21 Mercenaries of GorMercenaries of Gor
John Norman
Chronicles of Counter-Earth Volume 21
1      What Occurred Outside Samnium
I do not know about other women, she said, but I am one who wishes to belong 
to a man, wholly,
Beware your words, I cautioned her.
I am a free woman, she said. I can speak as I please.
I could not gainsay her in this. She was free. She could, accordingly, say what 
she wished, and without requiring permission. She stood before me. She had dared 
to brush back her hood. She had unpinned her shimmering veils, permitting them 
to fall about her throat and shoulders. A soft movement of hands and a shake of 
her head had thrown her long, dark hair behind her back. She had dark eyes. Her 
face was softly rounded. It was delicate and beautiful.
You have unpinned your veil, I observed.
Yes, she said.
You are brazen, I said.
Yes, she said, insolently.
I mused, considering this. It is not difficult, of course, to take insolence 
from a woman.
Why have you unpinned your veil before me? I asked.
Perhaps you will like what you see, she said.
Bold female, I observed.
She tossed her head, impatiently.
Do you have the least inkling as to what it might be, to belong to a man, 
wholly?
Do you find me pleasing? she asked.
Answer my question, I said.
Yes, she said.
I wondered if this is true. It might be. She was Gorean.
(pg. 7) Now, she said. Answer mine!
Do not court an altercation in your condition, unless you are prepared to 
accept it, in its full consequences, I said.
She shuddered. She lowered her eyes. It is said that there is in every woman 
that which I sense so fearfully, yet longingly, in myself.
I wonder if that is true, I said.
I do not know, she said, but I know that it is in me, passionately, strongly, 
irresistibly.
You are bold, I said.
A free woman may be bold, she said.
True, I granted her.
I need this for my fulfillment, to be one with myself, she said.
Speak clearly, I said. She was free. I saw no point in making it easy for her.
I want to be a total woman, in the order of nature, she said.
I shrugged.
My heart cries out, she wept, with the need to be accepted, to be acquired, 
to be owned, to be mastered, to be forced to submit, to be forced to will-lessly 
and selflessly serve and love!
I did not respond to her.
I beg this of you, for you are a man, she said.
Speak with greater precision, I said.
She shook her head. Please, no, she said.
I shrugged.
Mine is the slave sex! she said, angrily, defiantly.
The slave sex? I asked.
Yes! she said.
And you are a member of that sex? I asked.
Yes! she said, angrily.
I see, I said.
I am tired of trying to be like a man! she said. It is a lie which robs me of 
myself!
I said nothing.
(pg. 8) I want to be true to myself, she said. I want to be fulfilled!
Such a thing is not reversible by your will, I said.
I am well aware of that, she said.
There are many sorts of masters, I said, and you would be at the disposal of 
any of them, and totally,
I know, she whispered.
I said nothing.
You have still not answered my question, she said. Do you find me pleasing?
It is difficult to say, I said, bundled and covered as you are.
She looked at me, frightened.
Strip, I said. She would be assessed.
She reached to the veils about her throat and shoulders and, taking them, 
dropped them softly to the grass. She stood not more than a hundred yards from 
the gate of Tesius, in the city of Samnium, some two hundred pasangs east and a 
bit south of Brundisium, both cities continental allies of the island ubarate of 
Cos. She slipped softly from her slippers. She must then have felt the touch of 
the grass blades on her ankles. She looked at me. Her hands went to the stiff, 
high brocaded collar of her robes, the robes of concealment, to the numerous 
eyes and hooks there, holding it tightly, protectively, about her throat, up 
high under her chin.
Do not dally, I told her.
In a few moments she had parted her robes, and slipped them, first the street 
robe, that stiff, ornate fabric, and then the house robe, scarcely less 
inflexible and forbidding, from her small, soft shoulders. Clad now only in a 
silken sliplike undergarment, she then looked at me.
Completely, I said, absolutely.
She then stood before me, even more naked than many a girl up for vending, 
waiting to be thrust to the surface of the block, for she wore no collar, no 
chains, no brand. A merchant on his way to the gate of Tesius paused, to gaze 
upon her. So, too, did two soldiers, guardsmen of Samnium. She stood very 
straight, inspected. None of these wrinkled their noses nor spat upon the 
ground.
(pg. 9) What is your name? I asked.
Charlotte, Lady of Samnium, she said.
Turn slowly before me, Lady Charlotte, I said. Now place your hands, clasped 
behind the back of your head, and arch your back. Good. You may now kneel. Do 
you know the position of the pleasure slave? Good.
How does it feel to be kneeling before a man? I asked.
I have never been like this before a man, she said.
How does it feel? I asked.
I do not know, she said. I am so confused. It is so overwhelming. I am 
uncertain. I do not know what I feel like. I am almost giddy.
Lift your chin, I said.
She complied immediately, unhesitantly.
Spread your knees more widely, I said. Again, unhesitantly, immediately, she 
complied.
I regarded Lady Charlotte. I saw that she might be suitable. She was beautiful, 
and extremely feminine. I saw one of the soldiers licking his lips.
These are difficult and dark times, I told her. I tell you nothing you do not 
know when I tell you that. Too, I now inform you that where I go, it will be 
dangerous.
She looked up at me.
Remain in the city, I said. There you will be safe, there you will be 
secure.
No, she said.
No? I asked.
No, she said, firmly. I am not yours. I do not need to obey you.
Assume a position on your hands and knees, I told her.
Yes, I said. I removed a slave whip from my pack.
I am free! she said.
I think it will do you good to feel this, I said, shaking out the five, soft, 
broad blades. I then went behind her.
Ai! she cried, struck. It hurts, so! she wept, now, a moment later, 
beginning to feel the pain in its fullness, now on her stomach, disbelief in her 
eyes. I did not know it was like that.
(pg. 10) I struck you but once, and not hard, I told her.
That was not hard? she gasped, striped, stung, sobbing, terrified.
No, I told her. Go back now to the city, and be safe.
No, she sobbed. No!
I crouched near her, looking at her closely.
No, she said. No, no!
I regarded her.
Please, she said.
Very well, I said.
She looked at me, wildly, elated. I thrust her face down to the grass. She 
sobbed with relief, with pleasure. I drew forth a slave collar from my pack. 
Roughly, unceremoniously, I placed it on her neck, snapping it shut, locking it.
Good, said the merchant, turning away. Good, said the two soldiers, too, 
turning away.
I regarded her.
She was now collared. She was now a slave. She was now mine.
She looked up at me, frightened. I am yours, she whispered.
Yes, I said.
Please strike me once more, she said, that I may this time feel the blow as a 
slave.
I said nothing.
I want to feel your whip, as your slave, she said.
Very well, I said. I then, by the hair and an arm, drew her again to her hands 
and knees. I again then stood behind her but this time I did not strike her 
immediately, but let her wait, as a slave, that she might anticipate the blow, 
and grow apprehensive of it, and not know precisely when it would fall. Then the 
blades hissed suddenly down upon her and again she cried out, sobbing, flung to 
the grass, which she clutched with her fingers. You punish me, she said. You 
can do with me as you please. I am your slave! I am yours!
I looked down upon her. She was not unattractive. I had not planned to take a 
slave with me from Samnium, but I did not truly object to doing so. She could 
cook for me, and serve me, and keep me warm in the furs. It was late in SeKara. 
I (pg. 11) would find her a useful convenience, a lovely one. Every man needs 
such a convenience. Then, when I wished, I could give her away, or dispose of 
her in some market.
Do you think you were struck hard? I asked.
I do not know, Master, she said.
You were not, I informed her.
Yes, Master, she whispered, frightened, sensing what might have been done to 
her but had not been. To be sure, I had struck her harder than the first time, 
for she was now a slave, and slaves, of course, are whipped differently from 
free women, but I had not, truly, struck her with great force.
Can men strike harder than that? she asked.
Do not be absurd, I said. I struck you with only a tiny fraction of the force 
that an average fellow, if he wished, might bring to such a task. Too, I struck 
you only once, and in only one area, one less sensitive to pain than many 
others.
I see, Master, she said, shuddering. She had then sensed what it might be to 
be a whipped slave girl. And whipping, of course, is only one of the punishments 
to which such a girl might be subjected. I will try to be a good slave, 
Master, she whispered, frightened, understanding now perhaps some what better 
than before something of the categorical and absolute nature of her new 
condition.
Who were you? I asked.
Lady Charlotte, of Samnium, she said.
Who are you? I asked.
A slave, only a slave, yours, she said.
What is your name? I asked.
I have no name, she said. I have not yet been given one. My master has not 
yet given me a name.
Your responses are correct, I said.
She sobbed with relief.
Do you wish a name? I asked.
It is all within the will of the Master, she said. I want only only what 
Master wants. I desire only to please.
It will be a convenience for me to have a name for you, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
You are, Feiqa  I said, naming her.
(pg. 12) Thank you, Master, she breathed, elated, Feiqa is a lovely name. It 
is not unknown among dancers in the Tahari.
Other such names are Aytul Benek, Emine, Faize, Mine, Yasemine and  
Yasine. The qa in the name Feiqa, incidentally, is pronounced rather like 
kah in English. I have not spelled it Feikah in English because the letter 
in question, in the Gorean spelling, is a kwah and not a kef. The kwah in 
Gorean, which I think is possibly related, directly or indirectly, to the 
English q, does not always have a kwah sound. Sometimes it does, sometimes 
it does not; in the name Feiqa it does not. Although this may seem strange to 
native English speakers, it is certainly not linguistically unprecedented. For 
example, in Spanish, certainly one of the major languages spoken on Earth, the 
letter q seldom, if ever, has the kwah sound. Even in English, of course, 
the letter q itself is not pronounced with a kwah sound, but rather with a 
k or c sound as in kue or cue.
I gathered my shield and weapons from the grass near us, where they lay with my 
pack. I slung my helmet over my left shoulder. I set my eyes to the southeast, 
away from the high gray walls of Samnium.
Fetch my pack, Feiqa, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. She would serve as my beast of burden.
I watched her as she, unaided, struggled with the pack. Then she had it on her 
back. Her back was bent. It is heavy, Master, she said. I did not respond to 
her. She lowered her head, bearing the pack. The wind moved through the trampled 
grass. She shivered. It was now late in SeKara. Already on Thassa the winds 
would be chill and the cold waves would be dashing and plunging to the bulwarks 
and washing the decks with their cold floods. I regarded the girl. In warmer 
seasons, or warmer areas, one may take ones time in making the decision as to 
whether or not a female is to be permitted clothing. Some masters keep their 
slaves naked for a year or more. The girl is then grateful when, and if, she is 
permitted clothing, be it only a bit of cloth or some rag or other. In this 
latitude, however, and in this season, I would have to see to the slaves 
garmenture. I looked back at the discarded (pg. 13) clothing on the grass. She 
could take none of that, of course It was no longer proper for her. It was the 
clothing of a free woman. That sort of thing was now behind her. I could have 
her fashion something from a rough blanket perhaps, and find her something to 
wrap her feet in. Too, I might be able to find her something, which might 
function as a cloak. That she could clutch about her head and shoulders.
Do you know how to heel, Feiqa? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said. She was a Gorean woman, familiar at least superficially 
with the duties and obligations of slaves. To be sure, as a recently free woman, 
she might perhaps find herself astounded and horrified at some of the things 
that would now, even routinely, be required of her. I did not know. Certain 
things which are not only common knowledge to slaves but, even a normal, 
familiar part of their lives seem to be scarcely suspected by free women. These 
are the sorts of things about which free women, horrified and scandalized, 
scarcely believing them, sometimes whisper, fearfully, delightedly, among 
themselves. Some Earth-girl slaves brought to Gor, incidentally, do not even 
know how to heel. Incredibly, they must be taught. They learn quickly, of 
course, in the collar, and subject to the whip.
I looked back, again, to the walls of Samnium. It had been spared the savageries 
of the war, doubtless because of its relationship with Cos. I then set out to 
the southeast. I did not look back. I was followed by Feiqa. (pg. 14)
2      There Are Hardships in These Times
I looked up from Feiqa, moaning in my arms, clutching at me. I had heard a tiny 
noise. I thrust her back, and away, she whimpering. I reached to my knife, and 
stood up, in the darkness. I stood on the lowered circular floor, dug out of the 
earth, packed down and tiled with stone, behind a part of a wall. It was the 
remains of a calked, woven-stick wall. It was now broken and charred. I could 
see the dark sky, with the moons, over its jagged, serrated edge. I could hear 
the whisper of other leaves outside. They were blown to and fro, like dry, 
brittle, fugitives, on the small, central commons between the huts.
We had made our camp here, in the burnt, roofless, half-fallen ruins of one of 
the huts. It had given us shelter from the wind. The village had been deserted, 
perhaps, judging from the absence of crockery, household effects and 
furnishings, even before it had been burned. It stood like most Gorean villages 
at the hub of its wheel of fields, the fields, striplike, spanning out from it 
like spokes. Most Gorean peasants live in such villages, many of them palisaded, 
which they leave in the morning to tend their fields, to which they return at 
night after their days labors. The fields about this village, however, and near 
other villages, too, in this part of the country, were now untended. They were 
untilled and desolate. Armies had passed here.
Is there someone there? asked a voice, a womans voice.
I did not respond. I listened.
(pg. 15) Who is there? she asked. The voice sounded hollow and weak. I heard 
the whimpering of a child.
I did not respond.
Who is there? she begged.
I moved a little in the shadows, slowly, and back and toward the center of the 
hut. In moving slowly, one tends to convey, on a very basic level, that one is 
not intending harm; to be sure, even predators like the larl occasionally abuse 
this form of signaling, for example, in hunting tabuk, using it for purposes of 
deception; more rapid movement, of course, tends to precipitate defensive 
reactions. In moving back I had also tended to reassure the figure in the 
doorway that I meant no harm, this movement, too, of course, had the advantage 
of ensuring me reaction space; in moving toward the center of the hut I made it 
possible for her to see me better, this tending too, one supposes, to allay 
suspicions; in this way, too, of course, I secured myself weapon space. These 
things seemed to be instinctual, or, at least, to be done with very little 
conscious thought. They seem very natural. We tend to take them for granted. It 
is interesting, however, upon occasion, to speculate upon the possible origins 
of just such familiar and taken-for-granted accommodations and adjustments. It 
seems possible they have been selected for. At any rate, they, or their 
analogues, are found throughout the animal kingdom.
The small figure stood just outside what had once been the threshold of the hut. 
It had come there naturally, it seemed, as if perhaps by force of habit, or 
conviction, although the door was no longer there. It seemed forlorn, and weary. 
It clutched something in its arms.
Are you a brigand? she asked.
No, I said.
It is a free woman, whispered Feiqa, kneeling on the blankets.
Cover your nakedness, I said. Feiqa pulled her tiny, coarse tunic about her 
self.
This is my house, said the woman.
Do you wish us to leave? I asked.
Do you have anything to eat? she asked.
(pg. 16) A little, I said. Are you hungry?
No, she said.
Perhaps the child is hungry? I asked.
No, she said. We have plenty.
I said nothing.
I am a free woman! she said, suddenly, piteously.
We have food, I said. We have used your house. Permit us to share it with 
you.
Oh, I have begged at the wagons, she said suddenly, sobbing. It is not a new 
thing for me! I have begged! I have been on my knees for a crust of bread. I 
have fought with other women for garbage beside the road.
You shall not beg in your own house, I said.
She began to sob, and the small child, bundled in her arms, began to whimper.
I approached her very slowly, and drew back the edge of the coverlet about the 
child. Its eyes seemed very large. Its face was dirty.
There are hundreds of us, she said, following the wagons. In these times only 
soldiers can live.
The forces of Ar, I said, are even now being mustered, to repel the invaders. 
The soldiers of Cos, and their mercenary contingents, no matter how numerous, 
will be no match for the marshaled squares of Ar.
My child is hungry, she said. What do I care for the banners of Ar, or Cos?
Are you companioned? I asked.
I do not know any longer, she said.
Where are the men? I asked.
Gone, she said. Fled, driven away, killed. Many were impressed into service. 
They are gone, all of them are gone.
What happened here? I asked.
Foragers, she said. They came for supplies, and men. They took what we had. 
Then they burned the village.
I nodded. I supposed things might not have been much different if the foragers 
had been soldiers of Ar.
Would you like to stay in my house tonight? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Build up the fire, I said to Feiqa, who was kneeling (pg. 17) back in the 
shadows. She had put her tunic about her. Too, she had pulled up the blanket 
about her body. As soon as I had spoken she crawled over the flat stones to the 
ashes of the fire, and began to prod among them, stirring them with a narrow 
stick, searching for covert vital embers.
Surely you are a brigand, said the woman to me.
No, I said.
Then you are a deserter, she said. It would be death for you to be found.
No, I said. I am not a deserter.
What are you then? she asked.
A traveler, I said.
What is your caste? she asked.
Scarlet is the color of my caste, I said.
I thought it might be, she said. Who but such as you can live in these 
times?
I gave her some bread from my pack, from a rep-cloth draw-sack, and a bit of 
dried meat, paper thin, from its tied leather envelope.
There, there, she crooned to the child, putting bits of bread into its mouth.
I have water, I said, but no broth or soup.
The ditches are filled with water, she said. Here, here, little one.
Why did you come back? I asked.
I came to look for roots, she said, chewing.
Did you find any? I asked.
She looked at me quickly, narrowly. No, she said.
Have more bread, I said, offering it.
She hesitated.
It is a gift, like your hospitality, I said, between free persons. Did you 
not accept it I should be shamed.
(pg. 18) You are kind, she said. Not to make me beg in my own house.
Eat, I said.
Feiqa had now succeeded in reviving the fire. It was now a small, sturdy, 
cheerful blaze. She knelt near it, on her bare knees, in the tiny, coarse tunic, 
on the flat, sooted, stained stones, tending it
She is collared! cried the woman, suddenly, looking at Feiqa.
Feiqa shrunk back, her hand inadvertently going to her collar. Too, her thigh 
now wore a brand, the common Kajira mark, high on her left thigh, just under the 
hip. I had had it put on her two days after leaving the vicinity of Samnium, at 
the town of Market of Semris, well known for its sales of tarsks. It had been 
put on in the house of the slaver, Teibar. He brands superbly, and his prices 
are competitive. No longer could the former Lady Charlotte, once of Samnium, be 
mistaken for a free woman.
The free woman looked at Feiqa, aghast.
Belly, I said to Feiqa.
Immediately Feiqa, trembling, went to her belly on the stained, sooted stones 
near the fire.
I will not have a slave in my house! said the free woman.
Feiqa trembled.
I know your sort cried the free woman. I see them sometimes with the wagons, 
sleek, chained and well-fed, while free women starve.
It is natural that such women be cared for, I said. They are salable animals, 
properties. They represent a form of wealth. It is natural to look after them as 
it is to look after tharlarion or tarsks.
You will not stay in my house! cried the free woman to Feiqa. I will not keep 
livestock in my house.
Feiqa clenched her small fists beside her head. I could see she did not care to 
hear this sort of thing. In Samnium she had been a rich woman, of a family well 
known on its Street of Coins. Doubtless many times she would have held herself a 
thousand times superior to the poor peasant women, coming (pg. 19) in from the 
villages, in their bleached woolen robes, bringing their sacks and baskets of 
grain and produce to the citys markets. Her clenched fists indicated that 
perhaps she did not yet fully understand that all that was now behind her.
Animal! screamed the free woman.
Feiqa looked up angrily, tears in her eyes, and lifted herself an inch or two 
from the floor on the palms of her hands. I was once as free as you! she said.
Oh! cried Feiqa, suddenly, sobbing, recoiling from my kick, and then Aii! 
she cried, in sharp pain, as, my hand in her hair, she was jerked up to a 
kneeling position.
But no more! I said. I was furious. I could not believe her insolence.
No, Master, she wept, no more!
I then with the back of my hand, and then its palm, first one, and then the 
other, back and forth, to and fro, again and again, lashed her head from side to 
side. Then I flung her on her belly before the free woman. There was blood on my 
hand, and about her mouth and lips.
Forgive me! she begged the free woman. Forgive me!
Address her as Mistress, I said. It is customary for Gorean slaves to address 
free women as Mistress and free men as Master.
I beg your forgiveness, Mistress! wept the girl. Forgive me, please, I beg it 
of you!
She is new to the collar, I apologized to the free woman. I think that 
perhaps even now she does not fully understand its import. Yet I think that 
perhaps she understands something more of its meaning now than she did a few 
moments ago. Shall I kill her?
Hearing this question Feiqa cried out in fear and shuddered uncontrollably on 
her belly before the free woman. She then clutched at her ankles and, putting 
down her head, began to cover her feet with desperate, placatory kisses. Please 
forgive the animal! wept Feiqa. The animal begs your forgiveness! Please, 
Mistress! Please, gracious, beautiful, noble Mistress! Forgive Feiqa, please 
forgive Feiqa, who is only a slave! I looked down at Feiqa. I think she now 
(pg. 20) understood her collar better than before. I had, for her insolence and 
unconscionable behavior, literally placed her life in the hands of the free 
woman. She now understood this sort of thing could be done. Too, she would now 
understand even more keenly how her life was completely and totally, absolutely, 
at the mercy of a Master. It thus came home to her, I think, fully, perhaps for 
the first time, what it could be to be a Gorean slave.
Are you sorry for what you have done? asked the free woman.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, Mistress! wept Feiqa, her head down, doing obeisance 
to one who was a thousand times, nay, infinitely, her superior, the free woman 
of the peasants.
You may live, said the free woman.
Thank you, Mistress! wept Feiqa, head down, shuddering and sobbing 
uncontrollably at the free womans feet.
Have you learned anything from this, Feiqa? I asked.
Yes, Master, she wept.
What? I asked.
That I am a slave, she said.
Do not forget it, Feiqa, I told her.
No, Master, she sobbed, fervently.
Will you stay the night? asked the free woman.
With your permission, I said.
You are welcome here, she said. But you will have to sleep your animal 
outside.
I glanced down at Feiqa. She was still shuddering. It would be difficult for 
her, I supposed, at least for a time, to cope with her new comprehension 
concerning the nature of her condition.
I do not allow livestock in my house, said the free woman.
I smiled, looking down at Feiqa. To be sure, the former rich young lady of 
Samnium was now livestock, that and nothing more. Too I smiled because of the 
free womans concern, and outrage, at the very thought of having a slave in the 
house. This seemed amusing to me for two reasons. First, it is quite common for 
Goreans to keep slaves, a lovely form of domestic animal, in the house. Indeed 
the richer and more (pg. 21) well-to-do Gorean the more likely it is that he 
will have slaves in the house. In the houses of administrators, in the domiciles 
of high merchants, in the palaces of Ubars, for example, slaves, and usually 
beautiful ones, for they can afford them, are often abundant. Secondly, it is 
not unusual either for many peasants to keep animals in the house, usually verr 
or bosk, sometimes tarsk, at least in the winter. The family lives in one 
section of the dwelling, and the animals are quartered in the other.
Go outside, I told Feiqa.
Yes, Master, she said.
Would you like a little more food? I asked the free woman. I have some more.
She looked at me.
Please, I said.
She took two more wedges of yellow Sa-Tarna bread. I put some more sticks on the 
fire.
Here, she said, embarrassed, She drew some roots, and two suls, from her robe. 
They had been freshly dug. Dirt still clung to them. She put them down on the 
stones, between us.
I sat down cross-legged, and she knelt down, opposite me, knees together, in the 
common fashion of the Gorean free woman. The roots, the two suls, were between 
us. She rocked the child in her arms.
I thought you could find no roots, I smiled.
Some were left in the garden, she said. I remembered them. I came back for 
them. There was very little left though. Others obviously had come before me. 
These things were missed. They are poor stuff. We used to use the produce of 
that garden for tarsk feed.
They are fine roots, I said. and splendid suls.
We even hunt for tarsk troughs, she said, wearily, and dig in the cold dirt 
of the pens. The tarsk are gone, but sometimes a bit of feed remains, fallen 
between the cracks, or missed by the animals, having been trampled into the mud. 
There are many tricks we learn in these days.
I do not want to take your food, I said.
Would you shame me? she asked.
No, I said.
(pg. 22) Share my kettle, she said.
Thank you, I said. I took one of the roots and broke off a bit of it in my 
hand. I rubbed the dirt from it. I bit into it. Good, I said. I did not eat 
more however. I would let her keep her food. I had done in this matter what 
would be sufficient. I had, in what I had done, acknowledged her as the mistress 
in her house; I had shown her honor; I had shared her kettle.
Little Andar is asleep, she said, looking at the bundled child.
I nodded.
You may sleep your slave inside the threshold, she said. (pg. 23)
3      Tula
Throw back your hoods, pull down your veils, females! laughed the wagoner.
The women crowding about the back of the wagon, many with their hands 
outstretched, the sleeves of their robes falling back, cried out in 
consternation.
if you would be fed! he added.
These women must be new, I thought. Probably they had come only recently to the 
wagons, probably trekking overland from some contacted village, perhaps one from 
as far away as fifty pasangs, a common range for the excursions, the searches 
and collections of mounted foragers. Most of the women I had seen following the 
wagons, at any rate, knew enough by now to approach them only bareheaded, as 
female supplicants, too, to be more pleasing to the men who might possibly be 
persuaded to feed them, with their hair visible and loose as that of slaves. 
Similarly, most had already discarded or hidden their veils, even when not 
begging. They did not even wear them in their own small, foul, often-fireless 
makeshift camps near the wagons, camps, to be sure, to which men might sometimes 
come. It had been discovered that a woman who is seen with a veil, even if she 
has lowered the veil, abjectly and piteously face-stripping herself, is less 
likely to be fed than one with no veil in evidence. Too, of course, it had been 
quickly noted that such women, too, tended to be less frequently selected for 
the pleasure of the drivers. The men with the wagons had not seen fit to permit 
the women the dignity of veiling. In this, of course, they treated them like 
slaves. Please! cried a woman, thrusting back her hood and (pg. 24) tearing 
away her veil. Feed me! Please, feed me! The others, too, then almost 
instantly, hastily, each seeming to hurry to be before the others, some moaning 
and crying out in misery, unhooded and unveiled themselves.
That is better, females, laughed the driver.
Many of the women moaned and wept.
They were now, to be sure, I mused, in their predicament and helplessness, even 
though free women, as the driver had implied, little more then mere females. One 
could probably not be more a female unless one was a slave.
Feed us! they cried piteously to the driver, many of them with their arms 
outstretched, their hands lifted, their palms opened, crowding and pressing 
about the back of the wagon. We beg food! We are hungry! Please! Feed us, 
please! Please!
I looked at their faces. On the whole they seemed to be simple, plain women, 
peasant women, and peasant lasses. One or two of them, I thought, might be 
suitable for the collar.
Here! cried the driver, laughing, throwing pieces of bread from a sack to one 
and then another of the women. The first piece of bread he threw to the woman 
who had been the first to unhood and face-strip herself, perhaps thereby 
rewarding her for her intelligence and alacrity. He then threw pieces to certain 
others of the women, generally to those who were the prettiest and begged the 
hardest. Sometimes, not unoften, these pieces of bread were torn away from the 
prettier, more feminine women by their brawnier, huskier, more masculine 
fellows. Where there are no men, or no true men, to protect them, feminine women 
will, in a grotesque perversion of nature, be controlled, exploited and 
dominated by more masculine women, sometimes monsters and mere caricatures of 
men. Yet even such grosser women, sometimes little more than surrogates for 
males, can upon occasion, in the hands of a strong uncompromising master, be 
forced to manifest and fulfil, realizing then for the first time, the depths of 
their long-denied, long-suppressed womanness. There are two sexes. They are not 
the same.
More, more, please! begged the females.
Then, amusing himself, the driver tossed some bits of (pg. 25) bread into the 
air and watched the desperate, anxious women crowd and bunch under it, pushing 
and shoving for position, and trying to leap upward, thrusting at one another, 
to snatch at it.
More, please! they screamed.
I saw again a large straight-hipped woman seize a piece of bread fiercely from a 
smaller woman, one with a delicious love cradle. Then with both hands she thrust 
it in her mouth and, bending over, shouldering and thrusting, fought her way 
back to where, crouching down, watching for others, she could eat it alone. None 
could take it away from her, save a man, of course, who might have done it 
easily.
That is all! laughed the driver.
No! wept women.
Bread! wept others.
It was clear that something, in spite of what the driver had said, remained in 
the sack. He grinned and wiped his face with his arm. It had been a joke.
Another crust, please! begged a woman.
Feed us! cried another.
You are the masters! wept one of the women, suddenly.
Feed us! Please feed us!
The driver laughed and drew forth a handful of crusts from the sack, which 
crusts apparently constituted the remainder of its contents. Then he flung those 
over the heads of the women, well behind them. They turned about and, running 
flinging themselves to their hands and knees in the dirt, scrambling about, 
snatching and screaming, fought for them.
The driver watched them for a time, amused. Then he turned away, and, stepping 
among the bundles in the wagon bed, went to the wagon box. This type of box 
serves both as the drivers seat, or bench, and as a literal box, in which 
various items may be stored, usually spare parts, tools and personal belongings. 
It usually locks. He lifted the lid of the wagon box, which lid served also as 
the surface of his seat or bench, and dropped the empty sack within, and then 
shut the box. Also, from near the box, in front of it, near where his feet would 
rest in driving, he picked up a tharlarion whip. He had had experience with such 
women before, it seemed.
(pg. 26) No more! he said, angrily. No more!
Women now again, pathetic and desperate, robes now wrinkled and dirty from where 
they had knelt, and crawled and fought for the crusts and crumbs in the dirt, 
began to approach the wagon. The whip lashed out, cracking over their heads. 
They fell back.
More! they begged. Please!
It is all gone, said the driver. It is all gone now! Get away, sluts!
You have bread! wept one. This was true of course. The wagons lading was 
Sa-Tarna bread, and also, incidentally, Sa-Tarna meal and flour. It creaked 
under perhaps a hundred and fifty Gorean stone of such stores. These supplies, 
of course, were not intended for vagabonds or itinerants who might be 
encountered on the road but for the kitchens set up at the various nights 
encampments.
Back, sluts! he cried. I carry stores for soldiers!
