps, and simple net racks, little more than sturdy wooden frames within which was slung a netlike webbing of rope. In these riacks, if one wishes to secure the woman within the webbing, simple cords are used. There were also some trestles. I took the slave to one of the net racks. The strap racks were all in use.

I saw the free woman who had worn the brief cloth about her hips near the racks.

I threw the slave on her belly on the netting and then turned her to her back. I had her place her wrists and ankles through the netting in certain fashions. I did not bother secure her in position. I then joined her on the netting. In moments, gasping, looking at me wildly, gratefully, she was in the throes of slave orgasm. To arouse a free woman to the point of orgasm, even the sort of which she is capable, takes, usually, from a third to a quarter of an Ahn. The reflexes of the slave, on the other hand, for psychological reasons, and because of her training, can be much more easily, profoundly and frequently activated. This is not really surprising. The free woman, after all is a free woman and the slave is a slave.

"Buy me," said the salve, intensely. "You have money. Buy me, please! I will serve you well!"

I kissed her, and withdrew from her; in a moment I stood beside the rack, adjusting my robes.

"May I break position, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"She removed her hands and feet from the netting, slipped from the rack and came to kneel before me. She put down her head and kissed my feet. The marks of the rope, where she had lain on the netting, were on her body. She then looked up at me. "I did not meaqn to be forward, before," she said. "Please, forgive me. Beat me, if you wish."

I lifted her to her feet, and kissed her. "It is all right," I said.

She looked at me.

"Go, seek out your own master," I said. "See that you give him even more pleasure than you did me."

"Yes, Master," she smiled, and turned, disappearing into the crowd. A slave's first duty it to her own master.

"Paga?" invitd a fellow, reeling by.

We exchanged swigs from our botas, I from his, he from mine.

I saw the free woman standing, watching, she with the frief bit of cloth about her hips. I looked at her. It was interesting, I thought, that she had now come to the vicinity of the pleasure racks. Our eyes met. I looked imperiously to the rack. She shrank back, in terror. When I looked back again she was half crouched over, her head in her hands, her body shaken with fear and sobs. I then left the area of the racks. It was bout that time that I caught sight, once again, of Henrius and Vina. In a small space, with Henrius and some men about, to the music of some nearby musicians, the men clapping and keeping time, she was dancing. She did well. She might have been a nude, leashed, harnessed street dancer, one of the lowest forms of dancer on Gor. Soon, I suspected, Henrius would take her to a rack, or perhaps back to his holding. she was an incredibly lovely young slave, and loved him from the depths of her heart. Her perspiration had run in trickles through the paint on her body. I watche dher for a moment. How real and alive she was, the slave.

I turned away, troubled by some thought, but I could not, at the moment, determine what it was. It ws now gowing late and I thought perhaps I should consider returning to my holding. It was then that I recalled my earlier conversation with Henrius. He had told me that someone was looking for me. I wondered who thism ight be. Perhaps it had to do with Samos. Surely Samos, the last time I had been in his holding, had been evasive. Someone wished to see me, as I recalled, in Booth Seventeen. I turned my steps, curious as to what might be involved, toward the purple booths. The purples booths are normally maintained by slavers, used as locations in which girls, usually higher-quality slaves, more expensive merchandise, may be inspected and tried by bonafide buyers or their agents. Such booths are usually set up in the courtyards of slaver's houses and at special times, generally in the neighborhood of holidays and festivals. At other times, of course, such girls may be examined and tested in private chambers in the slaver's houses. The purple booths set up now in the piazza, however, had to do with the time of carnival. They were, in effect, good-will and promotional devices, donated to the festivities, for the pleasures of free men, by the houses of various slavers. The house of samos, for example, provided the first five booths, each complete with its furnishings, including a charming occupant. His fifth booth, as I had heard, contained the slave, Rowena. He wished to bring her along quickly. As I recalled, he intended to soon sell her, with several others, at the Fair of En'Kara, near the Sardar. Some men think that the girls in the public purple booths are much the same as those vended from the private purple booths on other occasions. Generally, however, as most men know, this is not the case. For example, Rowena was a new slave. Thus, even though she was very beautiful, she would probably not, in virtue of her inexperience, even be considered for a private-booth showing for several months or a year. It takes time for a girl to develop adequate skills.

I walked along the line of the booths until I came to Booth Seventeen. Most of the booths had the curtains drawn, and the lining of the booths and curtains is usually opaque. In two booths the threshold curtains were partly open. In one I saw a slave, naked, writhing slowly in chains before a man, his hands upon her. In another I saw a slave and her lover-master of the moment in one another's arms half oof the large, soft cushion on which the slave, customarily, kneeling, in obeisance, greeets the booth's entrant. Outside most of the booths two or three men were waiting. Interestingly enough, on Booth Seventeen, there was a sign pinned on the front of the booth, near the entrance curtain. It said, "Closed." The curtain itself was drawn shut, but it did not appear, from the look of it, from its lack of tautness, to be secured from the inside. I looked about. There were men about, some with carnival masks, but none seemed concerned with this booth. I waited outside the booth for a few moments. Noone, however, approached me. To be sure, I was supposed to meet the individual in Booth Severnteen, according to what Henrius had been told. I wondered who had spoken to him. I wondered if this matter had to do with Priest-Kings. To be sure, it seemed mysterious. Any normal business, I supposed, would have been conducted in more normal fashions.

I brushed aside the curtain and entered the booth, permitting the curtain, not much drawn on its rings, to fall shut behind me. A small tharlarion-oil lamp lit the interior of the booth. The booth was the only one furnished by the house of Vart, once Publius Quintus of Ar, a minor slaver in Port Kar. I had not seen him around outside. I wondered why the booth was closed. He had perhaps rented the space to someone for an Ahn or so. Perhaps the whole matter was a mistake. On the large cushion, sofr, and some five feet in diameter, toward the back of the booth, there lay a small, lovely body. It was a tiny, luscious redhead. She lay terribly still, extremely still. I approached her and, crouching down beside her, put my fingertips to the side of her throat, by the collar. She was alive. I puller her to a seated position on the cushion and smelled her mouth and lips, and gently, carefully, delicately, touched her lips with my tongue. I detected nothing. There was a smear of Ka-la-na wine at the left side of her mouth. Tassa powder had doubtless been used on her. It is traceless, and effective. I did not hting she would awaken for hours. The lamp flickered slightly. Her wrists had been thonged behind her; her ankles, too, had been crossed and thonged. The thongs were narrow, dark and tight. I put her back on the cusion.

I jerked my body suddenly to the side, to evade the grasping left arm, seeking to hod the target in place for the short, low right-handed thrust of the knife, or the throat attack, if the assailant was right-handed, and fo the assassins or the warriors. The small tharlarion-oil lamp had been placed in such a way that no shadow would be cast by it of a figure entering through the curtain. Warriors notice such things. Too, in permitting the curtain to fallshut behind me, I had not interfered with the antural closure of the booth. Had it not closed in this fashion I would have adjusted it shut. It is difficult to move such a curtain, heavy and lined as it is, customary in purple booths, without rustle of fabric, or the scraping of one or more of the rings. Too, of course, the air in the booth changes slightly as the curtain is moved, admitting it. The flame of the tiny lamp had flickered, too, in this shifting of air. The knife and arm, howeer, descending, passed over my body. The high stroke has various disadvantages. It begins from farther back and thus makes it difficult to use the left hand or arm to secure the target. It is easier to block. It does not have the same power as the short blow. The blade that has only six inches to move, with a full weight behind it, other things being equal, effects a deeper penetration than a blade wich must move farther and has behind it primarily the weight of a shoulder and arm. Too, of course, the stab from a shorter distance at closer range, point-blank range, so to speak, is likely to be more accurate. The target, after the initiation of the blow, even it if is not held in place, has very little time, given the mathmatics of reflexes, to shift its position. My assailant, I gathered, was neither of the assassins or warriors.

I rolled to the side, my hand going instinctively for the blade in my sheath, but the sheath, the weapon earlier surrendered at the check point through which I had entered the piazza, was empty. The man adjusted quickly, very quickly. he was fast. he wore a half mask. The blade had cut into the cushion. Before I could rise to my feet he was upon me. We grappled. I caught his wrist, turning the blade inward. Suddenly he relaxed. I left the blade in him. I was breathing heavily. I pulled away the half mask. He was the fellow hwom I had seen at the check point. Too, we had spoken together near the magician's stage.

I rifled through his robes. I could find no identification. Probably he had seen me throw the golden tarn disk to the stage. His motivation, doubtless, had been robbery. Yet I had seen him earilier at the check point. That could have been a coincidence, I supposed. I opened his wallet. It was filled with golden staters, from Brundisium, a port on the coast of Thassa, on the mainland, a hundred pasangs or so south of the Vosk's delta, one reported to have alliances with Ar. Robbery, then, did not seem a likely motivation. I knew little about Brundisium. Supposedly it had relations with Ar. I wondered if this were the fellow who had arranged to meet with me in Booth Seventeen. I did not think Vart, the slaver whose booth this was, was likely to be involved. He had probably just rented the booth. If he was involved he would have been stupid to use his own booth. Too, I suspected he had little love for Ar, and perhaps thus for Brundisium. He had once been banished from Ar, and nearly impaled, for the falsification of slave data, misrepresenting merchandise as to its level of training and skill.