Please! wept more than one woman.
I see that it was a mistake to have fed you anything! he cried angrily.
No, no! cried a woman. We are sorry! We beg your forgiveness, generous sir!
Please, more bread! wept others.
He lifted the whip, menacingly. It was a tharlarion whip. I would not care to 
have been struck with it.
Get back! he cried.
Some crowded yet more closely about the wagon. Bread! they begged. Please! 
Then the whip fell amongst them and they, though free women, fell back, away 
from it, crying and in pain, and scattering.
Tomorrow then, he cried, angrily, if you wish, there will be nothing for any 
of you!
No, please! wept the women.
Kneel down, he said. Swiftly they fell on their knees, behind the wagon. 
Heads down to the dirt, he commanded. They complied. I was not certain that it 
was proper to command free women in this fashion. It was rather as one might 
command slaves. Still, women, even free women, look well, obeying. The slave, of 
course, must obey. She has no choice.
(pg. 27) You may lift your heads, he said. Are you contrite? he inquired.
Yes, moaned several of the women.
Perhaps you are moved to beg my forgiveness? he asked.
We beg your forgiveness, generous and noble sir! called a woman.
Yes, yes! said others.
Well, he said, seemingly perhaps a bit mollified, we shall see. He then put 
down the whip and took his place on the wagon box. He released the brake, 
pulling its wooden handle back on its pivot with his left hand, freeing its 
leather-lined shoe from the front wheel. Ho! he cried to the tharlarion and, 
with a crack whip, a creak of wood, a rattle of chain traces, and a grunt from 
the beast, was on his way. I watched the wagon for a moment or two, trundling 
down the road on its wooden-spoked, iron-rimmed wheels. I tied a rope on Feiqas 
neck. Come along, I told her.
In a few moments I had caught up with the wagon. I looked back. The women in the 
road were only now getting to their feet. Doubtless they were still terribly 
hungry. Many, too, seemed weary and dazed. They had apparently come only this 
morning from some village to the road. They had now begun to learn what it was 
for a woman to follow the wagons.
I took my pack from Feiqas back and threw it, and my spear and shield, into the 
wagon. I then climbed up to the wagon box beside the driver. Tal, said he, 
looking over at me.
Tal, said I to him. I tied Feiqas neck rope to the side of the wagon. She 
stayed close to the side of the wagon, almost so close that I could reach out 
and touch her. She was frightened, I think, at the looks she received from some 
of the free women at the side of the road. No, said the driver, sternly, more 
then once, lifting his whip, as such women rose to their feet, as though to 
approach him. Not all of these women, of course, followed the wagons. Some, 
doubtless, merely came from their village, or the remains of their villages, 
down to the side of the road to beg as the wagons (pg. 28) passed. In such 
villages, I supposed, there might be some food. When that was exhausted perhaps 
these women, too, would put their belongings in a bundle and trek after the 
wagons. One of the women did come up beside the wagon with a switch and struck 
Feiqa in fury three times. Feiqa, on her rope, moving, shrank small before her, 
trying to cover her face and body. There is little love lost between free women 
and slaves, particularly during these times.
Oh! cried Feiqa, suddenly stung by a stone, hurled by another woman. She then 
walked weeping, almost pressed against the side of the wagon. She could not even 
think of daring to object to such treatment, of course. In the hut of the free 
woman, last night, she had learned, unconditionally, that she was a slave. I 
wondered if the former rich young woman of Samnium had herself, in bygone days, 
accorded slaves similar treatment. I supposed so. It is not uncommon on the part 
of free women. Now of course, as a slave herself, she would understand clearly 
what it was to be the one who is subjectable to such treatment Perhaps free 
women would treat slaves somewhat differently if they understood that one day it 
might be themselves whom they might find in the collar. In these attacks, of 
course, Feiqa was in no danger of being seriously injured, or disfigured or 
maimed. Accordingly, I did not take any official notice of them.
The wagons, for the most part, were well scattered apart on the road. Their 
intervals were irregular and sometimes one or another of them stopped. We had 
come to the vicinity of the road, the Genesian Road, early this morning. 
Surmounting a rise, we had seen it below us, and the wagons, in their long line, 
stretched out in the distance. We had then descended the gentle declivity 
slowly, through the wet grass, to its side. I had some idea of the forces of Cos 
which had made their landing at Brundisium earlier in SeKara. I had seen the 
invasion fleet entering upon its peaceful harborage at Brundisium. Never before 
on Gor, I suspected, had such forces been marshaled. It was an invasion, it 
seemed, not of an army, but of armies. To be sure, many of its contingents were 
composed of mercenaries sworn to the temporary service of diverse fee captains, 
and not Cosian regulars. It is difficult to (pg. 29) manage such men. They do 
not fight for Home Stones. They are often little more than armed rabbles. Many 
are little better than thieves and cutthroats. They must be well paid and 
assured of ample booty. Accordingly the tactics and movements of such groups, 
functions of captains who know their men well, and must be wary of them, are 
often less indicative of sound military considerations, strategic or otherwise, 
than of organized brigandage. I did not think that such men would stand well, 
even in their numbers, against the well-trained soldiers of Ar.
I trust you are not a brigand, said the driver, not looking at me.
No, I said.
You would not get much here, he said, except Sa-Tarna meal and such.
I am not a brigand, I said.
Have you fled from some captain? he asked.
No, I said.
You are a big fellow, he said. Are you in service?
No, I said.
Do you, seek service? he asked.
No, I said.
You own your own weapons? he asked.
Yes, I said.
Raymond, he of Rive-de-Bois, is recruiting, he said. So, too, is Conrad of 
Hochburg, and Pietro Vacchi. These men were mercenary captains. There were 
dozens of such companies. If one owns ones own weapons, of course, one need not 
be armed at the expense of the company. Too, if one owns ones own weapons, it 
may usually be fairly assumed that one knows how to use them. Such men, then, 
may receive a certain preference in being added to the rolls. They are likely to 
be experienced soldiers, not eager lads just in from the farms. In many 
mercenary companies, incidentally, there are no uniforms and no issuance of 
standard equipment. Too, many such companies are, for most practical purposes, 
disbanded during the winter, the captain retaining then only a cadre of officers 
and professionals. Then, in the spring, after obtaining a war contract, 
sometimes obtained by competitive (pg. 30) bidding, they begin anew, almost from 
the beginning, with recruiting and training.
It is quite unusual, incidentally, for such men as Raymond and Conrad to be 
recruiting now, in SeKara. It was really a time in which most soldiers on Gor 
would be thinking about the pleasures of winter quarters or a return to their 
own villages and towns. There are usually diverse explanations, depending on the 
situation, for the type of forced recruiting to which men in some of the 
villages had been subjected. Sometimes a passing army desires merely to amplify 
its forces, or replace losses, particularly among the lighter arms, such as 
bowmen, slingers and javelin men. Sometimes the recruiting is done more for the 
purposes of obtaining a labor force, for siegeworks and entrenching camps, than 
for actual combat. Sometimes the mercenary captains, whose negotiated, signed 
contracts call for the furnishing of certain numbers of armed men for their 
various employers, have little choice but to impress some reluctant fellows, 
that their obligatory quotas may be met. More than one fellow has sworn an oath 
of allegiance with a sword at his throat. Most mercenaries, of course, join 
their captains voluntarily. Indeed, skilled and famous captains, ones noted for 
their military skill and profitable campaigns, must often close down their 
enlisting tables early in EnKara.
So is Dietrich of Tarnburg, of the high city of Tarnburg, some two hundred 
pasangs to the north and west of Hochburg, both substantially mountain 
fortresses, both in the more southern and civilized ranges of the Voltai, was 
well-known to the warriors of Gor. His name was almost a legend. It was he who 
had won the day on the fields of both Piedmont and Cardonicus, who had led the 
Forty Days March, relieving the siege of Talmont, who had effected the crossing 
of the Issus in 10,122 C.A., in the night evacuation of Keibel Hill, when I had 
been in Torvaldsland, and who had been the victor in the battles of Rovere, 
Kargash, Edgington, Teveh Pass, Gordon Heights, and the Plains of Sanchez. His 
(pg. 31) campaigns were studied in all the war schools of the high cities. I 
knew him from scrolls I had studied years ago in
Ko-ro-ba, and from volumes in my library in Port Kar, such as the commentaries 
of Minicius and the anonymous analyses of The Diaries, sometimes attributed to 
the military historian, Carl Commenius, of Argentum, rumored to have once been a 
mercenary himself.
It was Dietrich of Tarnburg who had first introduced the harrow to positional 
warfare on Gor, that formation named for the large, rake-like agricultural 
instrument, used for such tasks as the further leveling of ground after plowing 
and, sometimes, on the great farms, for the covering of seed, In this formation 
spikes of archers, protected by iron-shod stakes and sleen pits, project beyond 
the forward lines of the heavily armed warriors and their reserves. This 
formation, if approached head-on by tharlarion ground cavalry, is extremely 
effective. It constitutes, in effect, a set of corridors of death through which 
the cavalry must ride, in which it is commonly decimated before it can reach the 
main lines of the defenders. When the cavalry is disorganized, shattered and 
torn by missile fire, and turns about to retreat, the defenders, fresh and 
eager, initiate their own attack.
He was also the initiator of the oblique advance in Gorean field warfare, 
whereby large numbers of men may be concentrated at crucial points while the 
balance of the enemy remains unengaged. This formation makes it possible for a 
given army, choosing to attack only limited portions of the enemy, portions 
smaller than itself, to engage an army which, all told, may be three times its 
size, and, not unoften, to turn the flank of this much larger body, producing 
its confusion and rout, Too, if the attack fails, the advanced force may fall 
back, knowing that the balance of their army, indeed, its bulk, rested and 
fresh, not yet engaged, is fully prepared to cover their retreat.
Most impressive to me, perhaps, was Dietrich of Tarnburgs coordination of air 
and ground forces, and his transposition of certain techniques and weapons of 
siege warfare to the field. The common military response to aerial attack from 
tarnsmen is the shield roof or shield shed, a formation the same (pg. 32) 
as, or quite similar to, a formation once known on Earth as the testudo, or 
tortoise. In this formation shields are held in such a way that they 
constitute a wall for the outer ranks and a roof for the inner ranks. This is 
primarily a defensive formation but it may also be used for advancing under 
fire. The common Gorean defense against tharlarion attack, if it must be met on 
the open ground, is the stationary, defensive square, defended by braced spears. 
At Rovere and Kargash Dietrich coordinated his air and ground cavalry in such a 
way as to force his opponents into sturdy but relatively inflexible defensive 
squares. He then advanced his archers in long, enveloping lines, in this way 
they could muster a much broader front for low-level, point-blank firepower than 
could the narrower concentrated squares.
He then utilized, for the first time in Gorean field warfare, first at Rovere, 
and later at Kargash, mobile siege equipment, catapults mounted on wheeled 
platforms, which could fire over the heads of the draft animals. From these 
engines, hitherto employed only in siege warfare, now became a startling and 
devastating new weapon, in effect, a field artillery, tubs of burning pitch and 
flaming naphtha, and siege javelins, and giant boulders, fell in shattering 
torrents upon the immobilized squares. The shield shed was broken. The missiles 
of archers rained upon the confused, hapless defenders. Even mobile siege 
towers, pushed from within by straining tharlarion, pressing their weight 
against prepared harnesses, trundled toward them, their bulwarks swarming with 
archers and javelin men. The squares were broken. Then again the ponderous, 
earthshaking, bellowing, grunting, trampling, tharlarion ground cavalry charged, 
this time breaking through the walls like dried straw, followed by waves of 
screaming, heavily armed spearmen. The ranks of the enemy then irremediably 
broke. The air howled with panic. Rout was upon them. Spears and shields were 
cast away that men might flee the more rapidly. There was little left to be 
done. It would be the cavalries which would attend to the fugitives.
I had thought rather, I said, of perhaps joining the wagons for a time.
They need drivers, said the fellow. Can you handle tharlarion?
(pg. 33) I can handle high tharlarion, I said. Long ago I had ridden guard in 
a caravan of Mintar, a merchant of Ar.
I mean the draft fellows, said the driver.
I suppose so, I said. It seemed likely to me that I could handle these more 
docile, sluggish beasts, if I had been able to handle their more agile brothers, 
the saddle tharlarion.
They take a great deal of beating about the head and neck, he said.
I nodded. That was not so much different from the high tharlarion, either. They 
are usually controlled by voice commands and the blows of a spear. The 
tharlarion, incidentally, at least compared to mammals, seems to have a very 
sluggish nervous system. It seems almost impervious to pain. Most of the larger 
varieties have two brains, or, perhaps, better a brain and a smaller brain-like 
organ. The brain, or one brain, is located in the head, and the other brain, or 
the brain-like organ, is located near the base of the spine.
I looked down at Feiqa, walking beside the wagon, the rope on her neck. 
Tharlarion, I told her, expanding on the drivers remark, show little 
susceptibility to pain.
Yes, Master, she said.
In this, I said, they closely resemble female slaves.
Oh, no Master! she cried. No!
No? I said.
No, she said, looking up earnestly, frightened, we are terribly susceptible 
to pain, truly!
Doubtless you were as a free woman, I said. but now you are a slave.
I am even more susceptible to pain now, she said, for now I have felt pain, 
and know what it is like, and now I have a slave girls total vulnerability and 
helplessness, and know that anything can be done to me! Too, my entire body has 
become a thousand times more responsive and sensitive a thousand times more 
meaningful and alive, since I have been locked in the collar. I assure you 
Master, I am a thousand times more susceptible to pain now than ever I was 
before!
I smiled. Such transformations were common in the female slave. Just as their 
sensitivities to pleasure and feeling, sexual (pg. 34) and otherwise, physical 
and psychological, conscious and subconscious, were greatly increased and 
intensified by being imbonded, so too, concomitantly, naturally, were their 
sensitivities to pain. The same changes that so considerably increased their 
capacities in certain directions increased them also in others, and put them 
ever so more helplessly, and hopelessly, at the mercy of their masters.
Ah, she said, chagrined, putting down her lovely head, Master teases his 
girl.
Perhaps, I said.
She kept her head down. She blushed. She looked lovely, the light, locked, steel 
collar on her throat.
I reached down and lifted her up, by the arms, swinging her up, and back, into 
the wagon. She would be weary from her walking. Thank you, Master, she said, 
much pleased. She then knelt behind us, rather close to us, on some folded sacks 
in the wagon bed, the rope attaching her to the wagon still tied on her neck. I 
began to consider in what ways I should have her this evening.
Bread! Bread! cried a woman to one side. There another Sa-Tarna wagon had 
stopped. The driver, who had apparently been adjusting the harness of his beast, 
was now again on the wagon box, his reins and whip in hand.
Away! cried the driver.
She threw herself before the wagon. Bread! she screamed. He cracked the whip 
and the beast lurched forward, the woman screamed, barely scrambling from its 
path. I had little doubt that had she not moved as she had she would have been 
run over.
They will try almost anything, said my driver, as our wagon rolled past the 
woman. She was shuddering. She had just escaped death or crippling. Sometimes 
they will send their children out beside the road to do the begging. They 
themselves hide in the brush. Sometimes I throw them some bread. Sometimes I 
dont. It seems the women themselves should beg, if they want the bread.
Perhaps they do not want to pay for it, in the way of women, I said.
They will pay for it, and in the way of women, when they are hungry enough, 
said the driver.
(pg. 35) I nodded. That was true, I supposed. This driver, incidentally, seemed 
to me a decent, good-hearted fellow. Certainly he had stopped and fed some of 
the women along the road. That I had seen. Too, he had doubtless done that in 
spite of the fact that he would now come in with a short load. Many of the 
drivers, I speculated, would not have behaved so. Also, he had not objected to 
my riding with him, nor to carrying Feiqa. Yes, he seemed a good fellow.
How far ahead are the troops? I asked.
Their lines of march extend for pasangs, with intervals, too, of pasangs, he 
said.
I nodded. It would take days for them to pass through the country. They were 
apparently far from the vicinity of any enemy. Accordingly, they exhibited 
little concern with possible imperatives of assembly and concentration. 
Interestingly, not even raiding parties, as far as I knew, had delayed or 
harried their advance. They might as well have been marching through their own 
countries in a time of peace.
The rearward contingents of the units before us will be some ten pasangs up the 
road, he said.
How many troops are there, altogether? I asked.
A great many, he said. Are you a spy?
No, I said.
Look, he said, gesturing.
I glanced to the right, and upward. On the summit of a small hill I saw some 
seven or eight riders, riders of the high tharlarion, the tharlarion shifting 
and clawing about under them, with tharlarion lances. They were clad in dusty, 
soiled leather, riding leather, to protect their legs from the scaly hides of 
the beasts, and helmeted. Two had shields slung at their back. Shields of the 
others hung at the left sides of their saddles. They were an unkempt, dirty, 
grim lot. About the beasts necks, and behind the saddles, hung panniers of 
grain and sacks of woven netting containing dried larmas and brown suls. Across 
the saddle of one were tied the hind feet, crossed, of two verr, their throats 
cut, the blood now brown on the sides of the tharlarion. Another fellow had a 
basket of vulos, tied shut. Another had stings of sausage hung about his neck 
and shoulders.
(pg. 36) There was no herded tarsk or bosk with the group. Such animals were 
probably extremely rare now, at least within one or two days ride of the march. 
Still the fellows seemed to have done very well. Doubtless they had fared far 
better than most engaged in their business. Too, I noted that their interests 
had not been confined merely to foodstuffs. From the saddle of more than one 
there dangled armlets, two handled bowls and cups. Too, from the saddle of one a 
long tether looped back to the crossed bound wrists of a female. Doubtless she 
had been found pleasing. Thus she had been brought along. Doubtless she was 
destined for the collar. Near the pawing feet of the leaders tharlarion, in 
their tunics of white wool, there stood two stout peasant lads, bound, heavy 
sticks thrust before their elbows and behind their backs, their arms bound to 
these at the back, their wrists, a rope across their bellies, held back, tied at 
the sides. They would be recruits for some captain, requiring to fill gaps in 
his ranks. They would probably bring their captors in the neighborhood of a 
copper tarsk apiece.
The fellows on the tharlarion looked down at the wagons and then moved down the 
hill and forward. Two or three women, I now saw, coming over the hill, had 
apparently been following them, probably on foot from some village. One of the 
fellows, shouting angrily, turned his tharlarion about and, waving his lance, 
urging it up the slope toward them, charged them. They scattered before him, and 
he, not pursuing them, turned about and, in a moment, had rejoined his fellows. 
The women how hung back, daring to follow no further. I looked after the riders, 
now two or three wagons ahead of us, the two peasant lads, and the female, 
stumbling behind them on her tether.
Foragers, said the driver.
I looked back at Feiqa, and she lowered her eyes, not meeting mine.
The units ahead of us, I said, turning about, are the rear guard of the army, 
I take it.
No, he said.
Oh? I said.
There are units, he said, and wagons, and units. I do not know how far it 
goes on.
(pg. 37) I was then silent, for a time. There must be an incredible amount of 
men, I surmised. I knew, of course, that considerable forces had been landed at 
Brundisium. What I was not sure of, however, was the current distribution, or 
deployment of these forces.
You are sure you are not a spy? he said.
Yes, I smiled. I am sure. I supposed, of course, that Ar must be attempting 
to keep itself apprised of the movements of the enemy. Presumably there would be 
spies, or informers of some sort, with the troops or the wagons. It is not 
difficult to infiltrate spies into mercenary troops, incidentally, where the men 
come from different backgrounds, castes and cities, and little is asked of them 
other than their ability to handle weapons and obey orders. Yet, if men of Ar, 
or men in the pay of Ar, were attending to these matters, and submitting current 
and accurate reports, Ar herself, for whatever reason, unpreparedness, or 
whatever, had not acted.
I looked at the string of wagons ahead.
How different things seemed from the marches of the forces of Ar, and others of 
the high cities. When the men of Ar moved, for example, and whenever possible 
they would do so on the great military roads, such as the Viktel Aria, they used 
a measured pace, often kept by a drum, and including rests, would each day cover 
a calculable distance, usually forty pasangs. At forty-pasang intervals there 
would generally, on the military roads, be a fortified camp, supplied in advance 
with ample provisions. Some of these camps became towns. Later some became 
cities. These roads and camps, and measures, made it possible to move troops not 
only efficiently and rapidly, but assisted in military planning. One could tell, 
for example, how long it would take to bring a certain number of men to bear on 
a certain point. The permanent garrisons of the fortified camps, too, of course, 
exercise a significant peace-keeping and holding role in the outer districts of 
a citys power. Too, training and recruiting often take place in such camps. To 
be sure, these forces of Cos could not be expected to have come over and taken a 
few months to attend to the leisurely construction of permanent camps along the 
route of their projected march. Still, judging (pg. 38) from the nature of the 
supply column, or columns, their progress seemed very slow, almost leisurely. It 
was as though they feared nothing. Their numbers, I speculated, might have 
emboldened them. Why had Ar not acted, I wondered.
Have you tarnsmen in the sky? I asked.
No, he said. Cos, of course, would have tarnsmen at her disposal. But even 
those, it seemed, were not patrolling the line of march.
Why are there no guards with the supply train? I asked.
Surely that is unusual.
I do not know, he said. I have wondered about it. Perhaps it is not thought 
that they are necessary.
Have there been no attacks? I asked. Surely it seemed that Ar might be 
expected to apply her tarnsmen to the effort to disrupt the enemys lines of 
supply and communication. Perhaps her tarnsmen had not been able to reach the 
wagons. If command in Ar had been in the hands of Marlenus, her Ubar, I had 
little doubt that Ar would have acted by now. Marlenus, however, as the report 
went, was not in Ar. He was supposedly on an expedition into the Voltai, 
conducting a punitive expedition against raiders of Treve. Why he had not been 
recalled, if it were possible, I did not understand.
What would you do if tarnsmen of Ar arrived? I asked.
That is not my job, he said. That is the job of soldiers. I am paid to drive. 
That is what I do.
What of the other drivers? I asked.
They would do the same, I would suppose, he said. We are wagoners, not 
soldiers.
The entire train then, I said, or at least these wagons, is open to attack. 
Yet Ar has not attacked. That is interesting.
Perhaps, he said.
Why not? I asked.
He shrugged. I do not know. Perhaps they cant get here.
Even with small strike forces, disguised as peasants?
(pg. 39) Perhaps not, he said. I do not know.
It was now growing dark along the road. Here and there, back from the road, on 
one side or the other, there were small camps of free women. In some of them 
there were tiny fires lit. Some small shelters had been pitched, too, in some of 
these camps, little more than tarpaulins or blankets stretched over sticks. 
Sometimes some of the women about these tiny fires stood up and watched us, as 
we rolled past. I recalled the free woman I had met last night in her hut. She 
had not come down to the wagons as far as I knew. We had left her before she had 
awakened. I had left some more food with her, and had tied a golden tarn disk of 
Port Kar, from my wallet, in the corner of the childs blanket. With that she 
might buy much. Too, with it, or its residue, she might be able to make her way 
to a distant village, far from the trekking of armies, where she could use it as 
a bride price, using it, in effect, to purchase herself a companion, a good 
fellow who could care for herself and her child. Peasants, unlike women of the 
cities, tend to be very practical about such matters. She had shown me 
hospitality.
We will be coming to the camp soon, said the driver.
I heard Feiqa suddenly gasp in horror, shrinking back. Beside the road, on the 
right, a human figure, head and legs dangling downward, on each side, was fixed 
on an impaling stake. The stake was some ten feet in height, and some four 
inches in diameter. It had been wedged between rocks and braced with stones. Its 
point was roughly sharpened, probably with an adz. This point had been entered 
in the victims back and thrust through with great force. It emerged from the 
belly, and protruded some two feet above the body.
Perhaps that is a spy, I said.
More likely it is a straggler or a deserter, said the driver.
Perhaps, I said. This was the first sign I had had today, that there were 
truly soldiers ahead of us on the road.
A girl looked up from the small fire in one of the roadside camps, and then, 
suddenly, rose to her feet and, in the shadows, darted out to the road. Sir, 
she called. Sir! The driver did not stop the wagon. She began to run beside 
(pg. 40) the wagon. Sir! she called. Please! I am hungry! Her face was 
lifted up to us. Please, Sir! she begged. Look upon me! I am fair! She 
hurried along beside us. See! she wept. She tore down her robes to her hips. 
My breasts are well formed! she said. My belly is wet and hot! I will serve 
you even as a slave. I will do whatever you want. I do not ask for food for 
nothing. I will pay! I will pay!
Away, said the driver, before I use the whip on you!
Stop, she wept. Stop! Then she ran to the head of the tharlarion and seized 
its halter. The beast grunting, slowed, dragging the girls weight; she clung 
fiercely to the halter; it moved its head about, pulling her about, from side to 
side, shaking her; it tossed its head impatiently upward, lifting her literally 
from the ground. But she held firmly to the halter and was then, in a moment, 
still clinging to it, again on the ground. The beast stopped.
The driver angrily rose in his place and the long whip lashed out. Ai! she 
cried, in misery, struck for perhaps the first time with a whip. She released 
the halter and then stood there in misery, in the shadows, in the road, facing 
us, a foot or so from the jowls of the animal. Let me please you! she begged. 
Then the whip flashed forth again, like a striking snake, and she, struck once 
more, sobbing, stumbled back on the road. Do you not know me? she cried.
He lowered the whip, looking out into the shadows.
I am Tula from your village, she wept, she who was too good for you, she who 
refused your suit!
You shame the village! he cried.
Whip me! she wept.
He leaped down from the wagon box. Another wagon, to one side of us, rolled by. 
He dragged her, two stripes on her body, gray in the shadows, by the arm, back, 
and to the rear of the wagon. He stood her by the back, right wheel of the 
wagon. Face the wheel, he said. Hold the wheel rim! She seized it, putting 
her head down. He lifted the whip, in fury. Whip me, she said. Three blows 
fell upon her. But feed me! she begged. Two more blows struck her. Then she 
clung to the wheel, gasping, sobbing. As a male of her village it was his duty 
to discipline her for what shame she had brought on the village.
(pg. 41) Do not strike me again! she begged. She sank to her knees beside the 
wheel. Another wagon rolled by.
So Tula, the proud, the beauty of our village, now bares her beauty before 
strangers, he said, and begs to sell her body for a crust of bread!
She leaned against the wheel, sobbing.
Disgraceful! he said.
She held the spokes of the wheel, her head down.
Shameful! he cried.
The strong women take what food there is, she said. I am hungry.
Tula, the proud, he said, angrily, has now become only another slut by the 
road.
Yes, she said.
What have you to say for yourself! he demanded.
Feed me, she said.
Turn about, he said, angrily.
She turned about, facing him, on her knees.
Pull down your robes, he said, until they are about your knees, lying fallen, 
back upon your calves.
She did this and then lifted her head to him.
On what conditions? he asked.
On yours, totally yours, she said.
Pull up your robes, about your hips, he said. You may follow the wagon.
Sobbing with gratitude, she clutched at her robes and drew them up about her 
hips. He angrily returned to his place on the wagon box and with an angry cry 
and a fierce snap of the whip put his ponderous draft beast once more into 
motion, taking his place between two other wagons. It was now rather dark but 
the road shone clearly in the moonlight. It glistened, too, from tiny chips and 
plates of mica ingredient in its surface. The girl followed the wagon.
Is the camp far ahead? I asked.
No, he said. (pg. 42)
4      Feiqa Serves in the Alar Camp
I heard the sudden, hesitant, choking cry of the newborn infant.
Genserix, broad-shouldered and powerful, in his furs and leather, with his heavy 
eyebrows, his long, braided blond hair and long, yellow, drooping mustache, 
looked up from the fire, about which we sat. The sound came from one of the 
wagons.
The bawling was now lusty.
It will live, said one of the men, a sitting warrior near us.
Genserix shrugged. That would remain to be seen. Feiqa knelt behind me. We were 
now within the laager of Genserix, a chieftain of the Alars, a nomadic, 
wandering herding people, and one well known, like the folks of Torvaldsland, 
for their skills with the ax. The laager of the Alars, like that of similar 
folks, is a fortress of wagons. They are ranged in a closed circle, or 
concentric, closed circles, draft animals, and women and children within. Also, 
not unoften, depending on the numbers involved, and particularly when 
traversing, or sojourning in, dangerous countries, verr, tarsk, and bosk may 
also be found within the wagon enclosure. Sewage and sanitation, which might be 
expected to present serious problems, do not do so, because of the frequent 
moving of the camps.
It is a son, said one of the women coming from the wagon, nearing the fire.
Not yet, said Genserix
The wagons often move. There must be new grazing for the bosk. There must be 
fresh rooting and browse for the tarsk and verr. The needs of these animals, on 
which the (pg. 43) Alars depend for their existence, are taken to justify 
movements, and sometimes even migrations, of the Alars and kindred peoples. 
Needless to day, these movements, particularly when they intrude into more 
settled area, often bring the folk of the laagers into conflict with other 
peasants and, of course, shortly thereafter, townsfolk and city dwellers who 
depend on the peasants for their foodstuffs. Also of course, their movements 
often, from a legal point of view, constitute actual invasions or indisputable 
territorial infringements, as when, uninvited, they enter areas technically 
within the jurisdiction or hegemony of given cities or towns.
Sometimes they pay for passage through a country, or pasturage within it, but 
this is the exception rather than the rule. They are a fierce folk and it would 
take a courageous town indeed to suggest the suitability or propriety of such an 
arrangement. From the point of view of the Alars, of course, they feel it is as 
absurd to pay for pasturage as it would be to pay for air, both of which are 
required for life. Without grass the bosk will die, they say. The bosk will 
live, they add. They often find themselves temporarily within the borders of a 
towns or citys lands, usually about their fringes, but sometimes, depending on 
the weather and grazing conditions, much deeper within them. Most often little 
official notice is taken of them, no war challenges being issued, and they are 
regarded merely as peripheral, unwelcome itinerants, uninvited guests, 
dangerous, temporary visitors with whom the local folks must for a time live 
uneasily. It is a rare council or citizenry that does not breathe more easily 
once the wagons have taken their way out of their lands.
The woman who had come to bear tidings to Genserix now turned about and returned 
to the wagon.
When there is weakness or chaos in an area, and when the ordinary structures of 
social order are disrupted, with the concurrent disorganization, failures of 
responsibility and discipline, it is natural for folks like the Alars to appear. 
They have a tendency to pour into such areas. Indeed, sometimes they can make 
them their own, settling within them, sometimes turning to the soil themselves, 
sometimes assuming the roles and prerogatives of a conquering aristocracy, and 
(pg. 44) becoming, in their turn, the foundation of a new civilization. I had 
little doubt that it was the current weakness and disorder in this area, 
attendant on the Cosian invasion, which had drawn the Alars this far south. On 
the other hand, officially, as I had gathered from the driver with whom I had 
ridden on the Genesian Road, these Alars had been approached to serve as 
suppliers and wagoners to the troops. It was in this capacity that they were 
this close to the road. In accepting this arrangement, the Alars, of course, 
were in an excellent position to observe the course of events, and, if it seemed 
practical to them, take possible action. Here they could watch closely for 
opportunities, either monetary or territorial. Perhaps the men of Cos, no fools, 
had invited them inward that they might remain in this area, thus rendering more 
difficult its reoccupation by the forces of Ar. Perhaps, in virtue of gifts of 
lands, they hoped to make them grateful, pledged allies.
I could hear movement in the nearby wagon. A woman climbed into it carrying 
cloths and water. I heard the child crying again.
Besides the ax Alars are fond of the Alar sword, a long, heavy, double-edged 
weapon. Their shields tend to be oval, like those of the Turians. Their most 
common mount is the medium-weight saddle tharlarion, a beast smaller and less 
powerful, but swifter and more agile, than the common high tharlarion. Their 
saddles, however, have stirrups, and thus make possible the use of the couched 
shock lance. Some cities use Alars in their tharlarion cavalries. Others, 
perhaps wisely, do not enlist them in their own forces, either as regulars or 
auxiliaries. When the Alars ride forth to do battle they normally have their 
laager behind them, to which, in the case of defeat, they swiftly retire. They 
are fierce and redoubtable warriors in the open field. They know little, 
however, of politics, or in siege work and the taking of cities. In the cities, 
normally one needs only to close the gates and wait for them to go away, 
compelled eventually to do so by the needs of their animals.
A woman now descended from the wagon, carrying a small object. She came near to 
the fire and Genserix motioned for (pg. 45) her to put the object down, to lay 
it on the dirt before him, between himself and the fire. She did so. He then 
crouched down near it, and gently, with his large hands, put back the edges of 
the blanket in which it was wrapped. The tiny baby, not minutes old, with tiny 
gasps and coughs, still startled and distressed with the sharp, frightful 
novelty of breathing air, never again to return to the shelter of its mothers 
body, lost in a chaos of sensation, its eyes not focused, unable scarcely to 
turn its head from side to side, lay before him. The cord had been cut and tied 
at its belly. Its tiny legs and arms moved. The blood, the membranes and fluids, 
had been wiped from its small, hot, red, firm body. Then it had been rubbed with 
animal fat. How tiny were its head and fingers. How startling and wonderful it 
seemed that such a thing should be alive. Genserix looked at it for a time, and 
then he turned it over, and examined it further. Then he put it again on its 
back. He then stood up, and looked down upon it.
The warriors about the fire, and the woman,, and two other women, too, who had 
now come from the wagon, looked at him.
Then Genserix reached down and lifted up the child. The women cried out with 
pleasure and the men grunted with approval. Genserix held the child up now, 
happily, it almost lost in his large hands, and then he lifted it up high over 
his head.
Ho! called the warriors, standing up, rejoicing. The women beamed.
It is a son! cried one of the women.
Yes, said Genserix. It is a son!
Ho! called the warriors. Ho!
What is going on? asked Feiqa.
The child has been examined, I said. It has been found sound. It will be 
permitted to live. It is now an Alar. Too, he has lifted the child up. In this 
he acknowledges it as his own.
Genserix then handed the child to one of the warriors. He then drew his knife.
What is he going to do? gasped Feiqa.
Be quiet, I said.
(pg. 46) Genserix then, carefully, made two incisions in the face of the infant, 
obliquely, one on each cheek. The infant began to cry. Blood ran down the sides 
of its face, about the sides of its neck and onto its tiny shoulders. Let it be 
taken now, said Genserix, to its mother.
The woman who had brought the child to the side of the fire now took up the 
blanket in which it had been wrapped, and, wrapping it again on its folds, took 
it then from the warrior, and made her way back to the wagon.
These are a warrior people, I said to Feiqa, and the child is an Alar. It 
must learn to endure wounds before it receives the nourishment of milk.
Feiqa shrank back, frightened to be among such men.
On the face of Genserix, and on the faces of those about us, the males, were the 
thin, white, knife-edge lines, the narrow scars, by which it might be known that 
each had, in his time, undergone the same ceremony. By such scars one may 
identify Alars.
I rejoice in your happiness, I said to Genserix, who had now resumed his place 
by the fire.
Genserix declined his head briefly, smiling, and spread his hands, expansively.
At a time of such happiness, said a fellow, his long dark hair bound back with 
a beaded leather talmit, you need not even be killed for having come to our 
camp uninvited.
Hold, I said, uneasily. I was told in the camp of the wagoners, some of those 
in the supply trains of Cos, that there might be work here for me.
One or two of the men struck each other about the shoulders in amusement.
I gather that is not true, I said.
Shall we kill him anyway? asked a fellow.
Surely folks come often to the wagons, I said.
Do not mind Parthanx and Sorath, said a tall, broad shouldered fellow sitting 
cross-legged beside me. He, too, like Genserix, had long, braided hair and a 
yellow mustache. Too like Genserix, he was blue-eyed. Many of the Alars are fair 
in complexion, blond-haired and blue-eyed. They jest. They are the camp wits, 
he explained. Many folks come (pg. 47) to the wagons, as you know, informers, 
slavers, tradesmen, metal workers, craftsmen, peasants who will barter produce 
for skins and trinkets, and so on. If this were not so we could not easily have 
the goods we have, nor could we keep up as well with the news. If it were not 
so, we would be too cut off from the world. We would consequently be unable to 
conduct our affairs as judiciously as we do.
I nodded. Folk like the Alars tended to move in, and about, settled territories. 
They were not isolated in vast plains areas, for example, as were certain 
subequatorial Wagon Peoples, such as Tuchucks and Kassars.
The fellows identified as Parthanx and Sorath shoved at one another 
good-naturedly, pleased with their joke.
Let rings be brought! called out Genserix.
I am Hurtha, said the blond fellow beside me. You must not think of us as 
barbarians. Tell us about the cities.
What would you like to know? I asked. He would be interested, I assumed in 
such matters as the nature of their walls, the number of gates, their defenses, 
the strength of garrisons, and such.
Is Ar as beautiful as they say? he asked. And what is it like to live there?
It is very beautiful, I said. And although I am not a citizen of Ar, nor of 
Telnus, the capital of Cos, it is doubtless easier to live in such places than 
among the wagons. Why do you ask?
Hurtha is a weakling, and a poet! laughed Sorath.
I am a warrior, and an Alar, said Hurtha, but it is true that I am fond of 
songs.
There is no incompatibility between letters and arms, I said. The greatest 
soldiers are often gifted men.
I have considered going abroad, to seek my fortune, he said.
What would you do? I asked.
My arm is strong, he said, and I can ride.
You would seek service then with some captain? I said.
Yes, he said, and if possible with the finest.
Many are the causes on Gor, I said, and so, too, many are the captains.
(pg. 48) My first appointments, he said, might be with anyone.
Many captains, I said, choose their causes on the scales of merchants, 
weighing their iron against gold. They fight, I fear, only for the Ubar with the 
deepest purse.
I am an Alar, said Hurtha. The cities are always at war with us. It is always 
the fields against the walls. No matter then which way I face, nor whom I 
strike, it would be a blow, against enemies.
 I am a mercenary, of sorts, I said, but I have usually selected my causes 
with care.
And one should, agreed Hurtha, for otherwise one might not improve ones 
fortunes.
I looked at him.
Right, said Hurtha, if that is what you are interested in, seems to me a very 
hard thing to understand. I am not sure there is really any such thing, at all. 
I have never tasted it, nor seen it, nor felt it. If it does exist, it seems 
likely to me that it would be on both sides, like sunlight and air. Surely no 
war has been fought in which both sides have not sincerely claimed, and 
presumably believed, for one reason or another, that they were right. Thus, if 
right is always on both sides, one cannot help but fight for it. If that then is 
the case, why should one not be paid as well as possible for the risks he 
takes?
Have you ever tasted, or seen, or felt honor? I asked.
Yes, said Hurtha. I have tasted honor, and seen it, and felt it, but it is 
not like tasting bread, or seeing a rock, or feeling a woman. It is different.
Perhaps right is like that, I said.
Perhaps, said Hurtha. But the matter seems very complex and difficult to me.
It seems so to me, too, I said. I am often surprised why it seems so easy to 
so many others.
Yes, said Hurtha.
Perhaps they are more gifted than we in detecting its presence, I speculated.
Perhaps, said Hurtha, but why, then, is there so much disagreement among 
them?
I do not know, I admitted.
(pg. 49) Rings were then brought, heavy rings of silver and gold, large enough 
for a wrist or arm, and Genserix distributed these to high retainers. From the 
same box, he then distributed coins among the others. Even I received a silver 
tarsk. There were treasures among the wagons, it seemed. The tarsk was one of 
Telnus. In this small detail I suspected there might be found evidence of the 
possible relationship between the movements of Cos and the coming of the Alar 
wagons to the Genesian Road.
Are there such women as these in the cities? asked Hurtha, indicating Feiqa.
Thousands, I informed him.
Surely we should study siege work, smiled Hurtha.
Feiqa shrank back a bit.
Such women may be bought in the cities, I said, in slave markets, from the 
houses of slavers, from private dealers. Surely you could have such among the 
wagons, if you wished. You could have strings brought out to be examined, or 
accepted, on approval. I see no problem in the matter. Interestingly, I had 
noted few, if any, slaves among the wagons. This was quite different from the 
Wagon Peoples of the far south. There beautiful slaves, in the scandalously 
revealing chatka and curla, the kalmak and the koora, tiny rings in their noses, 
were common among the wagons. You mentioned, as I recall, that slavers among 
others, came occasionally to the wagons.
Yes, he said, but usually to buy our captures, picked up generally in raids 
or fighting.
Why are there so few slaves among the wagons? I asked.
The free women kill them, said Hurtha.
Feiqa gasped. I decided that perhaps I had best be soon on my way. She was a 
beauty, and was extremely sexually exciting, sometimes almost maddeningly so, to 
men. I had no wish to risk her in this place. She was exactly the sort of female 
which, in her helplessness and collar, in her vulnerability and brief tunic, 
tends to inspire jealous hatred, sometimes bordering almost on madness, in free 
women, particularly homely and sexually frustrated ones.
(pg. 50) Oh! said Feiqa, as he called Sorath closed his hand about her upper 
arm. His grip was tight. There was no mistaking its nature. He had her in mind.
Hold, I said to him, putting my hand on his arm.
Hold? he asked.
Yes, I said. Hold.
You are not an Alar, he said. I will take her.
No, I said.
This is our camp, he said.
It is my slave, I said.
Give her to me, he said. I will give her back to you happier, and with only a 
few bruises.
No, I said.
In the camp I do what I wish, he said.
I doubt that that is always the case, I said.
He stood up. I, too, stood up. He was a bit shorter than I, but was extremely 
broad and powerful. It is a not uncommon build among Alars.
You have taken food here, said Sorath.
And I have been pleased to have done so, I said. Thank you.
You are a guest here, said Sorath.
And I expect to receive the respect and courtesy due a guest, I said.
Let him have her for a few Ehn, suggested Hurtha.
He has not asked, I said.
Ask, suggested a fellow to Sorath.
He will not know the ax, said Hurtha. He is not of the wagons.
Let them then be blades! roared Sorath.
The ax will be fine, I said. I had learned its use in Torvaldsland. I had 
little doubt that the Torvaldslanders could stand up to any folk in the use of 
the ax.
Let the axes be headless, said Genserix. This proposal surprised me somewhat, 
but I welcomed it. It seemed a decent and generous gesture on the part of 
Genserix. Not (pg. 51) every chieftain of the Alars, I supposed, would have been 
so thoughtful. In this fashion the worse that was likely to happen was that the 
loser would have his head broken open. The men about the fire grunted their 
agreement. They all seemed rather decent fellows. Sorath, too, I was pleased to 
see, nodded. Apparently he, at least after a moment of choler, upon a more sober 
reflection, had no special wish to kill me. He would probably be satisfied to 
beat me unconscious. In the morning then I might awaken naked, tied to a stake 
outside the wagons. In a few days, then, which I might have spent ruminating on 
my ingratitude, while living on water poured into a hole near me, and on 
vegetables thrown to me, like a tarsk, when the wagons moved I might have been 
freed, a well-used Feiqa then returned to me, perhaps with a fresh Alar brand in 
her hide, that I might be reminded, from time to time, of the incident.
Two of the long heavy handles were brought.
I hefted one. It had good weight and balance.
Beware, friend said Hurtha. Sorath well knows the ways of the ax.
Thank you, I said.
Feiqa whimpered.
Prepare yourself for the future, I said.
Master? she asked, puzzled.
Shall the female be held? asked a fellow.
That will not be necessary, I said. Stay, Feiqa
Yes, Master, she said. She would now keep her place, kneeling as she was, 
until a free person might permit her to move.
Sorath spit upon his hands and gripped the handle. He cut the air with a stroke 
or two.
I went to an open place near the fire.
See? said one of the fellows, He takes a position with the fire at his back. 
Some of the others nodded, too, seemingly having noted this.
When possible, of course, given consideration of the land, warriors like to have 
both the sun and wind at their back. The glare from the sun, even if it is not 
blinding, can be wearing upon an enemy, particularly if the battle persists for 
(pg. 52) Ahn. The advantages of having the wind at ones back are obvious. It 
flights ones arrows, increasing their range; it gives additional impetus to 
ones movements and charges; and whatever dust or debris it might carry is more 
likely to effect the enemy than oneself.
Sorath struck fiercely down at me with the handle and I blocked the blow, 
smartly. His blow had been a simple, obvious one, and unless he had intended to 
use it in wearing down my strength or perhaps breaking the handle I carried, it 
made little sense. He stood back, considering matters.
Surely you would not have struck at an Alar like that, I said. He must be 
clear that I had not brought my handle back, under the blow, slashing upward to 
his neck, a blow that can, with the Torvaldsland ax, at least, cut the head from 
a man.
True, Stranger, said a womans voice. I stepped back a little, sensing that 
there was momentary truce between Sorath and myself, but also keeping track of 
him. He could not change position without my detecting it. I have seen 
tharlarion who could handle and ax better than that, she said. Sorath reddened, 
angrily. It was apparently a free woman of the Alars, only she was not dressed 
as were the other women of the camp, in their coarse, heavy, ankle-length woolen 
dresses. She wore rather the garmenture of a male, the furs and leather. At her 
belt there was even a knife. She was strikingly lovely, though, I supposed, 
given her mien and attitude, she would not have taken such an observation as a 
compliment. She was about the same size as Feiqa, though perhaps a tiny bit 
shorter, and like Feiqa, was dark-haired and dark-eyed. I thought they might 
look well together, as a brace of slaves.
Sorath then, stung by her remark, flung himself wildly toward me and fought 
frenziedly, but rashly. I blocked blows, not wishing to take advantage of his 
recklessness. I refrained from striking him. Had we been using real axes, the 
handles armed with iron, I might have finished him several times. I do not know 
if he was fully aware of this, but I am sure some of the others were. Hurtha and 
Genserix, for example, judging from the alarm which I noted in their 
expressions, seemed to be under no misapprehensions in the matter. To be sure, 
had the handles been armed perhaps he would have addressed (pg. 53) himself to 
our match with much greater circumspection. Panting, Sorath backed away.
Fight, Sorath, taunted the woman. He is an outsider. Are you not an Alar?
Be silent, woman, said Genserix, angrily.
I am a free woman, she said. I may speak as I please.
Do not seek to interfere in the affairs of men, said Genserix.
She faced the group, standing on the other side of the fire. Her feet were 
spread. On her feet were boots of fur. Her arms were crossed insolently upon her 
chest. Are there men here? she asked. I wonder.
There was a rumble of angry sounds from the gathered warriors. But none did 
anything to discipline the girl. She was, of course, free. Free women, among the 
Alars, have high standing.
Do you think you are a man? inquired one of the warriors.
I am a female, she said, but I am not different from you, not in the least.
There were angry murmurs from the men.
Indeed, she said, I am probably more a man than any of you here.
Give her an ax, said Genserix.
An ax, a typical Alar ax, long handled, armed with its heavy iron blade, was 
handed to the girl. She took it, holding it with difficulty. It was clear it was 
too heavy for her. She could scarcely lift it, let alone wield it.
You could not use that blade, even for chopping wood, said Genserix.
What is your name? I asked her.
Tenseric, she said.
That is a males name, I said.
I chose it myself, she said. I wear it proudly.
Have you always been called that? I asked.
I was called Boabissia, she said, until I came of age, and chose my own 
name.
You are still Boabissia, said one of the warriors.
(pg. 54) No! she said. I am Tenseric.
You are a female, are you not? I asked.
I suppose so, she said, angrily. But what is that supposed to mean?
Does it mean nothing? I asked.
No, she said. It means nothing.
Are you the same as a man? I asked.
Yes! she said.
There was laughter from the warriors about the fire.
It takes more than fur and leather, and a dagger worn pretentiously at ones 
belt, to make a man. I said.
She looked at me with fury.
You are a female, called one of the men. Be one!
No! she cried.
Put on a dress! called another of the men.
Never! she cried. I do not want to be one of those pathetic creatures who 
must wait on you and serve you!
Are you an Alar? I asked.
Yes! she said.
No, said Genserix. She is not an Alar. We found her, years ago, when she was 
an infant, beside the road, abandoned in blankets, amidst the wreckage of a 
raided caravan.
One which had fallen to the Alars? I inquired.
No, said a fellow, chuckling.
I wished it had fallen to us, said another. From the size of the caravan, we 
conjecture the loot must have been considerable.
There was little left when we arrived, commented another.
Do not be misled, said Hurtha, smiling. We do not really do much raiding. It 
does not make for good relations with the city dwellers.
His remark made sense to me. The Alars, and such folk, can be aggressive and 
warlike in seeking their grazing grounds, but, if left alone, they are seldom 
practitioners of unrestricted or wholesale raiding.
We took the child in, and raised it, said Genserix. We named it Boabissia, a 
good Alar name.
You are not then really of the wagons, I said to the girl. Indeed, you are 
quite possibly a female of the cities.
(pg. 55) No! said the girl. I am truly of the wagons! I have lived among them 
all my life.
She is not of the wagons, by blood, said a man.
She looked at him angrily.
Slash my face! she cried.
We do not slash the faces of our females, said a man.
Slash mine! she said.
No, said Genserix.
Then I shall do it myself! she said.
Do not, said Genserix, sternly.
Very well, she said. I shall not. I shall do as my chieftain asks.
I saw that she did not wish, truly, to disfigure herself in the mode of the Alar 
warriors. I found that of interest. From the point of view of the men, too, of 
course, they did not desire this. For one thing she was not of the warriors and 
was thus not entitled to this badge of station; indeed, her wearing it, as she 
was a mere female, would be a joke to outsiders and an embarrassment to the men; 
it would belittle its significance for them, making it shameful and meaningless. 
The insignia of men, like male garments, become empty mockeries when permitted 
to women. This type of thing leads eventually both to the demasculinization of 
men and the defeminization of females, a perversion of nature disapproved of 
generally correctly or incorrectly, by Goreans. For another thing she was a 
beautiful woman and they had no desire to see her disfigured in this fashion.
Your chieftain is grateful, said Genserix, ironically.
Thank you, my chieftain, she said. Reddening, inclining her head. She had 
little alternative, it seemed, in her anger other than to pretend to accept his 
remark at face value. I wondered why Genserix did not strip her and have her 
tied under a wagon for a few days. She looked at me in fury. I am an Alar, she 
said.
Some of the warriors laughed.
It seems more probable to me that you are a woman of the cities, I said.
No! she said. No!
Consider your coloring, I said, and your shortness, (pg. 56) and the darkness 
of your hair and eyes. Consider, too, the suggestion of interesting female 
curvatures beneath your leather and fur. Most of the Alar women are rather 
large, plain, cold, blond, blue-eyed women. You remind me of many women I have 
seen chained naked in slave markets.
There was much laughter from the men.
No! she cried to them. No! she cried to me.
It is true, I said.
No! she cried.
There was more laughter.
I am an Alar! she cried.
No, said more than one man.
Are you a man? asked a fellow.
No, she said. I am a woman!
It is true, laughed a man.
But I am a free woman! she cried, with a look of hatred cast at Feiqa, who 
shrank back, trembling, beneath her fierce gaze.
Lift up the ax you carry, said Genserix, high, over your head, as though to 
strike one with it. Hold it near the end of the handle.
She, standing across from us, on the other side of the fire, tried to do this. 
But in a moment, struggling, unable to manage the weight, she twisted her body 
and the ax fell. Its head struck the dirt. The warriors were not pleased with 
this.
Some murmured in anger. I cannot, she said. I myself would have had her kneel 
down and clean the blade with her hair. It can be a capital offense on Gor, 
incidentally, for a slave to so much as touch a weapon.
Brandish it, wield it, said Genserix to her, sternly.
She tried again to lift the ax, and then again, lowered it, until she held it 
before her, as she had done before, with difficulty, with both hands, her hands 
separated well on the handle. I cannot, she said.
Then put it down, and leave, said Genserix.
Yes, my chieftain, she said. She put down the ax, and then hurried away, 
angrily, into the darkness. I supposed that (pg. 57) she, in her upbringing, had 
felt a little affinity with the Alar women. Certainly it seemed she had not 
cared to identify with them. Perhaps, too, as she was not an Alar by blood, they 
never truly accepted her. Yet it seemed she had bee, as is often the case with 
Alar children, raised with much permissiveness. Not identifying with the women, 
or being accepted by them, and perhaps coming to bitterly envy the men, their 
position and status, their nature and power, it seemed she may have turned 
toward trying to prove herself the same as them, turning then to mannish customs 
and garb, attempting thusly, desperately, angrily, to find some sort of place 
for herself among the wagons. As a result, it seemed she would be accepted by 
neither sex. She seemed to me confused and terribly unhappy. I did not think she 
knew her own identity. I do not think she knew who she was. Some of the men, 
perhaps, knew better than she herself did.
Now, said Genserix, let us continue the contest.
There were grunts of approval by the men.
Once again Sorath and I squared off against one another. This time, not mocked 
and taunted by the female, he fought extremely well. As Hurtha had warned me 
earlier, Sorath well knew the ways of the ax. Now that his temper had cooled he 
fought with agility and precision. The reckless and sometimes irrational temper 
of folks like Sorath, and it was a temper not unusual among the proud Alar 
herders, was something that they would be well advised to guard against. Too 
often it proves the undoing of such folks. Hundreds of times calculated defenses 
and responsible tactics have proved their worth in the face of brawn and wrath. 
The braveries of barbarism are seldom of little avail against a rational, 
determined, prepared foe. But let those of the cities tremble that among the 
hordes there might one day arise one who can unify storms and harness lightning.
I slipped to the side and, swinging the ax handle inward caught Sorath in the 
solar plexus, that network of nerves and ganglia high in the abdominal cavity, 
lying behind the stomach and in front of the upper part of the abdominal aorta. 
I did not strike deeply enough to injure him, to rupture or tear open his body, 
slashing the stomach or crushing the aortal (pg. 58) tube, only enough to stop 
him, definitely. For good measure I then, with the left side of the handle, 
swinging it upward, and then down, brought it down on the back of his neck as 
he, helpfully, expectantly, grunting, doubled over. I did not strike him hard 
enough to break the vertebrae. He slipped to his knees, vomiting, and then, 
stunned, half paralyzed, fell forward. I then stood behind him, the handle 
grasped at the ready, near its end. From such a position one can, rather with 
impunity, with an unarmed handle, break the neck to the side or crush the head. 
Had the handle been armed, of course, one might, from such a position, sever the 
backbone or remove the head. Sorath was fast. I was faster.
Do not kill him! said Genserix.
Of course not, I said. He is one of my hosts, I stepped back from Sorath.
You fought very well, said Genserix.
Sorath is very good, dont you think? asked Hurtha.
Yes, I said. He is quite good.
Your prowess proves you well worthy to be a guest of the Alars, said Genserix. 
Welcome to our camp. Welcome to the light and heat of our fire.
Thank you, I said, tossing aside the handle.
Are you still alive? Parthanx inquired solicitously of Sorath, his friend.
Yes, reported Sorath.
Do not be so lazy, then said Parthanx encouragingly. Get up. Parthanx, like 
the others, seemed to have enjoyed the fight.
Let me help you, I said. I gave Sorath a hand, and half pulled him to his 
place by the fire. He looked up at me, shaking his head. Well done, he said.
Thank you, I said. You did splendidly yourself.
Thank you, he said.
Yes, said Genserix.
Yes, said Sorath.
Yes, said the others.
Thank you, I said. I am grateful for your welcome. I (pg. 59) thank you, too, 
for the food and drink I have received here, for the heat and light of your 
fire, and for your fellowship. I thank you for your hospitality. It is worthy of 
the best things I have heard of Alars. I would now like, if I may, in my own 
way, and of my own free will, as it will now be clearly understood, to do 
something for you, something that will help, in a small way, to express my 
appreciation.
Genserix and his warriors looked at one another, puzzled.
I turned to Feiqa. Strip, I said.
Master? she asked.
Must a command be repeated? I inquired.
No, Master! she cried. In an instant she was bared.
Stand, I said. Lift your arms over your head. Instantly she complied. She 
was then very beautiful, standing thusly in the light of the fire, before the 
barbaric warriors of Genserix, in the Alar camp.
Such women, I said, may be purchased in the cities. There were appreciative 
murmurs as the men drank in the fire-illuminated beauty of the naked slave.
Dance, I told Feiqa.
I do not know how to dance, Master, she moaned.
In every female there is a dancer, I said.
Master, she protested.
I know you are not trained, I said.
Master, she said.
There are many forms of dance, I said. Music is not even necessary. It need 
not even be more than beautiful movement. Move before the men, and about them, 
Move as seductively and beautifully as you can, and as a slave, saying, 
crawling, kneeling, rolling, supine, prone, begging, pleading, piteous, 
caressing, kissing, licking, rubbing against them.
Do I have a choice, Master? she asked.
No, I said, absolutely not.
Yes, Master, she said.
Would you prefer your pretty flesh to be lashed from your bones? I asked.
No, Master! she said.
And as the evening progresses, and as men might desire you, I said, you will 
please them, and fully.
(pg. 60) Yes, Master, she said.
You are a slave, an absolute and total slave, I reminded her.
Yes, Master, she said.
One of the fellows, then, began to sing, Hei, Hei, and clap his hands.
Feiqa danced.
The men cried out with pleasure, many of them joining in the song, and keeping 
time with their hands. I was incredibly proud of her. How joyful it is to own 
females and have absolute power over them! Seldom, indeed, I imagined, did the 
rude herders of the Alars have such a vision of imbonded loveliness in their 
camp, and in their arms. Such delicious females were not allowed in their camps, 
I gathered. The free women did not permit them. They probably had them hidden in 
wagons, until they could be sold off, or killed. How beautiful Feiqa was! What 
incredible power she exercised, though only a helpless slave, over men! How she 
pleased them and made them scream with pleasure! How incredibly basic, how 
fundamental, how real she was! I then felt a sudden, poignant sorrow for the 
women of Earth. How different Feiqa was from them. How far removed delicious, 
exquisite Feiqa was from the motivated artifices, the lies and fabrications, the 
propaganda, the demeaning, sterile, unsatisfying, reductive, negative 
superficialities of antibiological roles, the prescriptions of an unnatural and 
pathological politics, the manipulative instrumentations of monsters and freaks. 
I wondered how many of the women of Earth wished they might find themselves in a 
collar, dancing naked in the firelight before warriors in an Alar camp.
Disgusting! Disgusting! cried the free woman, Boabissia, in her leather and 
furs, having returned to the fire, and she rushed forward, a stout, thick, 
short, supple, single-bladed quirtlike whip in her hand. She began to lash 
Feiqa, who fell to her knees, howling with misery, a whipped slave. We do not 
allow such as you in an Alar camp! cried the free woman. Feiqa put her head 
down. Again the lash fell on her. I leaped to the free woman and tore the whip 
from her hand, hurling it angrily to the side. She looked at me, wildly, (pg. 
61) in fury, not believing I had dared to interfere. What right have you to 
interfere? she demanded. The right of a man who is not pleased with your 
behavior, female, I said. Female! she cried, in fury. Yes, I said.
Her hand darted to the hilt of the dagger she wore at her belt. I regarded her 
evenly. She, frightened, quickly removed her hand from the hilt of the dagger, 
crying out in frustration, in rage. Then she lifted her fists and, with the 
sides of them, together, struck towards me. Oh! she cried, in misery, in 
frustration. I had caught both her small wrists. She could not begin to free 
them. Oh! she cried in misery, in protest, as, inexorably, slowly, I forced 
her down. Then she was kneeling before me, her wrists in my grip. I turned her 
about and flung her to her belly, and then knelt across her thighs. I removed 
her dagger from its sheath. No! she cried. I then, with her own dagger, cut 
her clothing from her body.
Binding fiber, I said, not even looking, just putting out my hand. Some was 
fetched, a length of some five feet, or so, and, in a moment, with one end of 
the fiber, with a few loops and a knot, her wrists crossed, her hands were 
secured behind her back. I had tied her tightly, utterly helplessly, as I might 
have a slave. Help! she cried out to the warriors. Help! But none stirred to 
render her assistance. I then reversed my position on her body, kneeling now 
facing her feet, across the small of her back. I pulled her ankles up, behind 
her body, at an angle of about fifty degrees, and crossed them. I then, with the 
free end of the binding fiber, extending back from her wrists, tied them 
together, tightly, fastening them to her wrists. Please! she cried to the 
warriors but none leapt to her succor. I then lifted her up, in effect kneeling 
her, and then bent her back, her head back to the dirt, that the warriors might 
assess the bow of her beauty.