I, too, had once been denied salt, bread and fire in Ar, and banished from the city. I did not think, however, that Marlenus, of Ar, her Ubar, he who had banished me, would be likely to send a covert assassin from Brundisium against me, from Brundisium perhaps to make the coneection with Ar seem unlikely or tenuous. If he wished to have it out with me, presumably he would do so, with his own blade. Marlenus was too direct and proud for such deviousness. Too, we were not really enemies. Too, if he had wished to send an assassin against me, presumably he would have done so long ago. Too, the fact that the stateres in the fellow's wallet were from Brundisuim did not mean that he himself was from that city. Anyone might have paid him in the staters of Brundisium. What enemies did I have? Perhaps, after all, robbery was the fellow's motivation.

I shuddered. I did not understand what had happened. I did not like what had happened.

I looked to the slave. I turned her to her belly on the cushion, putting her head to the side. I was disturbed, shaken and tense. I untied her ankles. Too, I had made a kill. I must calm myself. It is one of the things women are for. She whimpered, pounded, her small hands twisting in the tight leather thongs. I then tied her ankles together again, and then, this time, fastened her wrists to her ankles. I then tied the wallet, filled with the golden staters of Brundisium, about her collar. That would give Vart some consolation, I suspected, for the scandal he would find in his booth.

"Tarl," I heard, a voice speaking softly, outside the curtain. It was the voice of Samos.

"Enter," I said.

"I have been looking all over for you," he said. "I saw Henrius. He suggested you might be here." Samos' eyes opened widely. "What is going on here?" he asked. "Who is that?"

"Do you know him?" I asked.

"No," said Samos, examining the body.

"He tried to kill me," I said.

"Why?" he asked. "The slave?"

"No," I said. "I think perhaps robbery."

"His robes seem rich," said Samos.

"In his wallet were several staters, of gold, from Brundisium," I said.

"That is a valuable stater," said Samos. "It has good weight."

"He knew I was carrying gold," I said. "I had given evidence of this in rewarding a magician in the carnival."

"Even so," said Samos, "it would seem, from what you say, that he stood in no need of money."

"I do not think so," I said. "Yet robbery seems the only likely explanation."

"I do not know," said Samos. "Perhaps you are right."

"You sound doubtful," I observed.

"Thieves, my friend," said Samos, "seldom carry gold on their persons."

"Perhaps he had stolen it this evening," I said.

"No soncdierable therft has been reported this evening," said Samos, "as far as I know. It was not in the recent reports of the guards."

"Perhaps he slew the individual from whom he stole the coins and then thrust the body into a canal," I suggested.

"Perhaps," said Samos. "But his mode of garb does not suggest that of the elusive, quick-moving thief."

"It might make it easier to approach a victim," I suggested.

"Perhaps," said Samos.

"Too, robes would make it easier to get a knife through the check points at carnival," I said.

"Perhaps," said Samos.

"You do not seem convinced," I said.

"I am not," said Samos.

"This booth is closed," I said. "I gather that you did not rent it and close it."

"No," said Samos.

"Henrius," I said, "told me that someone wished to see me here."

"Was that before this fellow saw you throw gold to the magician?" asked Samos.

"No," I said. "Afterwards."

"Perhaps that is the explanation, then," said Samos.

"I do not think so," I said. "It was really not very long after I left the magician's platform that I saw Henrius. I do not think it likely that the arrangement could have been made that quickly. Too, Henrius, as I recall, did not speak as though he had just been contacted."

"He did not deny it, either, di he?" asked Samos.

"No," I said. "But if the fellow was a stranger, a common thief, how would he be likley to know my name, or of any connection between myself and Henrius, or others?"

"That is true," said Samos.

"The booth, too, presumably would have to be rented, and the slave drugged," I said.

"I see," said Samos. "It seems likely then, if he is a common thief, that he would have merely followed you here, and is not the fellow who spoke to Henrius, or who would be connected with the booth in some way."

"Yes," I said. "but then who would have rented the booth, who would have wanted to see me here?"

"What have we there?" asked Samos, gesturing to the girl, bound hand and foot on the cushion, the wallet tied at her dollar.

"A drugged slave," I said.

"Was she unconscious when you entered the booth?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then she probably would not be able to give helpful witness," he said.

"She might know who drugged her," I said.

"Presumbably she would only know that it was some fellow in a mast," said Samos. "Too, it may bery well have been done to her by her master, Vart, whose booth this is, he doing this under instructions."