She is pretty, said a fellow. Yes, said another. It was true. She had a 
lovely figure. It had been hitherto muchly concealed from detection by the 
leather and furs she had worn, though even beneath them its subtle and 
tantalizing lineaments had been clearly suggested. Come, see Boabissia, called 
a fellow, trussed like a tarsk! Some more fellows, (pg. 62) and even some free 
women, came over to look. Boabissia now permitted to kneel upright, squirmed, 
fighting the fiber. She was helpless. Feiqa will now again dance, I said. If 
you wish, you may be hooded or blindfolded. She looked down, sullenly, angrily, 
and shook her head. If you cry out, I said, you will be gagged. Do you 
understand? Yes, she said.
I looked at Boabissias throat. About it, tied on a leather thong, was a small, 
punched copper disk. What is that? I asked, pointing to it. She did not 
respond. I then put her to her back, her knees drawn up, her wrists behind her, 
under the small of her back. I then bent over her and lifted up the disk, 
examining it in the firelight. She did not resist. Bound as she was, there was 
little she could do. Too, resistance might have earned her perfunctory, 
disciplinary cuffs. The punched copper disk, threaded on its thong, was not 
large. It was about an inch or so in diameter. On it was the letter Tau and a 
number. What is this? I asked Genserix, indicating the disk. We do not know, 
he said. It was tied about her throat when we found her, years ago, a tiny 
infant, wrapped in a blanket, in the wreckage of the caravan.
Surely you must have wondered about this? I said to Boabissia.
She looked away, not responding.
It must be a key to your identity, I said.
She did not respond.
I let the disk fall back, just below her neck. It, on its thong, was now all she 
wore, except for her bonds.
I looked to Feiqa, still kneeling, her back bright with the memory of the free 
womans attentions.
You may now continue to dance, Feiqa, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
The men cried out with approval, and smote their left shoulders with pleasure. 
In a moment Feiqa, vital and sensuous, liberated now from the fear of the free 
woman, and having felt the whip, in that perhaps being reminded of what might be 
the consequences of failing to please free persons, addressed herself once more, 
eagerly and joyously, marvelously and subserviently, to the pleasures of 
masters. I was so (pg. 63) aroused I was in pain. I could hardly wait to get her 
back to the camp of the wagoners. From time to time I glanced at Boabissia. She 
was on her side, trussed, watching Feiqa. In her eyes there was awe, 
understanding what a woman could be.
After some Ahn, in the neighborhood of dawn, I returned to the camp of the 
wagoners. Feiqa walked behind me, slowly, weary, healing me, her body sore, her 
tiny tunic held over her left shoulder. Near the wagoners camp I turned to face 
her. Before you retire, I said, I have business for you in my blankets. After 
that I will tether you for the night.
Yes, Master, she smiled.
In a few moments we had come to the wagon of the fellow who had given us a ride 
earlier. Near the wagon, naked, chained by the neck to the back, right wheel, 
was the peasant girl, Tula. In the moonlight I examined her. Under her neck 
chain was a slave collar. (pg. 64)
5      We Are on the Genesian Road
What are you doing here? I asked Hurtha.
I am coming with you, he said. I am interested in seeing the world, and will 
seek my fortune.
You have no mount, I observed.
Nor do you, he observed.
That is true, I smiled.
I sold it in the camp, he said, for some coins. It did not seem practical to 
bring it. There seem to be few such mounts with the wagons. Too, I do now know 
where we are going, nor what we will do.
The road I project is a difficult one, I said, and it may be dangerous.
Splendid, he said.
I looked at him.
I am easily bored, he explained.
Oh, I said.
You do not mind if I accompany you, do you? he asked.
No, I said.
The matter is then fully settled, he announced.
But you must feel free to part company from me at any time, I said. I had no 
wish to bring him into danger.
If you insist, he said.
I fear I must, I said.
I accept your condition, he said.
Good, I said.
You drive a fierce bargain, he observed.
Thank you, I said.
(pg. 65) Half of my coins are yours, he said. You are welcome to them.
That is very generous, I said.
Just as half of yours are mine, he said.
What? I asked.
As we will be traveling together, he said.
How many coins do you have? I asked.
About seventeen copper tarsks, he said, and two tarsk bits.
That is all? I inquired.
Yes, he said.
But you sold your tharlarion, I said, and last night Genserix gave you, as he 
did me, a silver tarsk.
True, he said, but I used most of that to pay off a few debts. You would not 
wish for me to have left the wagons owing debts, would you?
Of course not, I said.
Too, he said. I purchased this splendid sword, He unsheathed it and swung it 
about. He handled it lightly. It nearly decapitated a passing wagoner. It was a 
long, cutting sword, of the sort called a spatha among the wagons. It is more 
useful than the gladius, from the back of a tharlarion, because of its reach. He 
also carried among his things the short, stabbing sword, similar to gladius, and 
doubtless related to it, called by his people the sacramasax. It is much more 
useful on foot, particularly in close combat. Accordingly, he said, sheathing 
the sword, I have with me only some seventeen, two. How much do you have?
Somewhat more than that, I said.
Splendid, he said. We may need every tarsk bit.
What? I asked.
I have expensive tastes, he explained. Further, I am an Alar, and we Alars 
are generous, noble folk.
That is a known fact, I granted him.
We have a reputation to uphold, he said.
Doubtless, I said.
If we run short, he said, I may always strike some good fellow on the head 
and take his purse.
Surely you do not behave so in your own camp, I said.
(pg. 66) No, of course not, he said, rather surprised. But they are Alars.
I see, I said.
Not outsiders, not city folks, he said.
I must warn you, I said, that even outside the wagons striking fellows on the 
head and taking their purses is often frowned upon.
Oh? he asked.
Yes, I said. Many folks have strong opinions about such matters.
Interesting, he said.
You would not like to be struck on the head, would you? I asked.
Of course not, he said.
There you are, I said.
But I am an Alar, he said.
What difference does that make? I asked.
It makes all the difference in the world, he said. Can you prove it does 
not?
No, I admitted.
There you are, he said.
I assure you, I said, folks would not like it, and you might find yourself 
impaled, or cut to pieces.
I am not impervious to such considerations, he said, but I thought we were 
discussing purely moral issues.
You should not behave in such a manner, I said.
But it is not unseemly for me to do so, I assure you, he said. Besides, such 
behavior lies well within my entitlements.
How is that? I asked.
I am an Alar, he said.
While we are traveling together, I said, mainly because I do not wish to be 
impaled, or fed in bits to sleen, I would appreciate it if, as a favor to me, if 
nothing else, you would consider refraining from the exercise of certain of your 
Alar rights.
Surely you would have no objection if fellows wished to make me loans or bestow 
gifts upon me? he asked.
Of course not, I said. No one could possibly object to that.
(pg. 67) Splendid, he said.
I relaxed.
I was afraid you might be prone to eccentric reservations, he said.
Not me, I said.
Splendid! he said, warmly.
We were in the camp of the wagoners, one of those associated with the supply 
trains of the soldiers of Cos and the Cosian mercenaries. It was in the 
neighborhood of dawn and now, after their breakfasts, wagoners were readying 
their wagons and harnessing their tharlarion and, indeed, some had already taken 
to the road. There seemed no numbering to their vehicles nor camp marshals in 
attendance. The trains, in spite of their length and numbers, and their diverse 
cargoes, seemed to me most casually organized. This differed considerably from 
the disciplines I would have expected to attend arrangements pertaining to the 
transportation and protection of such stores. I could not understand the 
apparent reluctance on the part of Ar to exploit these weaknesses.
Are you ready? inquired Mincon, our wagoner, he with whom Feiqa and I had 
traveled yesterday, jerking tight the harness of his tharlarion.
In a moment, I said. Hold still Feiqa.
Quite near to him, as he worked, knelt Tula. She tried to put her cheek against 
his left thigh. He brushed her away. Properly handled, women become as 
subservient and affectionate as dogs. They all desire to be totally prisoners of 
love, and they will never be fully content until they become so.
Would you make me so much a slave, Master? inquired Feiqa.
Yes, I said.
Then do so, she said.
Tula now wore a tunic. Mincon had fashioned it for her from her former garments, 
those she had worn yesterday as a free woman. It was brief and sleeveless, and 
of white wool. She had excellent legs. Another part of her former garments he 
had cut into a sort of shawl which she might clutch about her when the winds 
blew chill. Some other bits of them he had cut up and she had fashioned them 
into a form of (pg. 68) footwear, which she had tied on her small feet. The 
stones of the Genesian Road, in SeKara would be cold. I considered again Tulas 
legs. They were well bared by her new tunic, as was appropriate for a slave.
On Gor it is commonly only slaves, incidentally, who bare their legs, and 
although they usually do so eagerly, proudly and beautifully, they realize that, 
in the final analysis, whether they wish it or not, they will generally have 
little, if any, choice in the matter. Such things are up to the master. One need 
not speculate overly long, either, on the usual decision of the master, for most 
Gorean masters are vital, strong, dominant males. It is thus common for the 
enslaved females, and it is usually implicit in the only modes of garmenture 
most masters will permit them, that their legs, with all the delicious 
excitements of their thighs, calves and ankles, will be exposed to the gaze of 
free persons.
Contrariwise, almost no free woman would bare her legs. They would not dare to 
do so. They would be horrified even to think of it. The scandal of such an act 
could ruin a reputation. It is said on Gor, any woman who bares her legs is a 
slave. Indeed, in some cities a free woman who might be found with bare legs is 
taken in hand by magistrates, tried and sentenced to bondage. After the judges 
decision has been enacted, its effect carried out upon her, reducing her to the 
status of goods, sometimes publicly, that she may be suitably disgraced, 
sometimes privately, by a contract slaver, that the sensitivities of free women 
in the city not be offended, she is hooded and transported, stripped and 
chained, freshly branded and collared, a property female, slave cargo, to a 
distant market where, once sold, she will begin her life anew, fearfully, as a 
purchased girl, tremulously as the helpless and lowly slave she now is.
Oh, said Feiqa.
Steady, I said to her. I wiped the needle. I then returned it to my sewing 
kit.
Do not touch the wounds, I said.
She looked up at me. Her eyes were moist, and she seemed slightly afraid. In her 
eyes there was a sort of wonder, and (pg. 69) awe. It seemed she found it hard 
to understand, truly, what had been done to her, from the Gorean point of view, 
the enormity of it.
Does it hurt? I asked.
No, she said.
I wiped the tiny drops of blood away. I then fastened the tiny objects upon her.
They are beautiful, said Hurtha, admiringly.
They are cheap, I said.
That is all right, he said.
I did not want free women attacking the girl in rage, and perhaps tearing the 
objects free.
I turned Feiqas head from side to side. Yes, they were lovely. She looked up at 
me. She now wore earrings.
I again regarded Tulas legs. True, the baring of the legs in that fashion, by 
so short a tunic, was truly an indication of slavery. Only a slave would be so 
bared. Mincon, of course, was proud of her. He owned her. He enjoyed showing her 
unmistakably as a slave. To be sure, it was not of the same degree of 
momentousness as certain other indications of slavery, irrefutable, 
irreversible, unmistakable indications,, indications and degradations so 
fundamental that they would be likely to be inflicted only upon the most 
delicious and lowest of all slaves. It did not begin to compare, for example, 
with such things as the piercing of the ears.
We are ready now, I told Mincon. You may rise, Feiqa, I said.
Go, stand behind the back of the wagon, said Mincon to Tula.
I put the rope on Feiqas neck and then tied it to the side of the wagon, as I 
had before.
Will it be necessary to chain you? Mincon asked Tula.
No, Master, she said.
That is for me to decide, he said. He then took a length of chain from the 
wagon, that with which he had chained her to the wagon wheel last night, and, 
with a heavy padlock, fastened it on her neck. He then padlocked the other end 
of the chain to a stout ring, the central ring, at the rear of the (pg. 70) 
wagon. She would walk behind the wagon, fastened to it by the neck.
Yes, Master, she said, smiling, putting her head down.
Hurtha threw his things into the wagon. Among them was the heavy, single bladed 
Alar war ax. In the dialect of the Alars, if it is of interest, this particular 
type of ax is called the francisca. Among those, too, who have learned to fear 
it, it is often referred to by that name.
I decided that I would walk beside the wagon for a time. There did not seem room 
for both Hurtha and myself on the wagon box, beside Mincon.
Ho! called Mincon to his beast, shaking the reins with his left hand and 
cracking the tharlarion whip over its back with his right. Tula cried out, 
inadvertently, at the sharp crack of the whip, and Feiqa winced. Both were 
slaves and had some comprehension of the whip. To be sure, only Tula had felt 
the tharlarion whip, and I did not envy her her knowledge. Feiqa, on the other 
hand, had felt the five-bladed Gorean slave whip, used for the punishment and 
the correction of the behavior of females. Both, thus, were aware of what a whip 
could mean, from the slave' point of view. The wagon lurched and, moving 
unevenly, the wheels going over rocks and traversing ruts left from the 
traversing ruts left from the passage of other wagons, began its climb to the 
road.
Hold! I said, suddenly, to Mincon, as we came to the edge of the road. He 
pulled back on the reins.
The free woman hurried forward. I did not know where to find you, she said. I 
knew you would come this way. I have been waiting by the side of the road.
Do you know this woman? inquired Mincon.
Yes, I said.
Mincon was eager to be on his way. His hand had tightened on the tharlarion 
whip. If this woman were merely another beggar he was ready, clearly, to strike 
her from his path.
You are wearing a dress, said Hurtha.
Yes, she said.
Did you manage to free yourself? he asked.
(pg. 71) No, she said, reddening. I could not free myself. I was absolutely 
helpless.
Hurtha regarded her.
I was cut loose by Genserix this morning, she said.
A free woman is present, I said to Feiqa. Immediately she knelt. Head to the 
ground, I whispered to her. Immediately she complied, Behind the wagon Tula, 
frightened, immediately followed her example. Both, in a sense, particularly 
Tula, were new to the collar. Both must learn that they were nothing in the 
sight of free persons.
You are wearing a dress, said Hurtha.
Yes, she said.
He continued to regard her.
What are you staring at? she asked.
You, he said.
I? she asked.
I have never seen you in a dress before, he said.
So? she asked.
It is nothing, he said. It is only that I am surprised to see you thusly. 
Boabissia was not in furs and leather. She now wore one of the simple, corded, 
belted, woolen, plain, widely sleeved, ankle-length dresses of the Alar women. 
It was brown. She had belted it snugly, and had, too, drawn its adjustment 
cording snugly from its loop about the back of her neck down to her breasts 
where she had crossed it and then taken it back, both cords, between and under 
her breasts, again to her belt, tying it closely at the sides of her body. This 
is not uncommon among Alar women. Even though they are free they are apparently 
not above reminding their men that they are females. It is a simple arrangement, 
but not unattractive. It covers almost everything, with seeming modesty, but in 
such a way, that it is likely to lead a man to think in terms of removing it. 
Boabissia, however, was presumably unaware of these things. From her point of 
view, she had probably done nothing more than to garb herself in the accustomed 
manner of the Alar woman. Even so, however, putting herself in a dress, in 
itself, seemed to represent some sort of considerable change in her. She wore, 
too, as she had last night, her dagger in her belt.
(pg. 72) I am entitled to dress in this fashion, she said defensively.
Then you are a woman, he said.
She did not deign to respond.
Are you a woman? he asked.
Yes, she said, angrily. I am a woman!
Then it is appropriate that you should wear a dress, he said.
Perhaps! she said. She looked at him angrily.
When did you discover that you were a woman? he asked. Last night?
She did not deign to answer.
Yes, he speculated, it was doubtless last night.
Her small fists clenched.
Why are you here? he asked.
I want to come with you, she said. She put down her head.
We must be on our way, said Mincon. Other wagons were emerging from the camp, 
coming up the small slope, and trundling onto the stones of the Genesian Road. 
The two slaves still knelt in their places, their heads down to the dirt. They 
had not yet been given permission to change their position.
You had best remain within the safety of the wagons, said Hurtha. This is the 
great outside world. You do not know what might become of you out here.
I am not afraid, she said.
You might be killed, said Hurtha.
I am not afraid, she said.
You might be caught, and put in chains, said Hurtha. He did not even mention, 
explicitly, the horrifying word bondage, In this he was tactful. She was a 
free woman.
That I fear most, she said. That would be a fate a thousand times worse than 
death.
Feiqa, kneeling near my feet, her head down to the dirt, stifled a sound of 
amusement. I kicked her, gently with the side of my foot, to silence her.
Remain with the wagons, said Hurtha.
No, said Boabissia.
You are rather pretty, he said.
(pg.73) Do not insult me, she said.
I wonder what you would look like, stripped, and branded and collared, as a 
slave, he said.
Please, Hurtha, she said.
Do you think you could please a man? he asked.
I have no interest in pleasing men, she said.
But do you think you could do so? he asked.
I am sure I do not know. She said.
In a collar, he said, subject to the whip, you would doubtless attempt 
desperately to learn to do so, and quickly and well.
Perhaps, she said angrily.
Remain with the wagons, he said.
She looked at Hurtha, and then at me, and then again at Hurtha. She fingered the 
small copper disk, on its thong, tied about her throat, that disk which had been 
found on her in infancy, when she had been found by Alars in the wreckage of a 
burned, raided caravan, that disk on which a Tau and a number had been 
inscribed. No, she said.
Another wagon climbed to the road, and rolled by.
Hurtha looked at me. I shrugged. She was pretty, and she was free. I supposed 
she could do much what she wished. It was not as though she were naught but a 
banded chattel, like Feiqa and Tula.
Do you have any money? asked Hurtha.
No, she said.
Are you wearing that dress in the manner of the Alar woman? he asked.
Yes, she said, reddening.
It was not winter now, but only SeKara. Accordingly all she now wore would be 
the dress. Beneath it she would be naked.
He then went to her and untied the strings which held the dagger sheath, with 
its small, narrow, sheathed weapon, with its ornamented, enameled handle, at her 
belt.
What are you doing? she asked.
I am taking the dagger, he said. I am going to throw it away, here, along the 
side of the road. Have no fear. It will not go unused. Someone will surely find 
it.
(pg. 74) But then I will be defenseless! she protested.
Such a woman, he said, might get you killed. It is better that you do not 
have it.
But I will be defenseless without it, she insisted.
You were defenseless with it, he said, only you did not know it. Do you truly 
think that anyone who intended to take you, or harm you, would be dissuaded from 
doing so by that tiny weapon? Do not deceive yourself. Indeed, if he were not 
amused, he might even find it irritating, and see fit to turn it into your own 
heart. At the least, you would be likely to be punished severely for the 
pretensions of carrying it.
What then are my defenses? she asked.
Those of the female, he said.
Of the female! she said.
For that is what you are, Boabissia, he said.
I see, she said.
Docility, and total obedience, he said.
I see, she said.
Return to the wagons, he said.
No, she said.
He looked at her.
I want to come with you, she said.
If you come with us, he said, you come with us as a woman.
I would then be helpless, she said, with a womans helplessness.
You have always been such, Boabissia, he said, though perhaps, among the 
wagons, you did not realize it.
I would have to depend on you, upon men, for my total protection, she said.
Yes, said Hurtha. And such protection extends to you, of course, only in so 
far as you are a free woman.
Of course, she said.
Slaves are goods. Thus, whether they are protected, or defended, or not, depends 
on the decisions of free persons, like the defense or protection of other goods, 
whatever they might be, for example, sacks of gold, crates of sandals, tethered 
tharlarion, caged vulos, and strings of fish. Many a caravan has saved itself by 
leaving lovely slaves behind in the (pg. 75) desert, to slow the pursuit of 
marauders. So, too, more than one merchantman has saved itself by jettisoning 
beauties too luscious to be left behind by lustful pursuers. Better to lose part 
of a cargo, they reason, than all of it.
Do you wish to come with us? asked Hurtha.
Yes, she said.
Do you come with us as a woman? he asked.
Yes, she said. I will come with youas a woman,
He threw the dagger, with its sheath, to the side of the road.
She looked at it. I took her by the arm and conducted her to where Tula knelt, 
her head to the dirt. This is a free woman, I told Tula. She will be 
traveling with us, Tula, scarcely lifting her head, pressed her lips to the 
sandals of Boabissia, kissing them. Mistress, she said. I then conducted 
Boabissia to the vicinity of Feiqa. Feiqa had once been the Lady Charlotte, of 
Samnium, a high lady in that city, one of aristocratic birth and upbringing, 
from one of her finest families, one prominent on her Street of Coins. Feiqa 
pressed her lips to the sandals of Boabissia, kissing them. Mistress, she 
whispered. What? inquired Boabissia, imperiously. Feiqa again pressed her lips 
to Boabissias sandals, kissing them. Mistress, she said, trembling.
These slaves, I said to Boabissia, as you are a free woman, are at your 
disposal. On the other hand, you do not own them. Accordingly you are not to 
mutilate them or cause them permanent harm or serious injury unless they prove 
themselves to be, in some small way, at least, disobedient or displeasing.
I understand, said Boabissia.
Even then, I said, it will be expected that you would first obtain the 
permission of their master.
That is a common courtesy, said Boabissia.
You may count, of course, I said, on his understanding and sympathy, and his 
respect for your wishes, as those of a free woman.
Of course, said Boabissia.
In lesser matters of course, I said, where lesser exactitudes and punishments 
might be in order, you may, as any (pg. 76) free person, at your whim, and 
without consulting the master, subject them to typical disciplines, things 
useful in helping them to keep in mind what they are.
I understand, said Boabissia.
The slaves trembled. She was a free woman. The slave has some defense against a 
vital powerful male, female submission behaviors, indeed, the piteous and 
desperate prostration of her beauty and service at the feet of his authority and 
lust. This defense, however, minimal and uncertain as it may be, seldom avails 
her against the displeasure of the hostile free female.
Oh! said Boabissia.
Hurtha had taken her under the arms and swung her up to the wagon box.
Good, said Mincon. We must be on our way.
To, be sure, the other wagons from this camp were now more than a pasang or two 
down the road.
We will never catch up, said Mincon.
On your feet, imbonded sluts, I said.
Tula and Feiqa leapt up, Tula in her neck chain, Feiqa with the rope on her 
neck.
May I speak, Master? asked Feiqa.
Yes, I said.
She touched her earrings. I saw that she was incredibly pleased to have them. 
Not only were they beautiful, though, indeed, they were not expensive, but in 
Gorean eyes, they much confirmed, deeply and positively, her status upon her. I 
could see she was thrilled to wear them. What a slave they made her! Master, 
she said, may I sometimes be given slave silk?
I smiled. None but a slave would put on slave silk. It is so tantalizingly 
beautiful and diaphanous that it seems to make a woman almost more naked than 
naked, and yet in such a way, driving a man almost mad with passion, that he can 
scarcely control himself, that he can scarcely rest, or think, having seen her 
in such a way, until he can put his hands on her, and part it, and thus reveal 
her as wholly bared, and helpless, and his. Perhaps, I said.
Thank you, Master, she whispered happily. I was pleased (pg. 77) with Feiqa. 
She was now beginning to get in touch with her sexuality, indeed, with the 
deepest sexuality in the human female, that of the slave.
I saw the fists of Boabissia clench.
Is anything wrong? I asked.
Put the slut back, behind the wagon, said Boabissia, where she, like the 
animal she is, led, may follow with the other.
Please? I asked.
Yes, please, said Boabissia, angrily.
Very well, I said. I decided I would do this, at least this time, in deference 
to the wishes of Boabissia. She was after all, a free woman. I gathered she did 
not wish to glance to the side and see the beautiful, collared, scantily clad 
slave. She preferred, for whatever reason, it seemed, but one apparently no 
unusual for free women, to have her behind the wagon, out of sight. I myself, on 
the other hand, would have preferred keeping Feiqa at the side of the wagon. 
Indeed, I would rather have enjoyed, from time to time, looking down approvingly 
on the helplessness and seminudity of my nearby, neck-roped chattel. Surely, 
too, I had a right to do this if, and whenever, I pleased. It was merely another 
of the many, unlimited prerogatives attaching to my relationship to her, that of 
master to slave. I considered keeping her where she was. Still, Boabissia did 
not want her there, and Boabissia was, after all, a free woman. I supposed I 
should respect her wishes, at least once in a while. Too, I had earlier decided 
to move Feiqa. There did not seem much point in changing my mind, now. Too, 
there was much to be said objectively for putting Feiqa back of the wagon. 
Perhaps in indulging my own pleasure in seeing her I had been, inadvertently, 
too permissive with her. Surely I did not wish her to grow arrogant. Too, 
considering what she was, it was fitting that she was behind the wagon, attached 
to it by her neck rope.
Master? asked Feiqa.
Be silent, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I untied her tether and led her to the back of the wagon. There were three rings 
there, the central ring, to which Tula (pg. 78) had been chained, generally used 
for tethering, and two smaller, side rings, auxiliary rings, sometimes used for 
tethering, sometimes used for drawing a second wagon or cart. I tied her tether 
to the side ring on the right. She was smiling. I think she enjoyed being 
disturbing to Boabissia. To be sure, she should watch her step in such matters. 
I did tie her hands behind her back. I heard Boabissia gasp, and then she turned 
away. Such a tying makes a woman so helpless.
We are ready, I called.
Ho! cried Mincon to his beast. He shook the reins and cracked the whip. The 
wagon moved forward, and rolled up onto the stones of the Genesian Road. In a 
bit we were moving forward. Hurtha and I walked beside the wagon. Boabissia, 
moving with the motion of the wagon, swaying with its motion, rode on the wagon 
box. Tula and Feiqa, her hands tied behind her, followed behind. I looked back, 
and they looked down, not meeting my eyes. Both were lovely. It was fitting, of 
course, that they followed on their tethers.
Both were domestic animals.
We will never catch up, said Mincon, grumbling. Then he cracked the whip 
again. (pg. 79)
6      Hurthas Feast
Hurtha, said I, what have you there?
Fruits, dried and fresh, candies, nuts, four sorts of meats, choice, all of 
them, fresh-baked bread, selected pastries, responded he, his arms full, and 
some superb paga and delicate ka-la-na.
Where did you get such things? I asked.
They were intended for the mess of the high officers, up the road, he said.
They did not arrive there apparently, I said.
Have no fear, he said. I purchased them honestly.
You bought them surreptitiously from sutlers, I speculated. To be sure, he 
said, the negotiations were conducted behind a wagon. On the other hand, it is 
surely not up to me to criticize the discretion of such fellows, nor how and 
where they conduct their business.
I see, I said. I hoped earnestly that if these dealings were found out that 
any penalties which might be involved, in particular, such things as torturings 
and impalements, would be visited upon the sutlers and not on their customers, 
and particularly not on folks who might be traveling with their customers. To be 
sure, the rigors sometimes technically contingent upon such discoveries and 
exposures seldom actually resulted in the enactment of dismal sanctions, 
maimings, executions, and such, bribes instead, gifts and so on, usually 
changing hands on such occasions.
Feast heartily, said Hurtha, unloading, half spilling, his acquisitions near 
the fire at our campsite.
You should not have done this, I said to him.
Nonsense, he said, depreciatingly, smiling, letting me (pg. 80) know that 
lavish gratitude on my part, however justified, was not even necessary.
This is the food of generals, I said.
It is excellent, agreed Hurtha.
It is the food of generals, I said.
There is plenty left for them, Hurtha assured me.
You should not of done this, I said.
It is time that I paid my share of the expenses, he said.
I see, I said. It was difficult to argue with that.
These are Ta grapes, I am told, he said, from the terraces of Cos.
Yes, they are, I said. Or at least they are Ta grapes,
Cos is an island, he said.
I have heard that, I said. These various things must have been terribly 
expensive.
Yes, said Hurtha. But money is no object.
That is fortunate, I said.
I am an Alar, Hurtha explained. Have a stuffed mushroom.
I pondered the likely prices of a stuffed mushroom in a black-market transaction 
in a war-torn district, one turned into a near desert by the predations of 
organized foragers, in particular, the price of such a mushroom perhaps diverted 
at great hazard from the tables of Cosian generals.
Have two, said Hurtha.
My heart suddenly began to beat with great alarm. This is a great deal of 
food, I said, to have been purchased by seventeen copper tarsks, and two tarsk 
bits. That was, as I recalled, the sum total of monetary wealth which Hurtha 
had brought with him to the supply train, that or something much in its 
neighborhood.
Oh, said Hurtha, it cost more than that.
I had thought it might, I said.
Have a mushroom, said Hurtha. They are quite good.
What did all this cost? I asked.
I do not recall, said Hurtha. But half of the change is yours.
How much change do you have? I asked.
Fourteen copper tarsks, he said.
(pg. 81) You may keep them, I said.
Very well, he said.
I am quite hungry, Hurtha, said Boabissia. May I have some food?
Would you like to beg? he asked.
No, she said.
Oh, very well, said Hurtha. He then held out to her the plate of mushrooms. It 
did not seem to me that she needed to take that many. Ah, Mincon, my friend, my 
dear fellow, said Hurtha. Come, join us!
I supposed he, too, would dive into the mushrooms. Still, one could not begrudge 
dear Mincon some greed in this matter, for he was a fine driver, and a splendid 
fellow. We had been with him now four days on the road. To be sure, we had 
received a late start on each of these days, and each day later than the 
preceding. It was difficult to get an early start with slaves such as Tula and 
Feiqa in the blankets. Boabissia, a free woman, must wait for us, of course, 
while we pleasured ourselves with the slaves. I think she did not much enjoy 
this. At any rate, she occasionally seemed somewhat impatient. Too, her 
irritability suggested that her own needs, and rather cruelly, might quite 
possibly be upon her.