"We could contact Vart," I said.

"The fellow to whom he rented the booth would presumably have been masked," said Samos. "It is, after all, carnival time. I doubt that Vart would be able to help us. Besides he is not noted, anyway, for his excessive concern for scrupulosity in his business dealings."

"What, then, do you think?" I asked.

"The signs, it seems to me," said Samos, "suggest a calculated ambush and one in which your friend here was probably implicated."

"I agree," I said. "You are thinking, then, in terms of a carefully planned robbery?"

"Not really," said Samos. "All things considered, such as the coins in his wallet, robbery sems to me, at least, to be a very unlikely motive for this attack."

"What could have been the possible motivation then?" I asked.

"I do no know," he said. "Who do you know who might wish to hav this done?" he asked.

"I do not know," I said. "What did you wish to see me about?"

His face clouded.

"You wish to speak to me," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Let us leave the booth," I suggested.

"No," he said. "Not now. I must speak to you privately in any case. This place is as good as any. Then we will leave the booth separately. It would not be good for us to be seen together at this time."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I fear spies," he said.

"The spies of Kurii?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Of whom, then?" I asked, puzzled.

"Of Priest-Kings," he said.

"I do not understand," I said, puzzled.

"I think there is a new order in the Sardar," he said. "I suspect it."

"That is possible," I granted him. I remembered the tale of Yngvar the Far-Traveled.

"Twice, rather recently, I have heard from the Sardar," he said, "once some ten days ago, and once yesterday."

"What is the import of these messages?" I inquired.

"They pertain to the arrest and detention of one who is reputed to be an enemy of Priest-Kings."

"Who is he?" I inquired. "Perhaps I can be of assistance in his apprehension."

"His name," said Samos, "is Tarl Cabot."

"That is absurd!" I said.

"When the first message arrived, some day ago, I was certain there was some grievous error involved. I sent back to the Sarder for confirmation, if only to buy time."

"It is no wonder you were so uneasy when I ws in your holding," I said.

"I wanted to speak to you," he said, "but did not know if I should do so. I thought it best, finally, not to do so. If the whole thing turned out to be a mistake, as I was sure it would, we could then, at a later date, no harm done, have a fine laugh over the matter."

"But yesterday," I said, "the confirmation arrived."

"Yes," he said, "and the terms of the orders are unmistakable."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "I am unarmed. Doubtless you have men outside."

"Do not be silly," he said. "We are friends and we have stood together with blades before enemies. I would betray Priest-Kings before I owuld betray you."

"You are a brave man," I said, "to risk the wrath of Priest-Kings."

"The most they can take is my life," he said, "and if I were to lose my honor, even that would be worthless."

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"I am sure," he said, "that this whole business is founded on some mistake, that it can be rectified, but the orders are clear. But I will need time."

"What are you going to to?" I asked.

"I shall send a report to the Sardar tomorrow," he said, "dated tomorrow. I shall inform the Sardar that I am unable to carry out their orders for I am unable to loacte you, that you have apparently left the city."

"I see," I said.

"In the meantime," he said, "I shall press for further clarifications, and a full inquiry into the matter, detailed explanations, and so on. I shall attempt to get to the bottom of things. Some terrible mistake must surely be involved."

"What are the charges?" I asked.

"That you have betrayed the cause of Priest-Kings," he said.

"How can I have betrayed their cause?" I asked. "I am not really an agent of Priest-Kings. I have never pledged a sword to them, never sworn a fidelity oath in their behalf. I am my own men, a mercenary of sorts, one who has, upon occasion, as it pleased him, labored in their behalf."

"It may be no easier to withdraw from the service of Priest-Kings than from that of Kurii," said Samos.

"In what way have I frustrated or jeopardized their cause?" I asked. "How have I supposedly subjected them to the insidiousness of betrayal?"

"You saved the life of Zarendargar, War General of the Kurii, in the Barrens," said Samos.

"Perhaps," I said. "I am not really sure of it."

"That was your avowedc intention, was it not, in entering the Barrens?" asked Samos.

"Yes," I said. "I wished to warn h im of the Death Squad searching him out. ON the other hand, as it turned out, he anticipated the arrival of such a group. He might have survived anyway. I do not know."

"Also, as I understand it," said Samos, "you had dealings with him in the Barrens, and ample opportunity there to attemp to capture or kill him."

"I suppose so," I admitted.

"But you did not do so," said Samos.

"That is true," I said.

"Why not?" asked Samos.

"Once we shared paga," I said.

"Is that what I am to tell the Sardar?" asked Samos, ironically.

"I see your point," I said.

"The Sarder, by now," said Samos, "probably views you as an agent of one of the parties of Kurii, and as a traitor, and one who probably knows too much."

"Perhaps I should turn myself in," I smiled.

"I do not think I would recommend that," smiled Samos. "Rather I think you should conveniently disappear from Port Kar for a time, until I manage to resolve these confusion and ambiguities."

"Where shall I go?" I asked.

"I do not want to know," said Samos.

"Do you think you will be successful in straightening this matter out?" I asked.

"I hope so," he said.

"I do not think you will be successful," I said. "I think the Sardar has already acted."

"I do not understand," said Samos.

"You received the first message some ten days ago," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"I expect its terminology, and such, was clear," I speculated.

Samos shrugged. "I suppose so," he said.

"You may have endangerd yourself by your delaying," I said.

"How is that?" asked Samos.

"The Sarder transmits a clear message," I said. "Instead of an acknowledgement and compliance report it recieves a request for clarification or confirmation, and that from an agent of high intelligence an dproven efficiency. This informed the Sardar that you were reluctant to carry out the orders. Furthermore, our friendship is not unknown, I am sure, to the Sardar. It is not difficult to conjecture the nature of the response in the Sardar. Presumably it has been decided that oyu are not to be relied upon in this matter. Indeed, you yourself, in virtue of your reswponse, may now be suspect to them."

"I recieved the confirmation yesterday," said Samos, lamely.

"That may have been to conceal from you any apprehensions existing in the Sardar as to your loyalty."

"Perhaps," he whispered.

"In any event the delay between the messages has given independent agents of Priest-Kings time to arrive in Port Kar. It may also have been noted that you did not act immediately upon the receipt of the confirmation."

"What are you saying?" asked Samos, agast.

"I think I have an explanation which makes sense of this little arrair in the booth," I said.

"No!" said Samos.

I looked down at the fellow in the rich robes, the knife protruding from his chest.

"I think I have just killed an agent of Priest-Kings," I said.

"No!" said Samos.

I shrugged. We could hear the sounds of carnival outside.

"If anyone," said Samos, "Kurii must have sent him."

"Perhaps," I said.

"Priest-Kings would not behave in such a way," said Samos.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Leave the city," he said.

"In his wallet were staters of Brundisium," I said. "Do you know anything about Brundisium, anything having to do with either Priest-King or Kurii?"

"No," said Samos.

"Then the Brundisium staters are probably meaningless," I said.

"I would suppose so," said Samos. "They are, of course, a valuable stater. There would be noting incredible about thier use being specified in a given transaction."

"Why not coinage of Ar," I asked, "or that of Port Kar, or of Asperiche, or Tharna, or Tyros, or Schendi, or Turia?"

"I do not know," said Samos.

"How will I know if it is safe to return to Port Kar?" I asked.

"From time to time," said Samos, "presumably you youself, incognito, or an agent acting on your behalf, might be in the city. Do you know the slave chains I have hanging behind the banner on the banner bar to the left of my threshold, where the bar meets the wall, those that have tied there with them a bit of scarlet slave silk?"

"Yes," I said.

"When it is safe for you to again appear publicly in Port Kar, when it is safe for you to again make contact with me, the scarlet slave silk will be replaced with yellow."

"I understand," I said.

"I wish you well," he said. We clapsed hands.

"I wish you well," I said.

Samos then withdrew from the booth. I remained inside for a few Ehn. It would not be well for him to be seen with me at this time. I looked at the man on the rug, that flooring the booth spread over the tiels of the piazza, he in whose heart I had left his own knife. I recalled the tale of Yngvar, the Far-Traveled. There was a new order, I surmised, in the Sardar. I did not regret what I had done in the case of Zarendargar. Once we had shared paga.

"I listened to the merriment of the revelers outside, to the cires, the horns and music.

I must leave Port Kar tonight. I would go to my holding; I would make arrangements; I would obtain weapons, moneys, letters of credit. I could be gone in two Ahn, on tarnback, before Priest-Kings discovered the failure of their plans.

I looked back at the samll, lovely redheaded slave bound hand and foot on the large cushion, the wallet filled with teh staters of Brundisium tied at her collar. Throughout all that had transpired in the booth she had not regained consciousness. Tassa powder is efficient.

I then left the booth. In a moment I was again making my way through the crowds of carnival.

I was bitter.

I would take no men with me. I had no wish to endanger them, nor to involve them in the dark matters of warring worlds. Too, the best guarantee of the safety of Samos, ti seemed to me, was my departure from the city. He was my friend. He had risked much fo rme. I could be gone in two Ahn, on tarnback, before Priest-Kings discovered the failure of their plans.