Feiqa and Tula, those lovely properties, hovered in the background. I supposed 
that they, too, would want to be fed. I dared not speculate at what time we 
might be leaving in the morning. I hoped we could arouse Mincon and Hurtha at 
least by noon. There was even paga and ka-la-na. Mincon began to pick mushrooms 
off the plate and feed them to Tula. Did he not know she was a slave? Thank 
you, Master, she said, being fed by hand. Sometimes slaves are not permitted 
touch food with their own hands. Sometimes, in such a case, they are fed by 
hand; at other times their food might be thrown to them or put out for them in 
pans, and such, from which then, not using their hands, on all fours, head down, 
they must feed, in the manner of
she-quadrupeds, or slaves, if it be the masters pleasure.
Another mushroom disappeared. Had Tula not had some bread earlier?
Have a mushroom, said Hurtha.
(pg. 82) Mincon even gave a mushroom to Feiqa. I was watching. He was certainly 
a generous fellow with those mushrooms.
No, thank you, I said. I wondered if, in the eating of such a mushroom, one 
became an inadvertent accomplice in some heinous misadventure.
They are good, Hurtha insisted.
I am sure they are, I said. I was particularly fond of stuffed mushrooms.
There was no problem for the slaves, of course. No one would blame them, any 
more than one would blame a pet sleen for eating something thrown his way.
Mincon and Boabissia might get off, I thought, watching them eat. After all, 
they did not know where the food came from. Mincon was a trusted driver, and a 
well-known good fellow. Boabissia was fresh from the wagons, She might be 
forgiven. Too, she was pretty. Hurtha, of course, might be impaled. I wondered 
if I counted as being guilty in this business whether I ate a mushroom or not. I 
knew where they came from, for example. It would be too bad to be impaled, I 
thought, and not have had a mushroom, at all. What are they stuffed with? I 
asked Hurtha.
Sausage, he said.
Tarsk? I asked.
Of course, he said.
My favorite, I said. I shall have one.
Alas, said Hurtha. They are all gone.
Oh, I said. Say, I said, there seems to be a fellow lurking over there, by 
the wagons.
Hurtha turned about, looking.
It was undoubtedly a supply officer. I supposed it would be wrong to put a knife 
between his ribs. I did, however for at least a moment, feverishly consider the 
practicalities that might be involved in doing so.
Ho! cried Hurtha, cheerfully, to the fellow.
The fellow, who was a bit portly, shrank back, as though in alarm, near one of 
the wagons. Perhaps he was not a supply officer. He did not have a dozen 
guardsmen at his back, for instance.
Do you know him? I asked.
(pg. 83) Of course, said Hurtha. He is my benefactor!
I looked again.
Come, called Hurtha, cheerily. Join us! Welcome!
I feared the fellow was about to take to his heels.
I am sorry the mushrooms are all gone, said Hurtha to me.
That is all right, I said.
Try a spiced verr cube, he suggested.
Perhaps later, I said, uneasily. The portly fellow near the wagon had not 
approached, nor either had he left. He seemed to be signaling me, or attempting 
to attract my attention. But perhaps that was my imagination. When Hurtha 
glanced about he did not, certainly, seem to be doing so. I did not know him, as 
far as I knew.
They are very good, said Hurtha, though, to be sure, they are not a match for 
the stuffed mushrooms.
Excuse me, said Mincon, but I think that fellow over there would like to 
speak to you.
Excuse me, I said to Hurtha.
Certainly, he said.
In a moment I had approached the portly fellow by the wagon. Sir? I asked.
I do not mean to intrude, he said, but by any chance, do you know the fellow 
sitting over there by the fire?
Why, yes, I said. He is Mincon, a wagoner.
Not him, said the fellow. The other one.
What other one? I asked.
The only other one, he said, the big fellow, with yellow, braided hair, and 
the mustache.
That one, I said.
Yes, said he.
He is called Hurtha, I said.
Are you traveling with him? he asked.
I may have been, I speculated. One sees many folks on the road. You know how 
it is.
Are you responsible for him? he asked.
I hope not, I said. Why?
Not an ahn ago, he said, he leaped out at me from (pg. 84) behind a wagon in 
the darkness, brandishing an ax. The Alars, at least one, are upon you! he 
cried.
That sounds like Hurtha, I admitted.
It was he, averred the fellow.
You might be mistaken, I said.
There are not many like him with the wagons, said the fellow.
Perhaps there is at least one other, I said.
It was he, said the fellow.
You can't be sure, I said.
I am sure, he said.
Oh, I said.
He then, brandishing his ax, importuned me for a loan. I was speechless with 
terror. I feared he might mistake my reticence for hesitation.
I understand, I said, sympathetically.
 Take it,  I cried.  Take my purse, my gold, all of it! 
 As a gift, he asked, seemingly delighted, though perhaps somewhat puzzled. 
Yes, I cried. Yes! 
I see, I said. To be sure, when Hurtha had seen this fellow a few moments ago, 
he had referred to him not as his creditor, but rather, now that I recalled 
it, warmly, as his benefactor.
Shall I summon guardsmen from down the road? he asked.
I do not think that will be necessary, I said.
In that purse, he said, there were eighteen golden staters, from Tyros, three 
golden tarn disks, one from Port Kar, and two from Ar, sixteen silver tarsks 
from Tabor, twenty copper tarsks, and some fifteen tarsk bits.
You keep very careful records, I said.
I am from Tabor, he said.
Probably you are a merchant, too, I said.
Yes, he said.
I had feared as much. The merchants of Tabor are famed for the accuracy of their 
accounts.
(pg. 85) Well? he said.
Would you care to join us? I asked.
No, he said.
There is plenty to eat, I said.
I am not surprised, he said.
It is not my fault, I said, if you, of your own free will, decided to make my 
friend a generous gift.
Shall I summon guardsmen? he asked.
No, I said.
Well? said he.
Do you have a witnessed, certified document attesting to the alleged contents 
of your purse? I asked. Too, was the purse closed with an imprinted seal, its 
number corresponding to the registration number of the certification document?
Yes, he said.
Oh, I said.
Here, he said. I think you will find everything in order.
I had forgotten the fellow was from Tabor.
This document seems a bit old, I said. Doubtless it is no longer current, no 
longer an effective legal instrument. As you can see, it is dated two weeks ago. 
Where are you going?
To fetch guardsmen, he said.
It will do, I said.
I then, without great pleasure, restored to the determined, inflexible fellow 
the amount in full which he had earlier, and of his own free will, as I did not 
fail to remind him, bestowed on my friend, Hurtha.
I would also like something for my trouble, he said.
A silver tarsk will be sufficient.
Of course, I said. He then, now seemingly content, left. How little it takes 
to please some people. I decided I must speak with Hurtha. I returned to the 
campfire.
I will take some of the spiced verr cubes, I said.
Alas, said Hurtha, we have finished them. You should have invited my friend 
to sup with us.
I did, I said. But he did not agree to do so.
(pg. 86) It is perhaps just as well, said Hurtha, as there is not much left. 
What did he want?
Oh, nothing, I said.
Interesting, mused Hurtha.
He just wanted to make certain that you were enjoying yourself, I said.
A splendid fellow, said Hurtha.
Hereafter, I said, before you decide to apply for a loan or consider 
accepting an unusually generous gift, particularly while carrying an ax, at 
least while we are traveling together, I would appreciate it if you would take 
me into your confidence, if you would consult with me about it first.
Of course, my dear friend, said Hurtha, anything you like.
I regarded him.
Did I do anything wrong? he asked.
No, I said.
That is a relief, he said. One must be so careful in ones dealings with 
civilized folks.
Hurtha I said.
Yes? he said.
Nothing, I said.
You told me, or led me to believe, as I recall, that there could be no possible 
objection to fellows making me loans or bestowing gifts upon me, he said.
That is true, I said.
It is not my fault, he said, if a complete stranger takes a liking to me and 
instantaneously decides to make me a fine gift,
Of course not, I said.
You see, he said.
Just consult with me first, hereafter, if you would, I said.
Of course, my dear fellow, he said.
I am now nearly destitute, I said.
Have no fear, he said. Half of what I have is yours!
That would come to about seven copper tarsks, as I recall, I said.
Precisely, said Hurtha.
(pg. 87) What is left to eat? I asked.
Not much, I am afraid, said Hurtha.
Is there paga? I asked.
Yes, he said.
Give it to me, I said. (pg. 88)
7      We get a late start; Boabissia Is Encouraged to Silence
So at last we are upon our way, you lazy sleen, said Boabissia, lurching on 
the wagon box. I thought it would never come about!
Please, said Mincon. My head.
It is well past noon! said Boabissia.
How do you feel? I asked Mincon.
I am sober now, said Mincon. At least I see but one road ahead.
You did very well, Hurtha congratulated me. I had not known those of the 
cities could drink so much.
We can do many wonderful things, I said, when we are properly motivated. If 
one kept ones eyes closed it was easier to avoid the glare from the light on 
the stones. One could hold onto the edge of the wagon bed with one hand. To be 
sure, it increased the likelihood of stepping into potholes.
Hurtha fell against the side of the wagon. Are you all right? I asked.
Certainly, he said.
You are all monsters, and lazy sleen, said Boabissia. I am sure, now, we will 
never catch up with the others, surely not until after dark!
That is my concern, said Mincon, blinking shaking his head.
Then I suggest you attend to it, said Boabissia.
Please, begged Mincon.
I think I shall see that you are reported to the wagon (pg. 89) officer, she 
said. Surely he would have something to say about your broad-minded attitudes 
toward schedules, your unconscionable delays, your neglect of your duties. Do 
you think you are being paid to take your time? You have stores to deliver!
Please, said Mincon. Please!
Boabissia had been a pain all morning. Scarcely had we been permitted to sleep. 
Even before dawn, when others were having their breakfasts, and later, in the 
vicinity of dawn, when the other wagons were preparing to leave camp, we had 
been urged to bestir ourselves.
We are alone on the road, said Boabissia. You have deprived us of the safety 
of numbers. This could well be dangerous! Why did you not listen to me? What if 
we should be set upon by brigands?
I hoped that would not happen, as I was not certain I could find my sword. Ah, 
yes there it was, somehow in its sheath, over my left shoulder. The only 
problem, then, would be in attempting to dislodge it from its housing.
Brigands might only slay you, said Boabissia, but I am a free woman! I have 
much more to fear! I might be put in a collar, and made a slave. Like those 
sluts in the back! You could of thought of me! You never think of me!
How is it, I wondered, that each time I put my foot down, my head hurts. That 
was interesting. Could it be normal? There was nothing in the codes of warriors, 
as I recalled, that explicitly demanded resistance to brigands, though perhaps 
it was presupposed. It was an interesting interpretative question, probably one 
calling for the attention of high councils. If I were beheaded by a brigands 
sword. I mused, I would be ridded of this headache. To be sure, such a remedy 
can be used but once. That is a count against it. Too, it was not true that we 
never thought of Boabissia. We often thought of her. In fact, I was thinking of 
her now.
Men are such beasts, she said, tarsks, miserable drunken sleen!
Tula and Feiqa, too, however, if it had to be known, had not been feeling too 
well. They were both sleeping in the back of the wagon. It had been with 
difficulty that Hurtha and (pg. 90) I had managed to put them there. We would 
not have left them, of course. We were far to alert for that. Too, one does not 
leave Tulas and Feiqas simply lying about. They are far too desirable, far too 
luscious. To be sure, we had forgotten to chain them up last night, or rather, 
this morning, but neither, it seemed, as far as we could tell, had pondered 
escape.
Oh! cried Hurtha.
Wait! I said to Mincon.
Here, I said to Hurtha, going to where he had stumbled off the road. I drew 
him up, with two hands, from the ditch. Fortunately it was not deep. Hold to 
the side of the wagon, I advised him. He clutched it with both hands. In a 
moment we were again on our way.
Drunken tarsks, all of you! said Boabissia.
We were not drunk, of course. Last night, perhaps, we might have been a little 
drunk.
Would you like some paga? asked Hurtha, hospitably, clinging grimly to the 
wagon.
No, I said.
There is none left, said Boabissia.
It is all gone? asked Hurtha, in dismay.
Yes, she Boabissia.
All of it? he pressed.
Yes, she said.
I did not find this report disquieting.
It is possible, of course, said Hurtha. I am an Alar.
I heard Tula twist in the wagon, and groan. They had been lovely last night, in 
the firelight, naked, in their collars. More than once we had put down some 
ka-la-na for them, in pans. Too, particularly when they had licked and begged, 
and with sufficient fervor and skill, and prettiness, we had put dishes on the 
ground for them. It was only the first time, I think, that Tula was genuinely 
surprised when she found herself caught at her dish by Mincon. How incredibly 
beautiful and desirable are women. How marvelous are slaves!
If you had listened to me, said Boabissia to Mincon, we would have been on 
the road more than four Ahn ago!
(pg. 91) I swung up to the wagon box I looked about in the wagon bed.
We would then not be so far behind the others, she said. Oh! she said.
Boabissia looked at me angrily.
Good, said Mincon.
With my thumb I pressed the small sack more deeply into her mouth, until her 
lovely sometimes irritating oral orifice was well stuffed with it. The small 
sack had drawstrings. These I took to the sides and yanked back, drawing them 
deeply back between her teeth, and then knotted them tightly behind the back of 
her neck. I could not make out what she was saying.
Be silent, I said to her.
She stopped saying whatever it was she was saying.
You will leave this as it is, I said, until one of the men with the wagon 
sees fit to remove it.
She looked at me.
If you should remove it yourself, or attempt to do so, I said, it will be 
promptly replaced, or resecured, and you will be stripped and put in slave 
bracelets, your hands behind your back. Furthermore, you will then be put on a 
rope and will follow the wagon, naked, and so braceleted and gagged, as might a 
slave. Do you understand? If so, nod, Yes.
Boabissia looked at me in fury. And then, tears in her eyes, she nodded. I then 
returned to the road.
It is more peaceful now, said Hurtha.
Boabissia struck down at the lid of the wagon box, serving as her bench, with 
her small fists. But she did not attempt to dislodge the device by means of 
which, in accordance with the will of men, she had been silenced.
Yes, I said. (pg. 92)
8      Evidence of a Disquieting Event Is Found
There is smoke ahead, said Mincon, pulling back on the reins, halting the 
wagon. He and Boabissia rose to their feet, looking ahead. I climbed on the 
spokes of the front wheel, near Boabissia. It was now late in the afternoon. The 
gag which I had fixed on her somewhat after the noon hour, shortly after we had 
begun our day' journey, I had, after an Ahn or two, loosened and pulled free. 
She was then somewhat subdued, knowing that it could be instantly replaced at 
our least irritation. It now, if only as a reminder, on its strings, still wet, 
hung loosely about her neck.
What is it? asked Hurtha.
I do not know, I said.
Feiqa and Tula, kneeling on sacks in the back of the wagon, moved about a 
little. They had been very quiet all afternoon. I think that they had not wished 
to call attention to themselves. After all, they were there, riding in the 
wagon, and not afoot, on their tethers, behind it. Was this not almost like 
being a privileged free woman? To be sure, they were in the back of the wagon, 
where cargo is kept, in collars and slave tunics, and were kneeling. Slave girls 
can be very clever in such ways. Mincon and I, of course, indulgently pretended 
not to notice this.
What is it? asked Boabissia.
I do not know, I said.
Feiqa and Tula, frightened, kneeling in the back of the wagon, looked at one 
another. They were goods.
Remain here, I said. I will investigate.
I am coming with you, said Hurtha.
I nodded. I would welcome the company of the Alar.
(pg. 93) I think there is trouble, said Mincon.
Watch for our signal, I said.
I stepped down from the wheel and unsheathed my sword. I began then to advance 
down the road. Hurtha took his ax from the wagon and followed me.
The man lifted his hand, weakly, as though to fend a blow.
Do not fear, I told him.
Are you not with them? he asked.
No, I said.
They came, he said, as though from nowhere.
They emerged from covered pits, I said, dug near the road.
They were suddenly everywhere, all about us, crying out, with reddened blades, 
he said, and merciless. They were swift. We could not resist them. We are not 
soldiers. Then they were gone.
Are there any other survivors? I asked.
I do not know, he said.
There are others, I said, looking over the road.
Yes, he said.
Free women had come to the road. They were now poking through the wreckage and 
ashes, moving bodies about, hunting for loot, or food. I did not think there 
would be much left for them.
The smell of smoke hung heavy in the still air.
When did this happen? I asked.
An Ahn, perhaps two Ahn ago, he said. I do not know.
He sat wearily beside the road, his head in his hands.
It was more likely two Ahn, I said. Their work here has been finished.
There are only the women now, he said, bitterly.
Yes, I said. Now there are only the women.
I looked about myself. Had the terrain been properly scouted, had the wagons 
been properly guarded, this thing presumably (pg. 94) could not have happened, 
or, surely, not in as devastating a fashion as this.
Ar has struck, said Hurtha, grimly.
I do not think this is the work of the troops of Ar, I said.
But who else? he asked.
I do not know, I said.
But what troops? he asked.
This does not look to me like the work of regular troops, I said. Consider 
the wagons, the bodies.
The wagons had not merely been burned, that their cargoes might be destroyed, 
but, clearly, had been ransacked. Wrappings, sackings and broken vessels lay 
strewn about. Several bodies, it seemed, had been hastily examined. Some had 
been stripped of articles of clothing. I had found none with their wallets 
intact. In some cases digits had been cut away, presumably to free rings.
Mercenaries, said Hurtha.
It would seem so, I said. It is difficult to control such men. Most 
commanders, in certain situations, will give them their head. Indeed, in certain 
circumstances the attempt to impose discipline upon them can be extremely 
dangerous. It is something like informing the hunting sleen, eager, hot from the 
chase, his jaws red with blood, that he should now relinquish his kill. It must 
be understood, of course, that the average mercenary looks upon loot as his 
perquisite. He regards it, so to speak, as a part of his pay. Indeed, the 
promise of loot is almost always one of the recruiters major inducements.
Cosian mercenaries? asked Hurtha.
Who knows? I said. It did not seem to me impossible that some of the mercenary 
troops with the Cosian army might have doubled back to strike at one of their 
own supply columns. Surely the paucity of protection provided for such columns 
would not have escaped their notice.
I looked at the women, poking about amidst the wreckage. It had not taken them 
long to arrive. I could see some others, too, coming just now, from between the 
hills. Perhaps they had camps nearby. The wagons were in a long line, about a 
(pg. 95) pasang long, Some, too, were off the road. Some were overturned. Most 
showed signs of fire. There were few tharlarion in evidence. Harnesses had been 
cut and they, it seems, had either been driven away or had wandered off. In one 
place there was a dead tharlarion, and the women, some crouching on it, were 
cutting it into pieces with knives, putting pieces of meat into their mouths, 
and hiding other pieces in their dresses.
Jards, said Hurtha, in disgust.
I shrugged. These women were of the peasants. They were not given to the 
niceties of civilized women. Too, they were doubtless starving.
Jards said Hurtha.
Even the jard desires to live, I said.
It is not unknown that such women come to the fields, he said, and even when 
not hungry.
That is true, I said. Perhaps all women belonged in collars.
We could probably follow the raiders, he said.
Probably, I said. The trail was doubtless still fresh enough to permit this. 
One man, who knows what he is doing, can be extremely difficult to follow. It is 
extremely difficult, on the other hand, for a large group of men to cover their 
traces.
Shall we do so? asked Hurtha.
Do you really wish to catch up with them? I asked.
I suppose not, he said.
It is not our business, I said. It is the business of those of Cos.
Hurtha nodded.
Perhaps you should signal Mincon, I said.
Hurtha walked back to the top of the small rise in the road. From there he could 
look back to where we had left the wagon. I saw him standing there, on the 
crest. He lifted his ax and beckoned that the others might now join us.
Are you all right? I asked the fellow by the side of the road.
Yes, he said.
Are you not hurt? I asked.
(pg. 96) I hid, he said. I think no one saw me. I am sick. That is all. I am 
all right.
We have a wagon, I told him. You are welcome to ride with us to the next 
camp.
Thank you, he said.
You do not know who did this? I asked.
No, he said.
I saw the head of Mincons tharlarion come over the rise, moving about, on its 
long neck, scanning the road, and then, in a moment, the wagon. I advanced to 
meet it.
Boabissia sat white-faced on the wagon box. I recalled that she was not Alar by 
blood. Her makeshift gag still hung about her neck. It is not necessary to 
look, I told her.
What went on here? asked Mincon. Those of Ar?
We do not know, said Hurtha.
Feiqa looked sick. Even Tula, of the peasants, was pale.
Slaves, I said, lie on your bellies in the wagon. This would bring their 
heads below the sides of the wagon.
Boabissia looked at me.
There is nothing we can do, I said.
She nodded.
Are you all right? I asked.
If we had left this morning, with the others, she whispered, we would have 
been here.
Yes, I said. But we might have survived. Doubtless some have survived. There 
are usually survivors. Even now word has probably been brought to the 
contingents ahead on the road.
We would have been here, she said.
That is true, I said.
I then went to the fellow whom we had found by the road and helped him to his 
feet.
I would like for this fellow to sit on the wagon box, Boabissia, I said. 
Please sit in the back.
Boabissia, saying nothing, crawled into the back of the wagon. She sat with her 
back against one side of the wagon bed. She said nothing.
(pg. 97) I helped the fellow up to the wagon box. He was unsteady. I think he 
was in shock. I put a blanket about him.
Shall we go? asked Mincon.
Yes, I said.
We then began to thread our way among the burned wagons. Free women, now and 
then, as we passed, stopped to look up, and watch us. Twice Mincon, in rage, 
cracked his whip at them, and they fled back. But in a moment, as I ascertained, 
looking back, they had returned to their labors. (pg. 98)
9      Torcodino
Riders, said Mincon.
Hurtha and I, on foot beside the wagon, could not yet see them.
It will be more Cosian cavalry, said Hurtha.
I thought this was probably true. Raiders would not be likely to move so openly. 
Nonetheless, I loosened the blade in my sheath. Too, several contingents of 
cavalry had swept by us earlier in the evening.
Boabissia, now again on the wagon box, beside Mincon, looked down at Hurtha, 
frightened. He did not notice this, however. He was looking ahead, gripping his 
ax.
Get under the blanket, I said to Feiqa and Tula.
The wagons in our line slowed, and then stopped. A guard, nearby, on his 
tharlarion, stood in the stirrups.
Who are they? I asked Mincon.
Cosian cavalry, I think, he said.
We heard trumpet calls ahead of us. These calls, like passwords, are frequently 
changed.
Yes, said Mincon. It seems they have the signs.
We were now two days past the scene of the massacre. Last night we had drawn 
into our assigned wagon space in a fortified camp. It was the first in this 
march the Cosians had prepared, as far as I knew. Such camps, of course, are 
common with Gorean armed forces, set at march intervals. They are usually 
constructed rather along the following lines. A surrounding ditch, or perimeter 
ditch, is dug about the campsite. The earth from this ditch is piled behind the 
ditch, thus forming, with the ditch, a primitive wall. Sometimes, materials 
permitting, a palisade is erected at the height of this (pg. 99) wall. More 
commonly, in temporary camps, it may be surmounted with brush or archers 
hurdles. The tents of commanders are usually placed on high ground near the 
center of the camp. This facilitates observation, defense and communication.
I stood on the wheel of the wagon, my left foot on one of the spokes. Yes, I 
said. I think so. Hurtha was close to the side of the wagon. In a moment he 
would go behind it, or press himself against its side. I could now see the 
approaching riders. Too, once could no hear clearly the drumming of the 
approaching beasts. The force approaching us, it seemed, wore the blue of Cos on 
their lances. In a moment they would be sweeping past us, divided by the wagons 
like a stream in flight. I looked back into the wagon. Feiqa and Tula were on 
the floor of the wagon bed, their soft bodies on coarse sacking, which would 
leave its temporary print in their flesh, affording them some protection from 
the harsh planks of the wagon bed. They lay between sacks of grain, not moving, 
scarcely daring to breathe. They had drawn the dark blanked drawn over them. It 
would not do, I did not think, to display such goods to strong men. The female 
slave, sometimes considered nothing, supposedly, is yet in actuality valued 
commonly more highly than even gold, which, in its turn, is often valued for its 
capacity to buy such women, to bring them into your chains.
No, I did not think it would do to display them. Both were the most 
excruciatingly desirable type of female in existence, both were the sort of 
female for which men might kill, female slaves. I pulled at an edge of the 
blanket. It would not do for the curve of that delicious, branded flank, that of 
Feiqa, I believe, to suggest itself beneath the concealment of the heavy 
blanket.
In a moment, in a rush of bodies and blue, with the sound of weapons, the Cosian 
contingent had swept by. To one side, off the road, a Cosian guard, mounted, 
lifted his lance in salute. We had had such guards with the train within Ahn of 
the massacre. The wagons now, again, began to move.
Tonight, said Mincon, we will be safe, Tonight we will be in Torcodino.
(pg. 100) Torcodino, on the flats of Serpeto, is a crossroads city. It is 
located at the intersection of various routes, the Genesian, connecting 
Brundisium and other coastal cities with the south, the Northern Salt Line and 
the Northern Silk Road, leading respectively west and north from the east and 
south, the Pilgrims Road, leading to the Sardar, and the Eastern way, sometimes 
called the Treasure Road, which links the western cities with Ar. Supposedly 
Torcodino, with its strategic location, was an ally of Ar. I gathered, however, 
that it had, in recent weeks, shifted its allegiances. It is sometimes said that 
any city can fall, behind the walls of which can be placed a tharlarion laden 
with gold. Perhaps, too, the councils of Torcodino, did not care to dispute 
their gates with forces as considerable as those which now surrounded them. The 
choice between riches and death is one that few men will ponder at length. Still 
I was surprised that Ar had not moved swiftly on behalf of her ally. Torcodino, 
as far as I knew, had been left at the mercy of the Cosian armies. The city was 
now used as a Cosian stronghold and staging area. Mincon, for example, after 
delivering his goods in Torcodino, was to return northward on the Genesian to 
Brundisium, where he was scheduled to pick up a new cargo. Certainly the 
movements of Cos seemed quite leisurely, particularly as it was late in the 
season. Mercenaries, as I may have mentioned, are often mustered out in the 
fall, to be recruited anew in the spring. To be sure, in these latitudes, cold 
though it might become, the red games of war need seldom be canceled.
These are the aqueducts of Torcodino! said Mincon.
I see them, I said. The natural wells of Torcodino, originally sufficing for a 
small population, had, more than a century ago, proved inadequate to furnish 
sufficient water for an expanding city. Two aqueducts now brought fresh water to 
Torcodino from more than a hundred pasangs away, one from the Issus, a 
northwestwardly flowing tributary to the Vosk and the other from springs in the 
Hills of Eteocles, southwest of Corcyrus. The remote termini of both aqueducts 
themselves are usually patrolled and, of course, engineers and workmen attend 
regularly to their inspection and repair.
(pg. 101) These aqueducts are marvelous constructions, actually, having a pitch 
of as little as a hort for every pasang.
I pulled the blanket from the slaves. It there were to be inspections or halts 
before entering the gates of Torcodino it would be impossible to conceal them. 
Besides I enjoyed seeing them.
How long will it take to reach the city? asked Boabissia.
The first wagons are doubtless near the gates now, said Mincon.
In something like a half of an Ahn we had come to Torcadinos Sun Gate. Many 
cities have a Sun Gate It is called that because it is commonly opened at dawn 
and closed at dusk. Once a Gorean city closes its gates it is usually difficult 
to leave the city. They are seldom opened and closed to suit the convenience of 
private persons. Sometimes rogues and brigands, and even slavers, hang about the 
gates, seeking to trap late comers against the walls. Many a lovely woman has 
fallen to the slavers noose in just such a fashion. To be sure, a given gate, 
the night gate is usually maintained somewhere, through which bona fide 
citizens, known in the city, or capable of identifying themselves, may be 
admitted.
Two of the gate guards crawled into the wagon. Mincon presented his papers to 
the gate captain. Mercenaries from the north, said Mincon to the captain, 
indicating Hurtha and myself. The captain nodded. More come in each day, he 
said. They smell loot.
Who is this? asked the captain, indicating Boabissia. He returned the papers 
to Mincon. They were apparently in order.
I am an Alar woman, said Boabissia.
No, said Hurtha. She is only a woman who has been with the wagons of the 
Alars.
Boabissias small hands clenched.
The captain removed a whip from his belt. He held it up for Boabissia to regard. 
Do you know what this is? he asked.
Of course, she said, uneasily. It is a slave whip.
Is she a free woman? asked the captain.
Yes, said Mincon.
(pg. 102) Yes, said Hurtha.
In the back of the wagon Feiqa and Tula knelt small, trembling, their heads down 
to the coarse sacking covering the boards of the wagon bed. One of the guards 
took Feiqas head and pulled it up, and then bent her painfully backward, 
exposing brazenly, as is fully appropriate for slaves, the luscious bow of her 
owned beauty. He then did the same for blond Tula. Not bad, he said.
There are many such in Torcodino, said the captain.
Oh! said Boabissia. He had, with the coiled whip, brushing it under her long 
skirt, lifted it up, over her knees, so that one could see the beginning of her 
thighs. But there are not so many such as these, he said.
Oh! suddenly said Feiqa, squirming helplessly. Oh! wept Tula, startled, her 
body helplessly leaping.
Yes, laughed one of the guards. These are slaves.
Boabissia looked in fear at the captain. But he replaced the whip at his belt. 
Swiftly she pulled down her skirt.
No, said the captain, regarding Boabissia, who looked straight ahead, 
terrified, the tiny metal disk on its thong about her throat, there are not so 
many such as these, these days, free females, in Torcodino. His men left the 
wagon. He then motioned that we might proceed. In a moment or two we had passed 
under the gate. Feiqa and Tula looked at one another, frightened. They had been 
handled as the slaves and goods they were.
Why did you not protect me? Boabissia asked Hurtha.
Sid you see how he looked at her? Hurtha said to me.
Certainly, I said.
Why did you not protect me from his insolence, Hurtha? she demanded.
Does Boabissia need protection? asked Hurtha.
Of course not! she said.
What are our finances? asked Hurtha.
We have very little, I said.
What are we to do? asked Hurtha, concerned.
I am sure I do not know, I said.
We can strip Boabissia and sell her, said Hurtha.
Hurtha! cried Boabissia. It was indeed an idea, I thought.