"Paga?" inquired a fellow.

"Of course," I said. It was carnival.

We exchanged swigs, I from his bota, he from mine. Then he turned aside, to offer paga to another. I stepped back, while one of the gigantic fellows, on stilts, stalked by. I was jostled. I checked my wallet. It was intact.

I then continued on my way, pressing through the throngs.

"Master," said a woman, kneeling before me. She put down her head and kissed my feet, and then looked up at me.

I recognized her. She was the free woman whom I had seen earlier, she masquerading as a slave, with the brief bit of cloth about her hips.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I have been in agony for two Ahn," she said. "I am now ready, of my own free will, to go to a rack."

Ilooked down at her. Women are very beautiful on thier knees.

"Please," she said, "-Master."

"precede me," I said.

She rose to her feet and, frightened, trrembling, I behind her, made her way through the crowds.

At one point we were literally stopped in the press.

"Paga?" asked a fellow, waiting beside me. We exchanged swigs. Then, in a few moments, the ccrowd loosened and, once again, I followed the female.

She came to the foot of a rack and stopped, regarding it. It was one of the strap racks, not a simple net rack, or rope rack. It was now open. Frightened, she crawled upon it, and then lay on it, on her back, on the broad, soft, flat, smooth, comfortable interlaced straps.

"I have never been on a rack before," she said.

"Not all of them are this comfortable," I assured her.

"I do not doubt it," she smiled. The comfort of the slave may or may not be taken into consideration by the master, as it pleases him. They are only slaves.

"You are a free woman," I said. "You need not go through with this."

"Touch me," she said.

"Paga?" asked a fellow. We exchanged swigs. Then he was on his way. He had not concerned himself with the woman. He had assumed she was a slave. She was, after all, half naked, in a collar and on a pleasure rack.

"I had to wait," she said, wonderingly.

"If you are going to masquerade as a salve," I said, "you should grow accustomed, at least in some respects, to being treated as a slave."

"Yes," she said.

"Suppose it were not a masquerade," I said.

"I understand," she said. Her eyes briefly clouded. I saw that she was frightened. I saw that she had just had some inkling as to what it might be to be truly a slave, to be truly, utterly, at the mercy of masters.

"Leap up," I suggested. "Flee the rack. Hurry home. If the straps are fastened upon you, it will be too late."

"No," she whispered.

"But what of respect and dignity?" I asked. "Surely you desire these, desperately."

"I have had respect and dignity for years," she said, "and they are empty! I have had my fill of respect and dignity! For years I have been betrayed and deluded by those trivializing, vacuous, negative verbalitites! I do not want respect and dignity! Obviously they are not the answer. If they were, I should be happy, but I am not! I do not want respect and dignity! I want fulfillment, and truth!"

I saw that her sexual drives were far too strong to be appropriate for those of a free woman. In her there was an eager, succumbing slave.

"Now I want to be overwhelmed, dominated. Now I want to tatke my place in the order of nature. Now I wasnt to be what I am, and have always been, truly, a woman!"

In every woman, of course, Goreans think, there is a slave. Perhaps, in the end, there is no difference.

She looked at me, pleadingly.

"You are a free woman," I told her.

She moaned.

"It would seem thus," I said, "at least according to some, that you are entitled to respect and dignity."

"I have never encountered a convincing proof to that effect," she said. "Have you?"

"No," I said.

"Oh, would that i were a slave," she smiled. "Then I owuld not have to concern myself with such matters. Then I would only have to mind my manners and make certain that I pleased my masters, totally."

"To be sure," I said, "many of the matters with which the free woman must concern herself are simply irrelevant to the slave."

"Such as dignity and respect," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Undre those names I have gone for years," she said.

"And yet, now," I said, "you have come, and of your own free will, to a rack."

"There comes a time," she said, "when the slogans no loner suffice, a tiem when the myth is seen to be meaningless."

"And such a time came for you?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"And then you put on a collar and came to carnival."

"Yes," she said, "and to a rack!"

"Interesting," I said.

"Are you going to touch me?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"You would use me withont a second thought if I were a slave," she said. "You are puttting me through this because I am a free woman. That is why oyu are making me suffer! That is why you are torturing me! Do you want me to beg?"

"Surely that would be unseemly in a free woman," I said.

"If I were a slave," she smiled, "I would beg quickly enough."

"I do not doubt it," I said. I could sense that whe was quite hot, for a free woman. To be sure, as a free woman, she could not even begin to suspect what it might be to tbe in the throes of slave need, to be slave hot, so to speak.

"Are you going to touch me?" she asked.

"I do not know," I siad, musingly.

She twisted her head angrily, in frustration, to dhe side, on the surface of broad, soft, interlaced straps.

"You are free to leave, of course," I said. "You have not yet been fastened in place."

"And what if I were fastened in place?" she asked.

"Then you would not be free to leave," I said.

"I see," she said. She lay back on the straps, and lifted her knees, and put her hands above and behind her, hooking her fingers in the interstices of the broad straps. She looked at me.

"I think there may be a slave in you," I said.

"Very well," she said. "You win. I beg rape."

I regarded her.

"Do you find me attractive?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you want me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Then take me," she said. "I am yours."

"You are a free woman," I said. "Thus, it would doubtless be improper for me to subject you to powerful uses. It is up to me, doubless, to see that you are protected from, indeed, shielded from, powerful sexual insights and experiences. You do not need to know what it is to be under male dominance. It is doubeless best that you never learn. It might change your life. Similarly, it is probably best that you learn nothing of helpless obedience, of submission and total surrender. It is difficult to tell where shuch things might lead. All in all, you had best remain on the superficial levels of sexuality, those appropriate to a free woman, unaware that anything deeper and more profound exists."

She looked a me, angrily.

"It seems thus," I said, "that I must refrain from responding to your needs, real and urgent though they may be."

"Do you think that I wll respect you for falsifying your manhood," she cried, "for denying it, for pretending it does not exist! Ultimately I would only despise you for your self-betrayal! Is honesty too much to ask from men? If you will not be a man, how can I be a woman? If I were a man, I would be a true man, and I would never betray my manhood! It would be precious to me! I would rejoice in it! And I would teach women, which is what we want, what it is to be women! I would be merciless with them! I would be their master!"

"That is what you want?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "for without it, we cannot be women."

I reached to one of the straps. It was a holding strap. These straps are adjustable. I would take it twice snugly about her wrist and then, angling it, press the cap-topped stud at the end of the strap, from the bottom, up through one of the small, sturdy, suitable eyelets on the same strap. No buckles are used. The occupant of the rack, of course, because of the nature of the cap-topped stud and the eyelet, cannot, from her position, free herself. She is helpless. The arrangement, tus, is not only such that teh girl finds herself, when the straps are on her, held in perfect custody, but this custody, in virtue of the nature of the studs and eyelets, may be easily imposed or removed, a convenience to the handler. "If I fasten these upon you, you will be helpless," I said.

I began with her wrists, and then I secured her ankles.

"Free yourself," I suggested.

She struggled. "I cannot," she said. She looked at me, frightened. "I am as helpless as a slave," she said.

I regarded her. She was extremely attractive.

"What are you doing?" she cried. My hands were at the string holding the cloth about her hips.

"I am going to lay aside your veil," I told her.

"No," she begged.

I undid the string.

"I shall cry out!" she threatened.

"Then it will only be necessary to gag you," I said.

"Please," she begged. "I have changed my mind! RElease me!"

"It is too late for htat," I said.

"Please," she pleaded.

"I am only human," I said.

"Please," she pleaded.

"No," I told her.

Then she lay back on the soft, broad straps, moaning. The cloth at her hips, now freed, ahd been brushed to the sides. No longer now between us lya the least impediment. She was now, as it is sometiems said on Gor, slvae naked.

She looked at me. I put down my head and began to kiss her, and lick her, slowly about the belly.

"Oh!" she said.

And in a few moments, she was trying to move her body beneath my mouth, trying to bring me to other positions on her body. Her movements were mute, helpless pleas.

"Ohhhh!" she said suddenly, softly.

"Now," I said, "you must restrain yourself. You must try not to move."

"I cannot hel myself," she said.

"It would be easy enough for me to desert you now," I said, "leaving you in the straps."

She moaned.

"You will not move now," I said, "until you receive permission."

"I will try," she said.

I then continued to lick and kiss at her, softly. She began to whimper and moan. I looked at her. Her eyes were wild, pleading. I put my hands on her belly. It was tense and hot, throbbing with blood and need. "Do not move," I told her.

"No," she said, "no!"

I then resumed my ministrations to her body. They were such as might be inflicted upon a woman who was no more than a slave.

"Please!" she whimpered, "Please! Please!"

"Very well," I said. "You may move."

She cried out and seemed to explode under me, sobbing with joy and helplessness. Then she looked at me wildly, still held in the straps, disbelief in her eyes. Then I entered her and took her, not gently. "Oh," she cried. "Master! Master!" Then again she lay back on the straps, helpless.

"I have business to attend to," I said. Indeed, I must soon make away from Port Kar.