(pg. 103) You saw the interest of the captain, he said.
Yes, I said.
She is not worth so much as the slaves, said Hurtha, but doubtless she would 
bring something.
We cannot sell her, I said, upon reflection. She is a free woman.
But if we sell her, said Hurtha, she would no longer be a free woman.
That is true, I granted him.
But still you have reservations? he asked.
She is a free woman now, I said. Perhaps that is worth some consideration.
Not at all, said Hurtha.
Oh? I asked, interested.
Come now, said Hurtha. Be realistic. Free women are often sold. No one 
expects you to give them away.
That is true, I said.
Where do slaves come from? asked Hurtha. Surely only a small percentage of 
them are bred.
That is true, I granted him.
If it were not for the bringing of free females into the toils of bondage, 
capturing them, getting them properly marked, seeing to the legal details, 
putting them up for sale, and so forth, there would be few slaves.
True, I said.
I shall not listen to such things! said Boabissia. Oh! Hurthas hand was on 
her ankle.
What are you doing? she demanded.
I am tying your ankles together, he said.
Untie me! she said.
Do not touch the cords, he said.
I observed her ankles. They looked well, lashed tightly together.
Why have you done this? she asked.
I do not want you running away, while we are thinking about such things, he 
said.
I am an Alar woman! she said.
No, he said. You are only a woman who has been with the Alar wagons.
(pg. 104) She cried out in rage, her fists clenched.
But she might not bring much, said Hurtha, disconsolately. She is only a free 
female, and is not trained.
True, I said.
I gather, said Hurtha, that you do not wish for me to accept spontaneous 
gifts from total strangers, or apply to them for loans.
I recalled the portly little fellow from Tabor. I think I would prefer that you 
do not do so, I said. That time we had narrowly missed tangling with guardsmen.
How then can we make some money? asked Hurtha.
I suppose we could do some work I said.
Work? asked Hurtha, in horror. He was an Alar warrior. To be sure, manual 
labor was not exactly prescribed by my own caste codes either.
It is a possibility, I said. After all, desperate men will resort to desperate 
measures.
Rule it out, said Hurtha.
How then do you propose, within the limits of legality, that we obtain our 
supper? I asked.
You may sup with me, said Mincon.
Thank you, I said. But imposing on your hospitality could be at best a 
temporary expedient.
I, personally, on the other hand, said Hurtha, would not consider one or two 
meals thrust as a wedge between myself and starvation to be beneath contempt.
Besides, in the morning, I said, I expect you will be returning to 
Brundisium.
Yes, admitted Mincon.
That would clear supper and breakfast, said Hurtha.
I have a few coins left, I informed Hurtha.
I thought you were merely being noble, said Hurtha.
I am, I said. It is always easier to be noble when one has the price of 
supper.
That is almost poetic, said Hurtha, impressed.
Thank you, I said. I had forgotten that Hurtha was a poet. This came then, I 
conjectured, as high praise. To be sure, he had hedged his declaration with the 
modification, (pg. 105) almost. Still, when all was said and done, what could 
that matter?
Aha! said Hurtha.
What is it? I asked.
I have an idea! said Hurtha.
My blood turned momentarily cold.
Selling Boabissia? asked Mincon. Boabissias ankles squirmed in the thongs. 
She could probably not stand upright as she had been bound. We would probably 
have to help her down from the wagon box, and carry her to where we decided to 
put her.
No, said Hurtha. It is a different idea.
I am glad to hear that, said Boabissia.
But it may be every bit as good, or better, than that one, said Hurtha.
I am eager to hear it, I assure you, said Boabissia.
Would you like to hear it? asked Hurtha of me.
Certainly, I said, uncertainly. I felt a pang of anxiety.
Surely you would have no objection to our selling a few things, said Hurtha.
What? asked Boabissia. Me?
Not yet, at least, said Hurtha.
What could you sell? I asked. You do not have much clothing with you, or many 
possessions, it seems.
True, he said, his eyes shining with excitement.
Would you sell your ax? I asked. It was an excellent one.
Of course not, he said.
What then? I asked.
Trust me, he said.
Must I? I asked.
All I wish from you, he said, as you are more experienced in the strange ways 
of civilization than I, is that you would have no objection to my selling a few 
things to raise money.
No one could have any possible objection to that, I said.
(pg. 106) Wonderful, he said, warmly. I will then see you at the wagon 
yards! He then turned about and disappeared.
He is a good fellow, I said.
Yes, said Mincon. I wonder what it is that he intends to sell.
I do not know, I said.
As far as I could tell, said Mincon, he did not take anything with him,
That is true, I said. Hurthas bag was still in the wagon.
Maybe he will sell the ax, said Mincon. He took that.
I doubt that he would sell that, I said.
What then? asked Mincon.
Perhaps he has precious stones, rare gems, sewn in his clothing, for an 
emergency, I said.
That must be it, said Mincon.
Yes, I said.
At any rate, said Mincon. Hurtha is a clever, splendid fellow. Doubtless he 
knows exactly what he is doing.
Doubtless, I said.
I have great confidence in him, said Mincon.
So do I, I said.
Untie me, said Boabissia.
Not yet, I said.
Ho! called Mincon to his tharlarion. Ho! Move! We then drew again into the 
street and began to follow the rough signs painted on the sides of buildings to 
the wagon yards. (pg. 107)
10    We Proceed to the Wagon Yards
It is not necessary to look at those things, I said to Boabissia.
She had already put her head down.
Judging from the condition of the bodies, the effects of the predations of 
birds, some still about, jards primarily, and the tattering of the winds and 
rains, they had been there for several weeks. The ropes on the necks had been 
tarred to protect them from the weather, and indication that it had been 
intended they should remain in place for some time. These inert, suspended, 
desiccated weights, now little more than skulls and the bones of men, with some 
bits of cloth, fluttering in the airs stirrings, and threads and patches of 
dried flesh clinging about them, had been arranged in a line along the Avenue of 
Adminius, the main thoroughfare of Torcadino, near the Semnium, the hall of the 
high council, doubtless as some sort of mnemonic and admonitory display. They 
swung creaking, a few feet off the ground, some turning slowly, backward and 
forward, at the ropes terminations. A child reached up and struck the feet of 
one, to set it into motion.
They are still up, said Mincon, angrily.
I gather you have seen them before, I said.
Twice, he said.
I see, I said.
There is no need, to reach the wagon yards, to pass this place, said Mincon, 
angrily.
You know Torcadino then? I said.
To some extent, he said.
We have followed the signs, I said.
Of course, he said, bitterly.
(pg. 108) I nodded. Clearly it had been intended that those coming and going in 
Torcadino would take this route.
Who are they? I asked.
Members of the high council, and lesser councils, and certain of their 
supporters, he said, who favored the cause of Ar.
I thought they might be, I said.
Have you counted them? he asked.
No, I said.
There are more than two hundred, he said.
That is a large number, I said.
Others perished too, he said, but were not regarded as prominent enough, I 
suppose, to serve as warnings.
I see, I said.
We then continued on our way.
There must, by now, given the past weeks, be a great amount of supplies in 
Torcadino, I said.
Yes, said Mincon.
It is interesting that Ar has not struck, I said.
Perhaps, he said.
If Torcadino were to be stormed, and fired, and these supplies captured or 
destroyed, the Cosian movements would surely be hampered, if not altogether 
arrested. Such an action would frustrate and stall the invasion. This could give 
Ar the time she might require to deploy and arm for extensive action, what time 
she might need to meet the enemy in detail and force.
The Cosian armies are in the vicinity, said Mincon. It would require armies 
to cut through them.
Perhaps there are other ways, I said.
Not tarnsmen, said Mincon.
Perhaps not, I said.
It is hard to see at this time of the day, said Mincon. But the sky over the 
city is crisscrossed with thousands of strands of tarn wire. Even in the daytime 
it can be hard to see. It is there, however, I assure you.
I did not doubt him. I could see mountings for it on several of the buildings.
(pg. 109) The gates of Torcadino are firm, he said. Her walls are high and 
strong.
Doubtless, I said.
Torcadino is impregnable, he said. It cannot be taken.
I know how I would take it, I said.
Boabissia was quiet. Feiqa and Tula, too, in the back, were quiet. I looked at 
some people in the streets. The streets were not too crowded. I saw a vendor 
with a cart. I saw a slave girl, in a brief tunic. She looked at me, and looked 
away. Beneath the tiny, brief skirt of that tunic it was almost certain that 
there would only be the girl. In such a way do Gorean masters commonly keep 
their women. Certainly we kept Feiqa and Tula that way. It helps the girls to 
keep clearly in mind that they are slaves. I glanced at Boabissia. Her head was 
still down. She had her long skirt pulled down, and closely, about her ankles. 
It thus hid the fact that they were lashed together.
We will be in the wagon yards in a quarter of an Ahn, said Mincon.
Good, I said. (pg. 110)
11    We Decide Boabissia Will Help Out with our Finances
Perhaps you remember me, said the fellow.
No, not at all, I said, hastily.
From several nights ago, he said, on the Genesian Road, at one of the camps.
Oh? I said.
I am a merchant, from Tabor, he said.
Ah, yes, I said. Indeed, it was the merchant from Tabor, that portly fellow 
who had been so inflexibly and boorishly determined to retrieve a gift, one 
which he had bestowed, of his own free will, as I had pointed out to him, on one 
of the fellow traveling with me, Hurtha, as I recalled. How are you? I asked. 
I feared the answer would not be reassuring.
Fine, he said, somewhat bitterly I thought.
That is good to hear, I said. But his demeanor suggested, and rather clearly, 
that it might actually be his intention to broach some new grievance. I had some 
suspicion, also, as to what it might be. It is good, in such situations, to be 
friendly, and smile a good deal.
I see very little to smile about, he said.
Sorry, I said.
He looked about himself. That giant lout with the mustache and braided hair, 
and ax, is not about, is he? he asked.
To whom might you be referring? I asked.
To one who is called Hurtha, said the fellow.
(pg. 111) Oh, I said.
That is, at any rate, what you told me his name was, the last time we spoke of 
him.
Yes, I said, of course, Perhaps I had made a mistake, earlier several nights 
before, in revealing the Alars name. Still I did not think he would be a 
difficult fellow to locate, even if his name were not known. There were not too 
many like him with the wagons. It did not seem to me a very complimentary way, 
incidentally, in which to refer to Hurtha. He was, after all, even if perhaps a 
giant lout, from some points of view, a poet, and was entitled to some respect 
on that account, particularly if one had not read his poems. Too, he prided 
himself on his sensitivity. No, I said. He is not about.
Here! said the fellow, firmly, thrusting a piece of paper toward me. There was 
some writing on it.
Whose writing is this? I asked.
Mine, he said.
Oh, I said. To be sure, Hurtha was illiterate, like most Alars. Boabissia, 
too, incidentally was illiterate. Illiteracy, however, has seldom deterred 
poets. Indeed, some of the greatest poets of all times were illiterate. Among 
folks as different as Tuchuks and Torvaldslanders, for example, poetry is seldom 
written down. It is memorized and sung about the fires, and in the halls, and 
thus is carried on the literary tradition. And poets such as Hurtha, it seemed 
to me, were even less likely to be deterred by illiteracy than many others.
He leaped out at me, from behind a wagon, with his ax! said the fellow.  I 
am a poet, he announced, his ax at the ready. Would you care to purchase a 
poem? Yes! cried I, for my very life, hastily scribbled on this slip of 
parchment.
You did so, of your own free will, I noted, thinking it was important to 
emphasize this fact.
I want my silver tarsk back! he said.
It is a very fine poem, I said.
You have not read it, he pointed out.
I have read others of his, I said. I am sure it is every bit as good. 
Indeed, I had already read three others this very (pg. 112) night. The Tabor 
merchant was the fourth fellow who had come by to look me up. Too, 
coincidentally, he was the fourth fellow who was demanding his silver tarsk 
back.
To me, said the merchant, it seems merely strange, or perhaps, at best, 
unmitigated trash, but then I am a simple man of business, and not a scribe. 
Doubtless such things come more within their jurisdiction than mine.
That is true, I said, encouraging him.
Would you care to interpret this line? he asked, pointing to a line.
No, I said.
What about this one? he asked.
I do not think so, I said.
What about this? he asked,  Her eyes were like green moons. 
That is an easy one, I said. Doubtless moons are supposed to suggest romance, 
and green the vitality and promise of life.
It is addressed to a wounded tharlarion, he said.
Oh, I said.
I want my silver tarsk back, he said.
Of course, I said, emptying my wallet into the palm of my hand. It was not 
hard to do. Perhaps that tarsk is it, I said.
I suspect so, he said. You only have one there, and that is stamped with the 
mark of the mint of Tabor.
So it is, I said, handing it back to him. One thing about Hurtha. He thought 
highly of his poems. He did not let them go for nothing. They were not cheap. He 
maintained his standards. Still, it seemed that a silver tarsk was a high price 
to pay for a poem, even if it were as good as one of Hurthas, particularly one, 
one had to copy oneself. Indeed, many lovely women on Gor do not bring as much 
as a silver tarsk on the slave block.
Thank you, said the merchant.
Yes, I said. He was still there.
I am surely entitled to something for my trouble, he said.
(pg. 113) The other fellows had not taken this attitude. Still, they had not 
been merchants.
Here, I said, giving him a copper tarsk. That left me with two.
Thank you, he said, after scrutinizing the change in my palm.
Your welcome, I said. He then left.
Alas, said Hurtha, coming up to me disconsolately, I fear I have made a 
terrible mistake.
How could that be? I asked.
In my good-hearted enthusiasm to assuage our needs, he said, I fear I may 
have suffered dishonor, if not ruination.
How is that? I asked. That was certainly an interesting thing to hear.
I have been selling my poems, he said, collapsing near Mincons fire, by the 
wagon. He sat there, with his head in his hands.
Oh? I said.
Yes, he said. Surely you recall the four silver tarsks I gave you earlier in 
the evening.
Of course, I said.
I received them from the sale of poems, my poems! he said, shaking with 
emotion.
No, I cried.
Yes, he said, miserably.
I had thought it must be from the sale of numerous rich gems, doubtless sewn in 
your jacket, I said.
No, he said. I looked about the yards, and when I found fine-looking, 
sensitive-looking chaps, splendid-seeming fellows, of apparent refinement and 
taste, those of a sort I thought might be capable of appreciating my work, I 
offered them one of my poems, and for no more than a mere token of appreciation, 
a silver tarsk.
That was incredibly generous, I said.
It was a terrible mistake, said Hurtha.
I am glad you realize that, I said.
What? he asked.
Nothing, I said.
My poems are priceless, he said.
(pg. 114) You think you should of asked for more than a silver tarsk? I asked, 
alarmed.
No, he said, I should not have sold them at all.
I see, I said, relieved. But they are probably not really all that bad.
What, he asked.
Nothing, I said.
I realized it with the last poem, he said, miserably. I looked down at the 
silver tarsk in my hand, and at the poem in the fellows hand, and it all became 
clear to me. I saw then how terrible was the thing I had done, selling my poems, 
my own poems, my precious, priceless poems! They now belonged to another! Better 
I had torn my heart out and sold it for a tarsk bit!
Perhaps, I said.
I then begged the fellow to take back his worthless tarsk, and return the poem 
to me.
And did he do so? I asked.
Yes, said Hurtha, looking up at me.
Well, I said, it all ended well then.
No, he said, tears in his eyes. You do not understand.
We are now short a tarsk? I said.
No! cried Hurtha. There were four other poems sold! I shall never be able to 
recover those poems! They are gone, gone! He put his head again in his hands, 
sobbing. I shall never be able to find all those fellows again. Scarcely had I 
sold them the poems then they all hastened away, covetous, lucky, greedy 
fellows, lest I change my mind. Now I shall never be able to find them again and 
appeal earnestly, fervently, to their better selves, and higher natures, to take 
back their filthy money. What a fool I was! My poems, gone! Sold for a mere four 
silver tarsks! Waste! Dishonor! Misery! Ruin! Tragedy! What if this story should 
ever get back to the wagons? I am unworthy of my scars!
Hurtha, old fellow, I said, gently.
Yes, he said.
I placed my hand on his shoulder.
Yes? he asked.
Look, I said.
(pg. 115) He lifted his head and looked up.
Here, I said, softly. I held forth to him the four copies of poems which had 
been given to me earlier by his four customers, or patrons.
Is it they! he cried, wonderingly, tears in his eyes.
Yes, I said.
You knew! he cried.
I shrugged.
You could not let me go through with it! he wept. You sought them out! You 
purchased them back! You have saved me from myself, from my own folly!
It is little enough to do for a friend, I said.
He leaped to his feet and embraced me, weeping, tears in his eyes. I struggled 
for breath, clutching the four poems. I speculated that this must be much like 
the grip of the dreaded, constricting hith. Surely that, capable of pulverizing 
a fellow, crushing his bones and popping him like a grape, could scarcely be 
worse.
How can I ever thank you? he cried, stepping back, holding me, proudly, 
looking at me.
Between friends, I said, thanks are neither needed, nor possible.
You, too, are overcome with emotion! he cried, sympathetically.
I am trying to breathe, I told him.
Let me have those poems, he said. He took them and put them with the one he 
kept, that retrieved from his last transaction, the one in which, happily, I had 
had no part. I have them back, thanks to you! he said.
I had now caught my breath, nearly.
There they are, he said, blissfully, regarding them, written down, in little 
marks.
That is the way most things are written down, I said.
Are they well transcribed? he asked.
I think so, I said. I took a deep breath.
Are you all right? asked Hurtha.
Yes, I said. Occasionally there is a line which is difficult to make out, and 
there seems to be a misspelled word here and there, That was to be expected, I 
supposed, (pg. 116) given the fact that they had presumably been written in a 
condition of some agitation, under a condition of some stress. There was an 
occasional spot on the parchment. Perhaps sweat had dropped from someones brow 
there.
You are sure you are all right? he said.
Yes, I am all right now, he said.
I am not surprised that a small mistake, perhaps a poorly formed letter, an 
irregular margin, or such, might have been made, said Hurtha. Some of the 
fellows transcribing the poems were actually shaking. They seemed almost 
over-whelmed.
I am not surprised, I said. It was all part of the impact of the experience 
of hearing them for the first time, I suppose, I added.
Yes, said Hurtha. It would seem so.
You do not know your own power as a poet, I said.
Few of us do, said Hurtha.
Well, I said, fortunately, we have the five poems back. It would be too bad 
to have lost them.
A tragedy, yes, said Hurtha, but I have others.
Oh? I said.
Yes, more than two thousand, he said.
That is a great many, I said.
Not really, considering their quality, he said.
You are prolific, I said.
All great poets are prolific, he said. Would you care to hear them?
Not at the moment, I said. You see, I have just, this evening, read some of 
them. I do not know if I could take more, just now.
I understand, said Hurtha. I am one well aware of the complexities of coping 
with grandeur, of the exquisite agonies attendant upon wrestling with nigh 
ineffable sublimities, with the excruciating intensities of the authentic 
aesthetic experience, with the travails of poignant significance, with the 
exhausting consequences of confronting sudden and startling distillations of 
meaning. No, old friend, I understand these things full well. I shall not force 
you beyond your strength.
(pg. 117) Thank you, I said.
He looked down at the poems in his hand. Can you believe, he asked, that 
these saw light only this evening, that I dictated them upon the spot?
Yes, I said.
He stood there, looking down at them, in awe of his own power.
I wonder if poems should be written down, he said.
I have a very poor handwriting, I said, and I am particularly bad at lines 
that go from right to left.
I am illiterate, said Tula, quickly, in the crisis of the moment forgetting 
even to request permission to speak.
So am I, said Mincon, happily.
Boabissia, of course, was also illiterate. She sat on the ground with her back 
against the right, rear wagon wheel, her ankles still bound together.
Hurtha looked at Feiqa. She could read and write. She was highly intelligent, 
and had been well educated. She was of a well-known city. She had even been of 
high station, before being enslaved, before becoming only an animal subject to 
her masters. She turned white.
She is a slave, I said.
Oh, yes, said Hurtha, dismissing her then from his mind.
Feiqa threw me a wild look of gratitude. To be sure, much of the copy work, 
lower-order clerical work, trivial account keeping, and such, on Gor, was done 
by slaves. Hurtha, however, I thought, apparently correctly, might prefer having 
his poems transcribed by free folks. It had been a close call for Feiqa.
I am starving, I said.
Hurtha consulted his internal states. So, too, am I, he reported. But I 
remain firm in my resolve not to sell my poems. Better starvation.
Certainly, I said.
What are our resources? he inquired.
Something like two copper tarsks, and some four or five tarsk bits, I said.
Not enough, he said.
(pg. 118) I agree, I said.
What are we going to do? asked Hurtha.
Work? I speculated.
Be serious, he admonished me. We are in desperate straits. This is no joking 
matter.
Untie my ankles, said Boabissia.
Hurtha and I looked at one another.
You take her left hand and I will take her right, said Hurtha.
Boabissia tried to scramble to her feet but, bound as she was, she fell. Then we 
had her wrists, and pulled her back, by them, to the wagon wheel.
What are you doing? cried Boabissia.
I tied her left wrist back to one of the spokes, and Hurtha, similarly, fastened 
her right wrist back, to another spoke.
What are you doing? asked Boabissia.
You have seen several of the fellows about looking at Boabissia, haven't you? 
asked Hurtha of me.
Of course, I said. Though there are many slaves in Torcadino, and lovely 
ones, apparently there is a dearth of free women here, particularly ones not 
veiled.
Veil me then! she begged.
It is time you earned your keep, Boabissia, said Hurtha.
What do you mean? she cried. I am a free woman!
I think I can round up a few interested fellows, said Hurtha.
What are you thinking of! she cried. She struggled, helplessly.
She wanted her ankles untied, said Hurtha.
Yes, I said.
No, no! she cried. Do not untie my ankles!
Hurtha dropped the ankle cords to one side. She clenched her ankles tightly 
together. She pulled desperately, futilely, against the thongs that held her 
wrists to the spokes. Hurtha left the vicinity of the wagon.
Relax, Boabissia, I encouraged her. You have serious sexual needs, which you 
have been frustrating for too long. This has been evident in your temper, and in 
your demeanor and attitudes. This will do you a great deal of good.
(pg. 119) I am not a slave! she said, weeping, struggling. I am a free woman! 
I do not have sexual needs!
Perhaps not, I said. To be sure, it was difficult, and probably fruitless, to 
argue with a free woman about such matters. Too, I might have misread what 
seemed to be numerous and obvious signs of need in her. Perhaps free women 
neither needed nor wanted sexual experience. That, I supposed, was their 
business. On the other hand, if they did not want or need sex, the 
transformation between the free woman and the slave becomes difficult to 
understand. To be sure, perhaps it is merely the collar, and the uncompromising 
male domination, which so unlocks, and calls forth, the passion, service and 
love of a female.
What are you doing? she asked, weeping.
Doubtless men will be here soon, I said.
What are you doing? she wept.
I put the opaque sack over her head and tied it, with its own strings, under her 
chin, close about her neck, rather like a slave hood. This will make it easier 
for you, I said. I am veiling you. Too, this will enable you, by shutting out 
certain extraneous factors, to concentrate more closely on the exact nature of 
your sensations.
Release me! she wept.
No, I said.
I heard a fellow near me. I looked about. She is certified free? he asked.
Yes, I said. Examine her.
He thrust Boabissia's dress up, high over her breasts. He examined her thighs, 
and the usual brand sites on a Gorean female slave.
How much? he asked.
She is only a free woman, I said. I put a copper bowl on the ground, beside 
her, at her left. She is not trained. Only a tarsk bit, It was the smallest, 
least significant Gorean coin, at least in common circulation.
In advance, I said. Men are commonly disappointed in free women, and almost 
certainly if they have experienced the alternative. They are not slaves, trained 
in the giving of pleasure to men. Some free women believe their role in (pg. 
120) lovemaking consists primarily in lying down. Should they become slaves the 
whip soon teaches them differently.
Of course, he said. The coin rattled into the copper bowl.
No,! wept Boabissia. She clenched her ankles tightly together. Then her 
ankles, one in each hand of the fellow, were parted.
It was now late in the evening.
Hurtha happily shook the copper bowl. In it were several coins. I had not kept 
track. We were now, at any rate, once again solvent.
How do you feel? I asked Boabissia.
She twisted in the thongs and turned to the side. She whimpered, softly.
We had kept Tula and Feiqa under the blanket in the back of the wagon. We had 
not wanted them to distract our visitors.
I looked at Boabissia. She made another small, soft, whimpering noise. Some of 
the men, in their intense excitement, I feared, had been somewhat stronger, or 
ruder, with her than might have been appropriate for a free woman. Indeed, some 
had handled her almost as though she might have been a slave. We had not 
cautioned them to gentleness, however. After all, they had paid their tarsk 
bits.
Are you all right? I asked.
Yes, she whispered.
I put my ear down close to her. Her head in the sack, it tied on her, fastened 
under her chin, she did not know my nearness. I listened to the tiny, soft 
noises she made. It was like a soft moaning or tiny whimpering. It was almost 
inaudible. I knew such sounds. I smiled. She was still feeling, even now, 
wonderingly perhaps, the results of her havings. Perhaps she was trying, even 
now, in her depth of her femininity, to understand what had been done to her, to 
come to grips with her feelings, with those sensations which men had seen fit to 
induce in her.
I leaned back. You are sure you are all right? I asked.
Yes, she said.
(pg. 121) I pulled down her dress, and freed her wrists. They were ringed with 
thong marks.
She, her palms on the dirt, half knelt, half lay, by the wheel. Her head, still 
in the sack, was down.
Did you take me? she asked.
No, I said.
Did Hurtha have me? she asked.
No, I said.
Why not? she asked.
You are a free woman, I told her. I then removed the sack from her head. Her 
face was red, and broken out. Her hair was damp. I turned the sack inside out, 
that it might dry and air. Boabissia turned away from me, apparently not wanting 
to meet my eyes. I do not think she wanted us to see her face. She was afraid, I 
think, of what we might see there. We would respect this. She was, after all, a 
free woman. We would, similarly, in deference to her feelings, keep Feiqa and 
Tula under the blanket for a time, lest their eyes suddenly, inadvertently, meet 
hers, and women read in one anothers eyes truths which might be deeper than 
speech.
Good night, I said to her.
Good night, she said.
I watched her pull her blanket about her. She suddenly shuddered. Oh! she 
said. Then she pulled the blanket more tightly about her shoulders. We would not 
chain her. She was not a slave. She was a free woman. She might leave, if she 
wished. (pg. 122)
12    It Is a Standard, That of a Silver Tarn
The city is taken! I heard. The city is taken!
I lay absolutely still for an instant. I heard no clash of weapons. There were 
no sounds of rushing feet, of flight. No cries of pain, of men cut in their 
blankets.
I did hear the ringing of an alarm bar in the distance.
My eyes might have appeared closed to a careless observer. They were open. 
Peripheral vision is important at such times. In that first instant, every sense 
suddenly alert, I appeared to be still asleep. There was the wagon. There were 
the remains of the fire. I detected no movement in my immediate vicinity.
The first object that moves is often that which attracts the immediate attention 
of the predator. Too, the swiftest moving object, particularly that which moves 
silently and with obvious menace or purpose, is often construed, and generally 
correctly, by the attacker as the most dangerous, that to be dealt with first. 
Those overcome with surprise, those expostulating or cursing, those stunned, may 
be left for the instants later. There is a dark mathematics in such matters, in 
the subtle equations balancing reaction times against the movements of blades. 
One gambles. Is the instant one waits, that instant of fearful reconnoitering, 
that instant in which one hopes to convince a foe that one is temporarily 
harmless, an instant of loss, or of gain? Does it grant him his opportunity, or 
does it obtain you yours? Much depends on the actual situation. If one is roused 
by known voices, one generally rises quickly. The defensive is being assumed. If 
one does not know what is occurring, it is sometimes wise to find out before 
leaping up, perhaps into the weapons of enemies who (pg. 123) might be as close 
as ones elbow. My right hand was on the hilt of my sword, my left on the 
sheath, its straps wrapped about it, to steady its draw. Doubtless I appeared to 
be still asleep. But no sounds of carnage rang about me.
I sat up quickly, freeing myself from the blankets. I did not draw the weapon. I 
saw no immediate need to do so. I slung it, on its strap, over my left shoulder. 
The scabbard can be discarded more quickly in this suspension than in one which 
crosses the body.
Hurtha, I said, wake up. I moved to his shoulder.
What is it? he said. Is it not early?
Something strange is going on, I said. Get up. There was an alarm bar 
ringing.
I hear nothing, he said, sitting up.
To be sure, the bar had now stopped ringing.
I do not understand it, I said. A fellow was crying out that the city had 
been taken. I do not hear him now. Too, the alarm bar was ringing. I heard it.
It is very early, said Hurtha.
Get up, I said.
I looked over at Boabissia. Her eyes were open. She was looking at me, 
frightened.
Did you hear the alarm bar? I asked.
Yes, she said.
Get up Hurtha, I said. He had once again returned to his blankets.
It is too early, he said. Actually it was not all that early. Some other folks 
were now up, too, about the camp.
You may be in jeopardy of your life, I informed him.
At this hour? he asked, horrified.
Yes, I said. The enemy may be near.
What enemy? he asked.
I do not know, I said.
Report to me when you learn, he said, rolling over.
I am not joking, I said.
I feared not, he grumbled.
Get up, I said.
One cannot begin to fight until the fight has begun, can one? he asked.
(pg. 124) I hope it does not follow from that that fighting is impossible, I 
said.
Of course not, he said. I began to sense and dread a lesson in Alar logic.
Well, in a sense, I said, maybe not.
Has the fight begun? he inquired.
No, I said.
Then you cannot expect me to begin fighting, he said.
Of course not, I said, hesitantly.
When the fray begins, said he, awaken me.
Do you wish to be murdered in your bed? I asked.
I had never thought much about it, said Hurtha, but now that I reflect 
actively upon the matter, no. Why? Who is going to murder me in my bed?
I am considering it, I said.
You will not do so, he informed me.
Why? I asked, genuinely interested.
Among other things, he said, your respect for poetry is to great.
You must be prepared for combat, I told him.
I am preparing even now, he said, rolling over.
How is that? I asked.
I am pacing myself, he said. I am conserving my strength. Surely you are 
aware that a well-rested body and clear mind are two among several of the 
soldiers best friends.
Perhaps, I granted him.
They are important, too, to poetry, he said, of the sturdy, manly sort, that 
is, not to the neurasthenic drivel of mere poetasters and versifiers.
Doubtless, I said. He was then again asleep. Hurtha was one of the few folks I 
had ever known who had the capacity to fall asleep like lightning. Doubtless 
this was connected with a clear conscious. Alars, incidentally, are renowned for 
their capacity to wreak havoc, conduct massacres, chop off heads, and such, and 
then get a good nights sleep afterwards. They just do not worry about such 
things. I hoped that the enemy, if there was one, would not now fall upon the 
camp like a storm. Still, if they did, Hurtha might have escaped, sleeping 
through the slaughter.
(pg. 125) Did you hear the alarm bar? asked Mincon, coming over to me, his 
blanket over his arm.
Yes, I said.
I thought I might have dreamed it, he said.
Boabissia heard it too, I said.
It is not now ringing, he said.
No, I said.
The camp is pretty quiet, he said.
Yes, I said. We could see folks going about their business, folding their 
blankets, seeking out the latrines, starting up their morning fires.
It was a false alarm, he said.
Apparently, I said.
You are not certain? he asked.
No, I said.
What could of happened? he asked.
I heard a fellow crying out that the city had fallen, I said.
That is impossible, he said. No enemy is within hundreds of pasangs. 
Torcadino is garrisoned. It is impregnable. It lies even, in these times, in the 
midst of allied armies.
It could be done. I said.
You would have to move an army through armies to take the city, he said.
Or over armies, I said.
You would have to smuggle and army into the city, he said.
Yes, I said.
Impossible, he said.
With some modest collusion, not really, I said.
Youre joking, he said.
No, I said.
If there were such a thing, he said, we would hear of it. There would be 
great fighting,
It is quiet here, I said. That does not mean, however, that somewhere else in 
the city, even now, there might not be fighting. A few blocks away, unknown to 
us, men may be dying. The streets may be running with blood.
(pg. 126) I see no smoke, he said. There seem no signs of flames.
That could mean little, I said. Perhaps it is desired to keep the city 
intact, to maintain the integrity of its walls, to preserve its resources.
Perhaps, he smiled.
I looked at him, suddenly, surprised.
There is one way to find out, he said.
How? I asked.
Climb up here, he said, to the wagon box,
I joined him on the height of the wagon box. He pointed over the wagons, over 
the camp, over the buildings about the camp.
Do you see the cylinder there? he asked.
Yes, I said.
That is the central cylinder of Torcadino he said, the administrative 
headquarters of her first executive, whether it be Administrator or Ubar.
Yes, I said.
Look to its summit, he said.
I did so.
Do you know the flag of Torcadino? he asked.
No, I said.
It does not matter, he said, for of recent months what has flown there has 
not been the flag of Torcadino, but another flag, that of Cos.
There is no flag there, I said. I know the flag of Cos. I have seen it 
frequently. But there is no flag whatsoever there.
Do you not find that interesting? he asked.
You are not a simple wagoner, I said.
What do you see there? he asked.
I see a standard, I said.
What sort of standard? he asked.
A military standard, I suppose, I said.
Describe it, he said.
It is silver, I said. It is far off. It is hard to make out. The sun is 
glinting on it.
It is the standard of the silver tarn, he said. It is (pg. 127) mounted on a 
silver pole. Near the top of the pole there is a rectangular plate on which 
there is writing. Surmounting this plate, clutching it in its talons, is a tarn, 
done in silver, its wings outstretched.
You can see that, I asked, at this distance?
No, he said. But I know the standard. I have seen it before.
I regarded him.
Do you know the standard? he asked.
No, I said.
You are an astute fellow, he said. The city has indeed fallen. Furthermore, 
if I am not mistaken, you understand how this could of taken place.
Through the aqueducts, I said.
Of course, he said. They were entered, one near the Issus, the other in the 
Hills of Eteocles, more than a hundred pasangs away. Soldiers in double file, 
wading, moving sometimes even over the heads of Cosian troops, traversed them.
Brilliant, I said.
Guards of one watch were purchased by gold, he said. Those of another had 
their throats cut by partisans within the city.
Whose standard is it? I asked.
It is the standard of my captain, he said, Dietrich of Tarnburg. (pg. 128)
13    We Proceed to the Semnium
I heard the crying of confused, frightened children, the lamentations of women.
That way, go that way, said a soldier, closing off a street.
In the streets there was much movement, much of it between soldiers, directed 
movement, movement toward the great gate of Torcadino. Many folks had packs on 
their backs.
Look out, fellow! said a voice.
I moved aside, to let a two-wheeled cart, laden with baggage, drawn by a fellow, 
pass. The streets were crowded, filled with refugees.
Follow me, said Mincon. You will be safe. Keep closely together.
I want my ax, said Hurtha.
Keep closely together, I said. Do not get separated.
A number of dwellings along the way had been roped off. We could catch 
occasional glimpses within them, through opened doors, and sometimes, through 
windows. Too, we could hear shouts, and other sounds, such as furniture being 
broken. Within these buildings, soldiers were looting. From the high, opened 
windows of another building, some four or five feet below the sill, some forty 
feet or so above the street, its back against the stuccoed surface of the wall, 
there hung a body.
What is that? I asked Mincon.
I cannot read, said Mincon. There is a sign on its neck, What does it say?
 Looter,  I said.
(pg. 129) Then that is what it was, said Mincon.
There is much looting going on, I said. In more than a dozen buildings we 
have seen it.
That was a civilian, said Mincon. It is illegal for such to loot. They are 
not authorized to do so.
I see, I said.
There must be order in Torcadino, said Mincon.
Of course, I said.
I want my ax, said Hurtha.
Just keep close to us, I said.
We had surrendered our weapons at the entrance to the wagon camp, as, in the 
company of Mincon, we had left it a few Ehn ago. A strict weapon control had 
been instituted in Torcadino. Possession of an unauthorized weapon could be 
construed as a capital offense, the penalty for which, at the discretion of any 
soldier, could be exacted in place, instantly and without recourse or appeal. 
The talons of the silver tarn did not grasp weakly. Yet this had been done in a 
legalistic fashion. In my wallet was a scrap of paper with a number on it, a 
number which matched another, that left with my weapons, left behind near the 
weapons table, that set up at the entrance of the camp.
We were jostled in the throngs.
That way, said a soldier, gesturing. That way.
In the streets there was no smell of smoke. Smoke, like stifling clouds, did not 
block the sun, turning the day to choking dusk. Our eyes did not sting and 
water. One could breathe without difficulty. Sometimes, when a town is taken, 
you can feel the heat of burning buildings even blocks away. But Torcadino was 
not aflame.
That way, said another soldier.
We hurried along in the crowds, following Mincon.
We passed a slave girl, kneeling, chained by the neck to a slave ring. It was 
fixed in the side of a building, fastened to a bolted plate, about a yard above 
the level of the street. Her face was stained with tears. She had her hands 
clutched desperately on the chain, near the ring. I did not know if her master 
had put her there, intending to return for her, or if she (pg. 130) had been 
abandoned. She was naked. She would remain where she was. She was chained there.
Come along, said Mincon. We continued on, through the throngs. Keep 
together, he said. We did so, as best we could. I was behind him, closely, and 
then came Hurtha, and then, close behind him, Boabissia. Behind Boabissia, ropes 
on their necks, the captors termini of these hempen confinements in the grip of 
Hurtha, came Feiqa and Tula. How fearful they had been this morning to learn 
that the city had now a new master. How frightened they had been, exchanging 
glances. So, too, I supposed, might have been tharlarion and sleen, other forms 
of animals, if they, too, were aware of such things, or saw fit to consider 
them. Yet Feiqa and Tula, objectively, had far less to fear in the fall of a 
city than a free person. They had, objectively, little more to fear than other 
domestic animals. They presumably, like them, would merely find themselves with 
new masters. We had not put the tethers on Feiqa and Tula because we feared they 
might try to slip away from us in the crowds, but to keep them with us, to make 
certain that they were not swept from us, or perhaps seized and pulled away into 
the crowd. Near us we heard the bleating of a pair of domestic verr. A woman was 
pulling them along beside her in the throng. They, too, like Feiqa and Tula, had 
ropes on their necks.
It seems hard to make headway now, I said to Mincon.
The press is being held, he said. There are several barriers. Then there are 
separated lines, leading to the great gate. There searches are made, lest it be 
attempted to carry valuables from the city.
The civilian population is being ejected from the city. I said.
Yes, he said. Let us move ahead. One side, one side!
We moved slowly, single file, through the crowds.
Move aside, said Mincon.
Where are you taking us? I asked.
To the Semnium, he said.
Why? I asked.
(pg. 131) It is my intention to obtain for you letters of safety, he said.
I would welcome such, I said.
You need not accept them, he said, turning about.
Why would I not desire such letters? I asked.
The decision will be yours, he said.
I do not understand, I said.
Follow me, he said, turning about, pressing once again through the crowd.
We came then to a barrier, several poles on tripods, set across the main way in 
Torcadino. The crowd was arrested at this barrier. Some pressed back, against 
those behind them, to keep from being forced against it.
Hold, said a soldier, his spear held across his body, behind the barrier.
Mincon uttered a password. The barrier was opened. It was a relief to walk 
freely. Some two hundred yards down the street we could see another segment of 
the crowd, it, too, doubtless, waiting behind some barrier. We then, in a few 
Ehn, passed that barrier, and then another.
To one side, when we crossed the first of these second two barriers, there was a 
great pile of objects. In it were such things as furniture, cushions, rugs, wall 
hangings, tapestries, bolts of cloth, robes, clothes, chests, coffers, utensils, 
vessels, and plates. A soldier went to the pile and emptied a pillow-case out at 
its foot. I supposed that its spillage, a short, clattering rain of goblets, 
would scarcely be noticed in such an accumulation. Yet, doubtless, in just such 
a way had that mountain of artifacts been constructed. It was more than ten feet 
high. It was cheap booty, probably on the whole to be sold by contract to 
dealers.
Look! said Boabissia, pointing ahead and to our left, as we crossed an 
intersection, that beyond the third barrier.
There, some fifty yards away, kneeling, huddled together against the brick wall 
of a public building, the wall composed of the flat, narrow bricks common in 
southern Gorean architecture, was a group of some one hundred to one hundred and 
fifty females. They were naked. They were chained (pg. 132) together by the 
neck. They were in the keeping of two soldiers, with whips.
More booty, said Mincon.
Slaves! said Boabissia disparagingly, in disgust.
Or to be slaves, said Mincon.
Oh, said Boabissia, frightened.
Surely they are slaves, I said.
Many, said Mincon, are the women, and daughters, of those who were adherents 
of Cos in Torcadino. They, thus, have been apprehended for branding and 
bondage.
I see, I said.
Their seizure lists were prepared weeks ago, he said.
Of course, I said. An action of the sort now accomplished in Torcadino, in 
which judicious selections and discriminations are to be made among the civilian 
populace, necessitates a sensitive preparation.
We were now closer to the women.
One of them stood but, immediately, the lash fell upon her, and she returned to 
her knees, sobbing. Hands on thighs, called the soldier, spread your knees, 
back straight, chin up! He pushed up her chin with the coiled whip. She looked 
straight ahead, tears streaming down her face. You will be struck twice more, 
he said. She cried out in misery, twice, each time shaken, each time almost 
thrown forward on her belly to the pavement. The blows were perfunctory, but, I 
suppose, to the one who receives them, they seemed intensely personal and 
meaningful. Position, said the soldier. She resumed the position to which she 
had been earlier commanded, promptly and exactly. In her eyes now, with their 
tears, there was also fear and contrition. Now that we were closer I could see 
that the women were all on a single chain, fastened on it by side-loops, of the 
same chain, secured with sturdy padlocks. It is a simple, practical, inexpensive 
arrangement. On the upper portion of their left breasts there were numbers 
written.
Oh! said a bound girl, being brought to the group.
Oh! said Boabissia, at the same time. She had turned about, from watching the 
disciplining of the neck-chained girl, and struck against the new girl. Clumsy 
slave! cried Boabissia, angrily. Twice then, angrily, she struck the new (pg. 
133) girl with the sides of her small fists. The new girl was, by the solider in 
whose custody she was, thrust rudely to the pavement before Boabissia, his hand 
in her hair, forcing her head down to Boabissia's sandals. Beg forgiveness! he 
said.
Forgive me! Forgive me! wept the new girl.
 Forgive me, what? asked the soldier, tightening his grip in her hair.
Forgive me, Mistress! wept the new girl, her head down, her back bent forward, 
her small hands twisting helplessly in the cords that held them behind her back.
Clumsy slave! scolded Boabissia.
Forgive me, Mistress, wept the girl. As far as I could see the new girl was 
not a slave. She was, at least, neither branded nor collared. On the other hand, 
doubtless she was destined to soon receive those lovely adornments proclamatory 
of the uncompromising condition of Gorean bondage, those adornments which so 
enhance the beauty of a woman, those adornments significatory that all 
institutional niceties pertinent to her bondage have been properly and legally 
completed. Accordingly, the fellow was doubtless being quite merciful, and 
helpful, to the female. He was preparing her, in a small way, not for what it 
would be her role in life, but for what in her new life would be her total and 
uncompromising actuality.
Kiss her feet, said the soldier.
Obediently the frightened girl kissed Boabissia's feet, desperately, fervently.
Clumsy slave, said Boabissia, angrily.
Please forgive me, Mistress, wept the girl.
The soldier drew up her head and bent her backwards, before Boabissia. Shall I 
kill her for you? he asked. I saw the girl had a number, like the others, 
written on the upper portion of her left breast, I gathered that he had been 
sent to pick her up, and to mark her with that number. It had to do with 
records.
No, said Boabissia. That will not be necessary.
The soldier pulled the girl up straight, and released her hair. She remained 
kneeling before us, her head down. Thank you, Mistress, she whispered.
(pg. 134) Sir, said the soldier, suddenly straightening his body.
Lift you head and throw your hair behind your back, girl, said the officer, 
newly arrived, come up from the side, with a backing board and sheaf of papers. 
Put your head back as far as it will go, Immediately the girl complied. The 
officer then, there being no impediments now to his vision, checked the number 
on her left breast. He then referred to his papers, turning some over. Name, 
female? he asked the girl.
She began to shudder.
Speak up, quickly, while you still have one, he said.
The soldier kicked her.
Euphrosyne, Lady of Torcadino, she gasped.
Family, and caste? he inquired.
Daughter of the matron Aglaia, Lady of Torcadino, she said, of the Myrtos 
lineage, she high in the trade of spices, Confirmation Treasurer of the Spice 
Council of Torcadino, She of the Merchants.
Ah, yes, said the officer. I believe your mother is already on the chain.
The girl looked about, wildly. Doubtless she would have covered her breasts, and 
nakedness, if she could have. What a foolish gesture in one who was soon to be a 
slave.
I do not know if you will see her again, or not, he said, except perhaps at a 
distance. Too, fraternization may not be permitted between slaves.
I am not a slave, she moaned.
Now, he said, for a moment or two more you may think of yourself as 
Euphrosyne, as your mother was hitherto permitted for a time to think of herself 
as Aglaia. In a time, of course, you may receive new names. Euphrosyne is a 
name a bit too fine, I think, for a slave. You will probably soon become 
something else, perhaps a Puta or a Sita. In the meantime, you are, for our 
purposes, and for your own purposes, Four-three-seven. That is your capture 
name, and you will think of yourself only as that. You may not inquire as to the 
former names of others nor reveal to them, even if they should ask, your own. 
Similarly, you may not make inquiries pertaining to such things as their 
families, stations (pg. 135) and castes, nor reveal to others, even if asked, 
any such information pertaining to yourself. You are merely, and simply the 
captive Four-three-seven. Your mother, incidentally, is Two-six-one. You are now 
to think of her, as she is now to think of herself, as only that. She was more 
important than you, and thus has an earlier number.
Four-three-seven, of course, was the number written on the girls left breast. 
As her number was 437 and there were only some one hundred or one hundred and 
fifty or so females in the chain, near the wall, I assumed there was probably 
one or more collection points elsewhere, perhaps nearer the Semnium, the Council 
Hall. On the other hand perhaps there were merely more females to come in. The 
numbers, it seemed, were prearranged numbers, and not merely numbers indicating 
the order of capture. The officer, for example already had had her number on his 
list, probably with her name. In this fashion, the girls being added to the 
chain as captured, this chain, or any others, might have diverse numbers upon 
it. I had gathered, for example, from what the officer had said, that the girls 
mother, number 261 on the list, was somewhere in this very chain, which would 
have been unlikely if its prisoners were being added to it in a strict numerical 
sequence. A strict numerical order, if desired, of course, could always be set 
up later, at the leisure of the captors. In the meantime, it was the list that 
was crucial.
The officer looked down at the girl. You may bring your head forward, he said.
Gratefully, she did so.
Who are you? he asked.
Euphrosyne, Lady of Torcadino, she sobbed.
He looked at her, reprovingly.
Four-three-seven! she said quickly.
Anything else? he asked.
No, she said, shaking her head. No!
The soldier then pulled her to her feet by the hair and thrust her before him, 
toward the chain. In a moment she was on the chain, kneeling, her throat snugly 
enclosed in a side-loop of the same chain, it fastened shut on her by a padlock.
(pg. 136) Do you expect to find all the women on your seizure lists? I asked 
the officer.
Most of them, he said. Doubtless some will elude us, at least for a time.
Many, said Mincon, will be apprehended at the gates. They will not know they 
were on the lists. They will then be stripped, bound, marked with their number 
and brought to a collection point.
After tomorrow, too, said the officer, unauthorized civilians will not be 
permitted within the walls. The penalty for the unauthorized male will be swift 
and honorable execution, that for the unauthorized female being fed to sleen, 
or, if she is comely enough, and zealous enough to please, perhaps bondage.
There is little point in trying to hide in the city, said Mincon. Eventually 
all the houses will be searched. Too, when they are hungry enough they will 
creep out at night to seek food. They may then, sooner or later, with the aid of 
tracking sleen, be taken.
I see, I said.
With the nature of Torcadino, said the officer, the walls, and our control of 
the city, it is highly unlikely, sooner or later, that we will have every one of 
the women on our list.
I nodded. The listed females, under the particular circumstances currently 
prevailing in Torcadino, had little chance of escape. To be sure, many were not 
yet female slaves. For most practical purposes, for the Gorean female slave, 
properly identified, branded and collared, there is no escape. If she escapes 
from one master, which is exceedingly unlikely, she will doubtless soon find 
herself in the chains of another, and one who is perhaps worse. Certainly the 
new master will know that she is an escaped slave and will be likely to treat 
her with great harshness and keep her under the strictest confinements. He will 
probably make certain, as well, that sleen have her scent. Too, the penalties 
for running away can be severe, in the second case generally involving being fed 
to sleen or being hamstrung, to be used perhaps thereafter as a begging slave.
(pg. 137) What is to be done with these women? I asked the officer.
Most of them will be sold in lots to contractors, he said.
Like much of the other loot? I asked.
Yes, he said. The general contracts, for pickups of loot, projected 
quantities, and such, were let weeks ago.
Of course, I said.
I noted one of the soldiers. He moved about, here and there within the chain 
lines, among the women. Occasionally he would put his whip before the lips of 
one of them. She would then kiss it.
But some of these females are quite beautiful. I said.
For example, 437 is extremely lovely.
Her mother, 261, is also quite lovely. He said. Certain of these women, of 
course, the better ones, like the more expensive loot, will not go to the 
contractors, but will be kept for distribution, the less beautiful ones to the 
troops, the more beautiful ones to the officers.
I nodded. These arrangements were typical.
I have already made notations with respect to several of them, he said, 
indicating his papers, including 437 and 261. In advance of course, when one 
enters them, if at all, only in the robes of concealment, one does not know 
which are the most beautiful.
Such determinations now, of course, I said, may be easily made.
Yes, he said.
I regarded the women. For the past weeks, they had been going about their 
business, ignorantly, naively, unsuspectingly, totally unaware of how they might 
be included as humble objects in the plans of masters. Doubtless they had given 
much attention to the matters of their day, to their various competitions, 
pursuits, vanities, occupations and concerns. All that time they did not know 
that already, in dried, indelible ink, their names were recorded on seizure 
lists. I observed them. They knelt, chained. On the upper portion of the left 
breast of each was number. It was the number which had followed their name on 
the seizure lists. That (pg. 138) number was theirs. It had been theirs for 
weeks. But only now, to their horror, did they learn so, and find it literally 
inscribed on their bodies.
I saw the soldier hold the whip before 437. She bent forward and kissed it.
Come along, said Mincon. We must go to the Semnium.
We then followed him, Hurtha and I, and Boabissia, the hempen leashes of Tula 
and Feiqa in the grasp of Hurtha. (pg. 139)
14    The Semnium; The Outer Office
These are new bodies, fresh bodies, I said.
Of course, said Mincon.
We were at the foot of the low, broad steps of the Semnium, the hall of the high 
council, which building, it seemed, might now serve as the headquarters of the 
new masters of Torcadino. These steps extended before the building, for the 
entire length of its portico.
Who are they? I asked.
There were some two to three hundred new bodies hung now from tarred ropes along 
the Avenue of Adminius, in the vicinity of the Semnium.
Collaborators, traitors, men who were of the party of Cos, betrayers of the 
alliance with Ar, and such, said Mincon.
As those earlier were similarly adherents of Ar? I asked.
Perhaps, said Mincon.
Some of those here, I said, regarding the dismal lines of bodies, dangling in 
the tarred halters, are perhaps the same as those who had been active in 
bringing about the downfall of those who hung here formerly.
Of course, said Mincon.
The winds have shifted in Torcadino, I said.
Yes, said Mincon.
It seems your captain is in the pay of Ar. I said.
Of that you may judge yourself, he said, shortly.
I? I asked.
Yes, he said.
I do not understand, I said.
Follow me, he said. I then, and the others, followed (pg. 140) him up the 
steps of the Semnium. I stopped once, at the entrance, to look back, at the 
bodies. I briefly recalled the girl at the chain, 437, and her mother, 261. Her 
mother, before her capture, I had gathered, had been important, having been the 
confirmation treasurer of one of Torcadinos commercial councils, the Spice 
Council. She had also, in her position, I had gathered, and doubtless by her 
influence and acts, supported the cause of Cos. This inclination, incidentally, 
is not all that uncommon among individuals whose fortunes tend to be intimately 
involved in such matters as importation and exportation, the location and 
exploitation of foreign markets, and, in general, the overseas trade, the Thassa 
and island trade. This is understandable. The navies of Tyros and Cos, for most 
practical purposes command the green waves of gleaming Thassa. They control many 
of the most familiar and practical trade corridors. Few coasts are free from 
their patrols. Few ports could scorn their blockades. 261, however, aside from 
all such considerations, was a citizeness of Torcadino, and Torcadino had been 
sworn to the cause of Ar. She had, it seemed, for whatever reason, presumably 
opportunism or greed, betrayed the pledge of her Home Stone. In the case of a 
man this can be a capital offense. She was not a man, however but a female. It 
was thus, doubtless, that she had not been placed on a proscription list, but 
only on a seizure list. It was her sex which had saved her. Had she been a man 
she would have been hung.
Within the entrance to the Semnium was a marble-floored, lofty hall. Passageways 
and stairways led variously from this broad vestibule. The walls were adorned 
with mosaics, scenes generally of civic life, prominent among them were scenes 
of public gatherings, conferences and processions. One depicted the laying of 
the first stone in Torcadinos walls, an act which presumably would have taken 
place more than seven hundred years ago, when, according to the legends, the 
first wall, only a dozen feet high, was built to encircle and protect a great, 
sprawling encampment at the joining of trade routes. Within the hall were 
several soldiers, and several officers, at tables, conducting various sorts of 
business. To one side, permanent fixtures, immovable and sturdy, their supports 
fixed in the (pg. 141) floor, were several rows of long, narrow, marble benches. 
It was on these that clients and claimants, with their various causes, 
grievances and petitions, would wait until their turn came to be called for 
their appointments or hearings. It was here, too, that witnesses, and such, 
might wait, before being summoned to give testimony on various matters before 
the courts.
It is in here, I gather, I said, that these letters of safety may be 
obtained. I eyed the various tables.
Yes, said Mincon, making his way toward a guard station at the opening to one 
of the long corridors leading from the vaulted vestibule.
Are we not to petition for these letters at one of the tables? I asked, 
looking back.
No, he said.
We were then following him down the corridor. He was known, it seemed.
Is the city being administered from this building? I asked.
Yes, he said, in most things, in most ways.
The city is under martial law, I said. Why is it not being administered from 
the central cylinder, or its arsenal?
This building supplies and appearance of civic normality, he said. Thus it is 
more as though one form of municipal administration had merely succeeded 
another.
I see, I said. Your captain, however, I said, is doubtless reigning in the 
central cylinder.
No, he is conducting business in this building, said Mincon, continuing down 
the hall.
I said nothing. This seemed to me, however, politically astute, particularly 
since the city was not currently under attack. I had realized for years, of 
course, that Dietrich of Tarnburg was a capable mercenary, and one of Gors 
finest commanders. I had not found mention, however, in the annals, or diaries, 
which had been generally concerned with marches and campaigns, a sufficient 
appreciation of this other side of his character. He was apparently not only a 
military genius but perhaps also a political one. Or, perhaps they are not 
really so separate as they are often considered to be. Territory must be held as 
well as won.
(pg. 142) Civilians are being ejected from the city, I said. Surely they are 
not being given letters of safety.
No, said Mincon.
You think, however that we might need them? I asked.
It seems very likely, said Mincon, considering where you are going.
I do not understand, I said.
I have gathered that you are familiar with the sword, he said, and that you 
re from Port Kar,
I know something of the sword, I said. And I have a holding in Port Kar.
Perhaps you are even of the scarlet caste, he said.
Perhaps, I said.
Port Kar is at war with Cos, he said.
Yes, I said.
We are here, he said. We stopped before a large door. He ushered us between 
guards. We found ourselves in a reception room. An officer was at a table at one 
end of the room, with two more guards. Behind him and to his right was another 
door. In this fashion, to pass him, as is common, one would have to pass him on 
his sword-arm side.
Anything so simple as letters of safety could have been issued in the main 
hall, I said.
Mincon spoke to the officer at the table, who, it seemed, recognized him.
I would think so, said Hurtha, righteously, adding whatever a letter of 
safety might be. He looked about, with his Alar distrust of bureaucracy and 
enclosed spaces. I trust there will be no necessity for me to read such a 
letter, he said, as this would be difficult, as I cannot read.
You could learn, I said, somewhat snappishly.
Between now and when we receive the letters? asked Hurtha, incredulously.
Alars do not read, said Boabissia, proudly. And we are Alars.
I am an Alar, said Hurtha.
Doubtless we will get the letters from that fellow, I said, indicating the 
officer to whom Mincon was speaking.
(pg. 143) My letter of safety would be my ax, said Hurtha, if I had it.
Mincon, however, to my surprise, went through the door behind the officer.
I frankly do not understand what is going on, I said.
I have sometimes had that experience, said Hurtha.
Mincon is behaving strangely, I said.
What can you expect? said Hurtha. He is not an Alar.
Neither am I, I said.
I know, said Hurtha.
This whole business makes little sense to me, I said.
Civilization is bizarre, said Hurtha.
Perhaps you can get a poem out of this, I said.
I already have, he said, two. Would you care to hear them?
There is no time now, I said.
They are quite short, he said. One is a mere fifty liner,
By all means, then, I said.
 In the halls of Torcadino,  he began.   neath sacks of noosed bones 
You have composed more than one hundred lines of poetry while we have been 
standing here? I asked.
Many more, he said, but I have eliminated many lines which did not meet my 
standards. In the streets of Torcadino, neath bundles of brittle bones
Wait, I said. That is not the same line.
I have revised it, said Hurtha.
At this moment, Mincon, naively, his timing, from his point of view, tragically 
awry, emerged from the inner office. What news, good fellow? I called to him.
Please go in, he said to me. The rest of you please remain here.
We looked at one another.
Please, he said.
Very well, I said, resigned.
Would you care to hear two poems? asked Hurtha.
Of course, said Mincon. He was a fine fellow.
(pg. 144) Bara, said Mincon to Tula. Bara, said I to Feiqa. Both slaves 
immediately to their bellies, their heads to the left, their wrists crossed 
behind their backs, their ankles also crossed. It is a common binding position. 
We did not bother to bind them, however. It was enough that they lay there in 
this position. Hurtha dropped their leashes to the tiles beside them. His hands 
were now freed for gestures, and important contributory element in oral poetry.
Would you care to hear two poems? Hurtha asked the officer at the table.
What? he asked.
Then I had entered the inner office. (pg. 145)
15    The Semnium; What Transpired in the Inner Offices
I whipped my head to the side. The blade moved past me and with a solid sound, 
followed by a sturdy vibration, lodged itself in the heavy wood of the door.
Excellent, said a voice. You have had some training.
I looked down the room. At the end of the room, standing behind a functionarys 
desk, some forty feet away, there stood a soldier.
Perhaps you are of the scarlet caste? he asked.
Perhaps, I said. I removed the blade from the wood behind me, over my 
shoulder, not taking my eyes off the fellow behind the desk.
You are quick, he said. Excellent. It is doubtless as Mincon had suspected. 
His judgement is good. You are a soldier.
I have fought, I said. I am not now in fee.
Tal, Rarius, said he to me then. Greetings Warrior,
I regarded him, He did not seem to me the sort of fellow from whom one might 
expect letters of safety, license of passage, or bureaucratic services. He wore 
no insignia. His men, I gathered, must know him by sight. His presence, I 
suspected, whether in the camp or in the march, in the mines, on the walls, in 
the trenches or fields, would not be unfamiliar among them. They would know him. 