"Tarry but a moment," she begged. She was in a position to do no more than beg, secured as she was.

I lay beside her and kissed her, and held her, for a moment.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"I think there is a slave in you," I said.

"I know. I know, Master," she whispered.

"Perhaps you should consider the collar," I said.

"Such thoughts are not new to me," she said. "I have had them for years."

"It must be a difficult choice for a woman," I said, "the choice between freedom and love."

I rose from the rack, and drew my robes about me.

"I have business to attend to," I said. I should soon leave the city. I adjusted my wallet.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I freed her from the flexible, efficient restraints, and helped her courteously from the rack.

"Thank you," she said. "You are very kind." I restrained her from kneeling. She was, after all, a free woman. "Was I pleasing?" she asked.

"That question seems more appropriate to a slave than a free woman," I said.

"I ask it," she said.

"Is it important to you?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes," I said. "You were pleasing."

"Wonderful!" she said.

"For a free woman," I added.

"Oh," she said.

"Certainly you did not think to be able to compete with a slave," I said. "You would not have her experience, her skills, her training. You have not been forced to live with and endure slave heat. You have not been forced to learn submission, obedience, service, passion and love. You have not yet been sensitized to her collar."

"Suppose I became a slave," she said. "Do you think I might become a pleasing slave?"

"You have generated a great deal of heat," I said. "That is an excellent sign."

"Do you think, in time, I might make an adequate slave?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "and perhaps, in time, even a superb one."

"That is high praise," she smiled.

"You had better wear this," I said, handing her the brief bit of cloth which she had worn about her hips. "If men see you without it, they may be stimulated, and you may be raped several times on the tiles before you manage to leave the piazza. Many men are drunk here tonight and they may be careless. They may not think to chick your body for brands. You might be had before they determined their error."

Smiling, she tied the cloth about her hips.

"Farewell," said I, "Free Woman."

"Will I see you again?" she asked.

"It is not likely," I speculated.

"Do you wish to know my name?" she asked.

"No," I said, "nor is it needful for you to know mine."

"I see," she said.

"It was only a touching at carnival," I said.

"I see," she said.

"Happy carnival," I said.

"Happy carnival," she said. Then she turned about and, sobbing, fled away. I watched her go. Her body was hormonally rich. That was evident in the configuration of her beauty and in her dispositions and reflexes, exhibited on the rack. Too, she was profoundly feminine. She had now disappeared among the revelers. Her body, I though, would make the decision for her.

"I see that you have won the favor of a free woman," said a man.

"What?" I asked. I thought he referred to the free woman, she who had just disappeared among the revelers.

"That," he said, indicating the silken favor in the eyelet of my robes.

"Oh!" I said. "yes, it would seem so." I looked at the favor. I had forgotten it.

"Paga?" said he, extending his bota.

"Surely," I said. We exchanged swigs of paga.

"It must be ice to have won the favor of a free woman," he said.

"I and a few hundred other fellows," I said.

"That particular favor," he said.

"Alas," I said, "even there I fear I am but one of ten."

"One out of fifteen," he said.

"Oh?" I said.

"Yes," he said.

I shrugged. The game of favors can be played with any number of favors and contestants, but the usual number of favors distributed is ten.

"Happy carnival," he said.

"Happy carnival," I said.

I turned to proceed to the check point where I would turn in my numbered receipt and reclaim my weapons. The crowds had thinned now, but the piazza was till, for the most part, crowded.

I stumbled, and then straightened myself. Surely I had not had that much paga.

I took another step or two, and then I slipped to one knee. The piazza seemed to move beneath me. I caught my balance. I was conscious of masks and costumes swirling about.

"What is wrong?" asked a voice.

"He has had too much paga," said another voice.

I wanted to rise to my feet, but I slipped to the tiles.

"It is al right," said a voice.

Things began to grow dark. I fought to retain consciousness. It was difficult to move. I could not speak.

"Put a mask on him," whispered a voice.

I felt a carnival mask fastened on me.

"No," I seemed to say, but no sound escaped my lips.

I felt myself lifted to my feet, each of my arms held about the shoulders of a man.

"What is wrong with him," asked a voice.

"Too much paga," responded a voice.

"Is he all right?" asked a voice.

"Yes," said a voice.

"No!" I wanted to cry, but could not.

"Do you require help?" asked a man.

"No," said a voice, that of one of the two men supporting me.

"Are you sure?" asked the man.

"Yes, citizen," said the other fellow supporting me. "We will manage quite well. Thank you."

I then sensed we were alone.

"Put him in the boat, with the others," said a voice. It was a woman's voice.

I then lost consciousness.