He would know them. His dark hair was graying at the temples, unusual among 
Goreans. He reminded me something of Centius of Cos, though he had not the 
latters gentleness. In him I sensed practicality, and mercilessness, and 
intelligence and (pg. 146) power. On the table before him, resting on what 
appeared to be state papers, was a sword.
Tal Rarius, I whispered.
Come forward, he said. It was only a test. I even favored you, to your left. 
Do not be afraid.
I approached the fellow, who then took his place behind the desk.
At the side of the desk, to its right, as you faced it, on the bare tiles, there 
lay a chained, naked woman. She was dark-haired, and beautiful. It was not 
surprising to me that such a woman should lie at the side of his desk. He was 
obviously a man of great strength. Many Goreans believe that woman is natures 
gift to man, that nature has designed her for his stimulation, pleasure and 
service. Accordingly, they seldom hesitate to avail themselves of this gift. 
Too, they are sensitive to the pleasures of power. They know the pleasures of 
power, and they honestly and candidly seek, appreciate and relish them. They 
know there is no thrill in world comparable to having absolute power over a 
female. These feelings, like those of glory and victory, to which they are akin, 
are their own reward. Goreans do not apologize for such natural and biologically 
validated urges. Too, they do not feel guilty over them. Indeed, to feel guilty 
over such natural, profound, deep and common urges would be, from the Gorean 
point of view, madness. The male is dominant, unless crippled. Without the 
mastery there can be no complete male fulfillment, and, interestingly, without 
complete male fulfillment there can be no complete female fulfillment.
How do you call yourself? he asked.
Tarl, I said.
You are from Port Kar? he said.
I have a holding there, I said.
Are you a spy for Ar? he asked.
No, I said.
Perhaps for Cos? he asked.
No, I said. I put the knife on the desk, before him.
Your sympathies, I assume, are with Ar? he said.
I have no special love for Ar, I said. Once I had been (pg. 147) banished from 
that city, being denied there bread, salt and fire.
Good, he said. That way it will be easier for you to retain your 
objectivity.
You are no simple officer, I said, from whom may be obtained letters of 
safety.
You are no simple man-at-arms, he said.
Oh? I said.
These days, he said, dozens of captains are buying swords. Yet you do not 
seem to be in fee. Further, I gather from Mincon, my friend, that your financial 
resources are quite limited.
I said nothing.
It was clever of you to use the free woman with you in the manner of a rent 
slave. Some men will pay higher use rents for a free prisoner.
I shrugged.
But you would make only a handful of copper coins in that sort of thing, he 
said. It is not like receiving the weight of your sword in gold coin.
True, I said.
You may also, of course, have ruined her for freedom, he said.
Possibly, I said.
He rose from the desk and went to its side. He kicked the woman who lay there. 
She recoiled and whimpered, with a rattle of chain.
What do you think, Lady Cara? he asked.
Yes, Master, she said. I think possibly, Master.
I saw, interestingly enough, that he seemed to be genuinely interested in her 
opinion. This did not, of course, in any way alter the categorical relation in 
which they obviously stood to one another.
Have you been spoiled for freedom? he asked her.
What you have done to me! she wept. I beg the brand! I beg it! Put the mark 
on me! Collar me! Confirm it on my body! Confirm it on me with fire and iron, 
and with the circlet of locked steel, for all the world to see, what you have 
done to me, what you have made me!
(pg. 148) She is still free, I observed.
Yes, he said.
Do not shame me by keeping me free, she said. Mark and collar me, so that I 
may at last be free to be what I now know I am!
Do you wish to feel the lash again, Lady Cara? he asked.
No, Master, she said, shuddering.
It seemed to me that the woman, obviously, was now ready for enslavement. To be 
sure, whether it was to be granted to her or not was up to her captor. At any 
rate, whether she was to be put legally into slavery or not she was now clearly 
bond, psychologically, intellectually and emotionally. She would now never be 
anything else.
This is the Lady Cara. Of Venna, he said. Once she was overheard making 
remarks disparaging of Tarnburg. Perhaps I shall take her there one day, and 
keep her there as a house slave.
The prone woman groaned. Her chains slid a little on the tiles.
Or would you prefer, Lady Cara, he asked, to serve there only as a cleaning 
prisoner, simply as a confined servant, a mere housekeeper in captivity?
No, she sobbed, as a slave, a full slave.
Why, he asked.
It is what I am, she said.
I regarded her. She looked luscious at our feet, in her chains. Clearly, too, 
she had been ruined for freedom. I wondered about Boabissia. I wondered if 
she, too, had been ruined for freedom. To be sure, she still spoke much like a 
proud free woman. Still, too, she often seemed bitter, selfish, frustrated, 
haughty and arrogant. Too, she had never been put under slave discipline. I had 
noticed, however, unless it were only my imagination, that she now seemed to 
move her body somewhat differently under her dress than she had before, before 
we had prostituted her to replenish our resources.
And so, asked the fellow, what of your free tart? Did her rent uses spoil her 
for freedom?
Perhaps, I said. I do not know.
(pg. 149) Well, if so, he said, you may always sell her and be done with it.
True, I said. I thought it might be fun to sell Boabissia. She occasionally 
got on ones nerves. Too, as a free woman, she could be something of a nuisance. 
Too, I thought she might make a fine slave. Too, like any other woman, she would 
look lovely in a collar.
If you have a holding in Port Kar, he said, I gather you have no fondness for 
Cos.
No, I said. I have no fondness for Cos, I had fought against her, and Tyros 
at sea. I had once served on a Cosian galley. Once, in last carnival time in 
Port Kar, before the Waiting Hand, her Ubar, gross Lurius of Jad, had sent an 
assassin against me. His dagger I had thrust into his own heart.
Yet, said he, you were traveling with a Cosian supply train, using the cover 
of the train to move southward in troubled times. This is an act of audacity, of 
inventiveness, of courage.
I said nothing.
I respect such things, he said.
I had little doubt he did. I also had little doubt who it must be, he with whom 
I spoke. I had stood in awe of this man for years. I had studied his campaigns, 
his tactics and strategems. Yet nothing had prepared me for the presence I felt 
in this room, a simple room, a bare room, with a large window behind, suitable 
for a minor functionary in the bureaucracy of Torcadino. How odd it seemed that 
I should meet this man here, in such a place, rather than in a feast of state, 
in the corridors of a conference, or on a bloodstained field. The power of this 
man seemed to radiate forth from him. This is a difficult thing to explain, 
unless one has felt it. Perhaps in another situation, or in another time I would 
not have felt this. I do not know. Certainly it had nothing to do with 
pretentiousness or any obvious demonstrations of authority on his part. If 
anything, he seemed on the surface little more than a simple soldier, perhaps no 
more than merely another unpretentious, candid, efficient officer. It was 
beneath the surface that I sensed more. This was perhaps a matter of (pg. 150) 
subliminal cues. I had little doubt that when he chose he could be warm and 
charming. Too, I supposed he could be hearty and convivial. Perhaps he was fond 
of jokes. Perhaps one might enjoy drinking with him. His men would die for him. 
I thought he must be much alone. I suspected it might be death to cross his 
will.
I suspect, he said, that you were heading toward Ar.
I have business in Ar, I said.
Do you know the delta of the Vosk? he asked.
I once traversed it, I said.
Tell me about it, he said.
It is treacherous, and trackless, I said. It covers thousands of square 
pasangs. It is infested with insects, snakes and tharlarion. Marsh sharks even 
swim among its reeds. In it there is little solid ground. Its waters are usually 
shallow, seldom rising above the chest of a tall man. The footing is unreliable. 
There is much quicksand. It protects Port Kar from the east. Few but rencers can 
find their way about in it. Too, for most practical purposes, they keep it 
closed to traffic and trade.
That, too is my impression. He said.
Why do you ask? I asked.
Do you understand much of military matters? he asked.
A little, I said.
Do you know who I am? he asked.
I think so, I said.
Do you know why I have brought you here? he asked.
No, I said.
Why do you think Torcadino has been taken? he asked.
To stall the invasion, I said. To give Ar time to arm. It is a powerful and 
decisive stroke. Torcadino is Coss major depot for supplies and siege 
equipment. You have now seized these things. They are now yours. You may remain 
indefinitely in Torcadino with these vast quantities of supplies. Too, though 
you will be doubtless invested. Cos now lacks the equipment to dislodge you. 
Similarly, because of their new shortage of supplies, they will have to withdraw 
many of their troops from this area. Presumably they will also have to be 
divided, marched into diverse areas to facilitate the (pg. 151) acquisition of 
new supplies. You have thus scattered and disrupted your enemy. Too, I suspect 
your ejection of the civilian population from Torcadino is not merely political, 
to appear to show concern, generosity, and mercy, not merely expedient, to 
remove them from the city, thus conserving supplies and removing possible Cosian 
sympathizer from behind your back, but to increase the intensity of Coss supply 
problems.
Very good, he said.
Cos will not dare let these refugees starve, I said, as they are citizens if 
a city which had declared for them, which had gone over to them. If they did not 
care for them, this would be a dark lesson, and one favoring Ar, to every 
wavering or uncommitted village, town and city within a dozen horizons.
Quite, he agreed.
What was done with the garrison of Torcadino? I asked.
Most were surprised in their beds, he said. Their weapons were seized. 
Resistance was useless. We then expelled them, disarmed, from the city.
So that they, too, like the civilians, would aggravate the problems of Cos.
Yes, he said.
Did you march them beneath a yoke? I asked. This is usually formed of three 
spears, two upright and the third bound horizontally across the first two. The 
prisoners are then usually marched in a long line, two abreast, between the 
uprights. They cannot pass under the horizontal spear, a weapon of their enemy, 
without lowering their heads and bending their backs. Some warriors choose to 
die rather than do this. A similar yoke is sometimes used for the captive women 
of a city, but it is set much lower, usually such that they must pass under it 
on their belly. After all, they are not men; they are women. Too, it is usually 
formed not of spears but of brooms, brought from the conquering city, and the 
horizontal bar is hung with dangling slave beads. In this, although the original 
meanings are perhaps lost in antiquity, most commentators see symbolized the 
servility and sensuousness which, as they are to be slaves, is henceforth, upon 
pain of death to be required of them. It is an impressive sight to (pg. 152) see 
the women of a captive city, single file, stripped and on their bellies, in a 
long line winding through the streets and across the piazza, moving between 
soldiers with whips, crawling toward the yoke. As they crawl beneath it, the 
slave beads touch their back. On the other side of the yoke, while they are 
still on their bellies, they generally feel a collar locked on their neck. It is 
one of many, and it, like the others, has been attached in its turn, and at its 
interval, to a long chain. They are now in coffle. They will probably not be 
removed from this coffle until, in one way or another, they have been sold.
No, said the fellow with me.
I nodded.
They are good fellows, he said. Too, perhaps one day some of them will bear 
arms in my company.
I understand, I said.
He turned about and looked through the window. We could see the walls of 
Torcadino from the window and one of the aqueducts. He then turned about and 
faced me, again. You did not try to kill me, he commented.
Another test? I asked.
Yes, he said.
I thought so, I said. Else you would not have been likely to turn your back 
on an unknown stranger.
True, he smiled.
I considered it, I said.
It would have been difficult to cross the table, he said. Too, it would be 
difficult, in the time I gave you, to pick up the knife, or sword, without 
rustling papers.
Also you were anticipating the possibility of an attack, I said. It is 
difficult to move surreptitiously on a person under such circumstances. Also the 
female here, at the side of the desk, would presumably have moved, or gasped or 
cried out.
Would you have cried out, Lady Cara? he asked.
Yes! she said.
In spite of all I have done to you? he asked.
Because of what you have done to me! she wept. I would die for you!
(pg. 153) Why? he asked.
A slave girl owes all to her master, her passion, her being, her life, 
everything. It is yours, my Master!
Belly, said he to her, and she lay then on her belly, beside the desk, in her 
chains.
But I did not think you would attack me, he said to me. You are too rational, 
I think. Too, you would have, at least now, no adequate motivation for such an 
attack. Also, you suspect, or are not sure, but what we may share certain common 
objectives.
There are other reasons, too, I said. For one, even if I succeeded in such an 
attack, I would not be likely to escape from the Semnium alive.
The window is a possibility, he said.
Yes, I said.
But you had not examined it for ledges, and such, he said.
No, I said.
There is no extended ledge, he said.
I nodded.
You said there were reasons,  he said.
Another would be, I said, my respect for you, as a commander, as a soldier.
In many men, he said, emotion functions to the detriment of policy. Perhaps 
it is so with you.
Perhaps, sometimes, I said.
I shall remember that about you, he said. I may be able to use it sometime.
Your entrance through the aqueducts, and using both, rather than one, as an 
insurance attack, was brilliant, I said.
It is an obvious strategem, he said. I have considered it for years, but I 
did not use it until now.
Had you used it earlier, I said, it would now be a part of military history, 
of the lore associated with your name, something which all garrisons in 
appropriate cities would now anticipate and take steps to prevent.
Of course, he said.
You saved it, I smiled, for an occasion worthy of it.
For a Torcadino, he said.
(pg. 154) Of course, I said.
The aqueducts have now been closed by the Cosians, and their flows diverted, 
he said.
There is no shortage of water in the city, I said. You are now depending on 
the original wells, dating from before the aqueducts, which, with the ejection 
of the civilian population, are now more than ample for your needs.
He smiled.
But I fear that you may not have anticipated all things, I said.
It is seldom possible to do so, he said.
I am troubled by certain obvious problems, I said.
Speak, he said.
There is no road from Torcadino, I said. It would seem that you have trapped 
yourself here. The walls are surrounded. Your army is small. Cos will maintain a 
considerable force in the area, at least compared to what is at your disposal. I 
do not think you will be able to fight your way out. I am sure you do not have 
enough tarns to evacuate your men.
Interesting, he said.
Obviously you have made strict arrangements with Ar, I said.
No, he said. I have no understanding with Ar.
You must have! I said.
No, he said.
Are you not in the pay of Ar? I asked, astonished.
No, he said.
You have done this of your own initiative? I asked.
Yes, he said. The powers of Ar and Cos must be balanced. The victory of 
either means the end of the free companies.
But you are depending on Ar to raise the siege? Surely, I said.
Of course, he said.
What if she does not do so?
I that that would be quite unfortunate, he said.
You could negotiate with the Cosians, I said. I am sure they would agree to 
almost any terms, offering suitable (pg. 155) inducements for withdrawal, 
guarantees of safety for yourself and your troops, and such, in order to regain 
Torcadino,
Do you think, after what we have done here, and the considerable delays we have 
caused them, they would just let us walk out of Torcadino? he asked.
No, I said.
Nor do I, he smiled.
Everything depends on Ar, I said.
Yes, he said.
You have taken great risks for Ar, I said.
For myself, and the free companies, he said.
Ar would seem to have no choice but to act as you expect, I said.
It would seem so, he said.
Yet, you seem troubled. I said.
I am, he said. Come with me.
We then went out through a side door, into another room. I looked back, once. I 
saw Lady Cara, in her chains, beside his desk. She was still on her belly. She 
had not been given permission to rise. She looked after us.
What do you think of this little bird on her perch? he asked me.
It is hard to say, I said.
He pulled up her head with his fist in her hair. He was not gentle with her. She 
cried out, whimpering, her head bent back.
Lovely, I said. Her neck was encircled by a collar. She was branded. As he had 
her head pulled back her back was pulled back against the short, horizontal 
wooden post behind which her arms were hooked. This horizontal post was mounted 
on a short vertical post, in the manner of a T. She was kneeling on the 
platform, about a yard high, on which this T was fixed. Her ankles were 
chained together, behind and about the vertical post. Manacles, and a length of 
chain, running across her belly, completed the closure that kept her arms in 
place, holding her wrists back, at her sides. Perhaps she is a captains 
woman.
More than that, he said. She was a generals woman.
She whimpered. Her eyes were almost glassy with terror.
(pg. 156) He released her hair. Her head fell forward, her long, dark hair 
before her body. I pulled the chain out a bit from her belly. There were marks 
in her flesh, from where it had been tight on her. She whimpered.
I regarded her. Jewels did not bedeck her. Her silks were now gone. No cosmetics 
now adorned her, begging to be licked and kissed from her lips. No scent of 
perfume now clung to her. There were smells which were perhaps those of sweat 
and fear. Too, she had soiled the platform. She had been beaten, doubtless 
quite a rare experience for high slave. If she had once worn a golden, bejeweled 
collar it was now gone. On her neck now was a simple iron collar, hammered shut, 
such as might be put on the neck of any slut picked up by any soldier in a 
flaming city.
What is your name, my dear? he inquired.
I have no name, no name! she said, quickly.
How do you know? he asked. Perhaps I have given you one.
I have no name that I know, she said, terrified, jerking in her metal bonds, 
fearing that she might be being tricked into earning herself punishment. I do 
not yet know my name, if I have one. If Master has named me, he has not yet 
informed me! If I have a name, it will be as Master pleases! I am a slave! I am 
his, only his! If I have a name, I beg to know it, that I may answer to it 
obediently and promptly!
You have no name, he said.
Yes, Master, she said, weakly putting down her head again.
What is your name? he asked.
Lucilina, she said.
The fellow regarded me. Do you know the name of the high officer of the Cosian 
forces in the south? he asked.
Myron, Polemarkos of Temos, cousin to Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, I said.
And what do you think might have been the name of his preferred slave? he 
asked.
I gather it was Lucilina, I said.
She was as greedy as she is beautiful, said the officer. She had much freedom 
in the Cosian camp, given even her (pg. 157) own quarters, in which the 
Polemarkos could call upon her. In these quarters, amidst her cushions and 
silks, surrounded by her jewel boxes, attended to by female slaves assigned to 
her for her own use, to whom she was as absolute mistress, she held sway almost 
as might have a Ubara. Comfortably secure in the favor of her powerful and 
highborn master, esteemed and pampered, she, though only a slave, gathered power 
about herself.
I became angry hearing this. A female slave is not to have power. Rather she is 
to be subjected to it, totally.
Her influence with the Polemarkos became well known. She had his ear. A word 
from her, for or against a fellow, as she pleased, could promote or ruin a 
career. In her tents she would receive visitors, callers and petitioners. 
Dozens, coming to understand her power, came soon to sue for her favor. There 
were gifts for her, naturally. Surely that was only fitting. Her jewel boxes 
began to brim with precious stones. Rings were brought to her worth the ransom 
of a Ubar. Her cosmetic cases could boast perfumes that might have been the envy 
of a Ubara.
Better chains of iron and a whip for her, I said, bitterly.
Among these petitioners came one fellow bring with him the promise of a gift of 
wine, a wine supposedly secret, the rare Falarian, a wine only rumored among 
collectors to exist, a wine supposedly so rare and precious that its cost might 
purchase a city. She, of course, would test this. She, though only a slave, 
would choose to sip it.
Arrogant slave, I said. The woman put down her head even more, whimpering, 
trembling. No slave takes wine without the permission of the master. And even 
then, as often as not, she takes it only on his command, and under his eye, 
usually kneeling before him. Sometimes, even, he puts his hand in her hair, 
bends her head back, and pours it down her throat. It is done by his will.
The wine, of course, he said, was to precious to have been brought with him, 
but it is in his tent. She summons her palanquin and bearers, male slaves, and 
is to be carried to this place. Too, in this fashion the matter may best be kept 
secret from her attendants. She is often carried about the (pg. 158) Cosian camp 
in her closed palanquin by bearers. This excites little curiosity. In his tent 
she will taste the wine, demanding even that he pour it for her. It is done. She 
looks at him, startled. Can this wine, which seems like a cheap ka-la-na, be the 
rare Falarian? But in a moment she is unconscious. Arrangements have already 
been made with the bearers, of course. They will receive their freedom. It could 
have been done otherwise but this is best. They were known. Had we substituted 
others for them we would have increased our risks. Too, left behind they might 
well have been killed, absurdly enough, by the Cosians, an unnecessary and 
foolish waste of able men, in my opinion, whereas I now have four more grateful, 
loyal fellows in my ranks, any one of whom I think would willingly die for me.
Of course, I said.
The palanquin is then brought within the walls of the outer tent. Meanwhile the 
female is stripped. She is placed, unconscious, in the palanquin. Binding 
thongs, about her ankles, her legs spread, about her wrists, they tied down at 
her sides, and about her thighs, belly, above her breasts and below her arms, 
and about her throat, fasten her to it, securing her tightly in place. When she 
awakens she will discover she can scarcely move a muscle. She is then gagged. 
Lastly the curtains of the palanquin are closed. She is now ready to be 
transported.
She has been drugged of course, I said.
Not heavily, he said. She will remain unconscious, by our intent, for only a 
few Ehn, for little longer than it takes to strip, bind and gag her. We want her 
to awaken quite soon, while still in the Cosian camp, and, awakening, to be 
fully appreciative of her predicament. We want her to lie there, helpless, fully 
conscious of what is being done to her.
Excellent, I said.
My man checked in on her once, he said. Her eyes were wild, frantic, over her 
gag. He then, again, closed the curtains.
It is a splendid coup, I said, to have stolen the preferred slave of the 
Polemarkos of Temos.
Had it not been for your arrogance and greed, it would (pg. 159) not have been 
so easy, would it my dear? he said to the woman.
No, Master, she said.
But you are not arrogant and greedy anymore, are you, my dear? he asked.
No, Master! she said.
We brought her to Torcadino, he said. As you may remember, she had had my 
man, though she was a slave, pour wine for her.
I remember, I said.
Her first beating, thus, he said, she received from him.
Naturally, I said.
Her next four beatings, at given intervals, she received from the four fellows 
who had been her bearers formerly, now free men.
Naturally, I said.
At times we had to caution them, and restrain them, he said, that they not 
kill her.
I understand, I said.
She was then ready to be interrogated, he said.
Interrogated? I said.
Certainly, he said. Do you think I find this slut of any personal interest or 
worth?
I can see how some men might, I said.
She is vain, and shallow, he said. Arent you, my dear?
Yes, Master, she said.
But we are going to work hard to overcome those flaws, arent we, my dear? he 
inquired.
Yes, Master! she said.
He put his hand on her.
She cried out, startled, She jerked back against the stout post. Her hands 
jerked in the metal fastenings. She regarded him with disbelief, with horror.
You are no longer a high slave, he said. You are going to have to get used to 
being touched like this.
She looked at him, wildly. Her hands twisted. She could not close her legs.
(pg. 160) I thought you might have had her stolen, I said, in order to do 
insult to Myron, the Polemarkos.
Please, no! she cried.
No, he said. I would not risk men in such an unnecessary and gratuitous 
enterprise. My major concern is with the expeditious and efficient attainment of 
certain ultimate objectives. I seldom indulge in the gratifications of such 
transient vanities unless they lead to these objectives, or, at the least, are 
not inimical to their attainment. Such an insult, stinging as it would be, would 
not serve any particular purpose at the moment, for example, stirring a foe to a 
fury of vengeance which might lead to miscalculation on his part. In this 
particular situation it would presumably only make it more difficult to deal 
with the Polemarkos, to whom I must soon give the appearance of inviting bona 
fide negotiation.
No, no, no, whispered the girl.
In that way you will delay attacks and buy time, I said.
Yes, he said.
No, no, whimpered the girl. No!
Besides, he said. I bear the Polemarkos no ill will. He is a clever, if weak, 
officer.
No, no! said the girl. Oh, yes, she cried, suddenly, Yes! Her eyes were 
wild. Yes, please! she said. She squirmed. She closed her eyes. Her knees 
moved piteously. Yes, please! she said.
She is vital, I observed.
Yes, agreed the officer.
Perhaps the Polemarkos would not be pleased to observe how you have her leaping 
under your touch.
Perhaps not, he said. But he would presumably understand I mean no insult by 
it. She is, after all, only a slave.
True, I said.
Please, do not stop, she said. Please do not stop!
Do you move like this under the touch of the Polemarkos? he asked her.
No, she said. No, never. I did not know it could be like this!
The officer stepped back. Her eyes opened. They were wild. There were tears in 
them. Please, she said. Please!
(pg. 161) She thrust her body forward, toward him, piteously begging the 
continuation of his attentions.
How is that you would have had her stolen, not for her own beauty, for she is 
prize collar meat, which I would think would have been a sufficient reason for 
doing so, nor as an insult to the Polemarkos, but merely to interrogate? I 
asked.
What do you mean? he asked.
Yes, yes! she cried, gratefully. Thank you, Master! Thank you, Master!
She is only a slave, I said.
Now, she is only a slave, he said.
Yes,  she whimpered. Oh, yes!
But before, he continued, she was also the confidante of the Polemarkos. By 
means of her wiles and beauty she had ingratiated herself with him and there 
were few secrets of state to which she, in one way or another, was not privy. 
She even attended certain meetings of war, though concealed in her silks behind 
a modesty screen. Her presence there, as you might imagine, even concealed 
behind the screen, considerably discomfited several officers. It was partly as a 
result of their resentful, guarded comments, overheard by certain spies, that I 
came to realize her importance. He paused for a moment. Are you important now, 
my dear? he asked.
No, Master! she said.
What are you now? he asked.
A slave, only a slave, your slave! she said.
He then renewed his attentions to her body.
Yes, yes, yes! she said.
What was your name? he said.
Lucilina! she gasped.
You are not responding like a Lucilina, he said. She moaned, and squirmed. 
You are responding more like a Luchita, he said.
Yes, Master, she said. Yes, Master!
You are Luchita, he said.
Yes, Master, she said, named. I thought this a good name for her. It was a 
good name for a hot helpless, dominated slave.
(pg. 162) Are you a high slave, Luchita? he asked.
I do not know, she said.
No, he said. You are not. You are now among the lowest of low slaves.
Yes, Master, she said.
And I will give you, accordingly, he said, to one of my lowest soldiers, to a 
rude and common fellow, one of the lowest rank.
Yes, Master, she said.
You will serve him well, he said.
Yes, Master, she said.
You will be treated as the slave you are.
Yes, Master, she said.
But have no fear, he said. You will receive, I assure you, in this sort of 
bondage, low and common, and absolutely uncompromising, your complete 
fulfillment, both as a female and a slave.
Yes, Master, she said.
She then licked and kissed his hands, cleaning them. He then wiped his hands on 
her sweat-dampened hair. He then left the room. I following him. I glanced back. 
The slave on the perch was looking after him, her dark, wet hair much before her 
chained body, her eyes were filled with awe. She was pretty I thought, the 
slave, Luchita.
What did you learn from her? I asked, once the door was closed.
You may kneel, Lady Cara, he said.
The woman from Venna, with a movement of chains, rose from her belly to kneel 
beside his desk. She knelt in the position of the pleasure slave, back on her 
heels, back straight, head up, knees spread, palms of her hands on her thighs.
We learned a great deal, in a sense, he said, but most of it we already knew, 
or suspected, from various other sources. Two things, however, came as a 
surprise to us.
May I inquire? I asked.
Of course, he said. Otherwise I would not have brought you here in the first 
place. It is because of these things I had you brought here.
Speak, please, I encouraged him.
(pg. 163) Should I be fetched from the room, Master? asked Lady Cara. Because 
of the nature of her ankle chaining, it would have been difficult for her to 
walk.
Suddenly cuffed, she fell to her side, blood at her mouth. Did you ask 
permission to speak? he asked. In a situation of this sort it was common, though 
not always required, that a slave request permission to speak. Apparently this 
officer, in this sort of situation, did require his women to request such 
permission. Lady Cara, after this, would be in no doubt about this.
No, Master, she said. Forgive me Master.
He snapped his fingers. Immediately she resumed her former position.
The main forces of Cos are here, he said, in the vicinity of Torcadino, now, 
at the moment, investing it.
I am sure that is common knowledge, I said.
One would think so, he said, but two things which disturb and puzzle me we 
have learned recently, only this morning, from our little informant in the other 
room. First, a movement of Cosian troops, originating in Brundisium, apparently 
several regiments, are moving eastward, parallel to the Vosk.
Toward Ars Station? I speculated. This was Ars stronghold on the Vosk. It 
was situated on the southern bank, east of Jorts Ferry and west of Forest Port, 
both on the northern bank.
Presumably so, he said.
It must be a diversion, I said.
Presumably Ars Station, if subjected to attack, could be relieved by a small 
force, he said, and a countermarch to the coast could cut off the Cosians from 
their base in Brundisium.
I would think so, I said.
Why then, according to our information, and this is the second item of interest 
here, is Ar preparing, if this is correct, to launch its main forces northward 
toward Ars Station?
That would be madness, I said.
That is the information which the spies of Cos in Ar have transmitted to the 
Polemarkos, he said.
(pg. 164) They must be must be mistaken, I said.
Perhaps, said the officer, moodily.
The main forces of Cos are here, by Torcadino, I said. If the main might of 
Ar is sent northward there would be a free road from the trenches about 
Torcadino almost to the gates of Ar themselves. The land between here and Ar, 
and the city itself, would be in effect without defense.
I think there can be only one plausible explanation for this, said the 
officer, That the councils of Ar do not know that the main force of Cos is 
here.
That seems incredible, I said.
What other explanation could there be? he asked.
That the spies of the Polemarkos are simply mistaken, I said.
Perhaps, he said.
There is, of course, another, I said.
What is that? he asked.
Treachery in Ar, I said.
Of this enormity? he asked.
I shrugged.
Unthinkable, he said.
Surely you have thought it, I said.
Yes, he said, I have considered it.
Why did you ask me about the delta of the Vosk? I asked.
Because I think the move toward Ars Station is a diversion, he said. And 
because the Cosians could be too easily cut off from Brundisium.
You think they will withdraw into the delta? I asked.
I would, he said.
So, too, would I, I said.
And the main forces of Ar may be marching toward Ars Station, he said, 
grimly.
The hair on the back of my neck rose.
They could not be lured into that area, I said.
I would think not, he said.
No sane commander in such a situation could issue orders to enter the delta in 
force, I said, certainly not without obtaining guides, accumulating 
transportation, organizing (pg. 165) supplies and support, treating with the 
natives of the area, and so on.
In such a place an army might disappear he said.
Never will Ar march northward in force, I said, not with Cos entrenched 
outside Torcadino.
Why has Ar not yet moved? he asked.
I do not know, I said.
I can hold Cos here for the winter, said the officer. That is probably all.
What would you like of me? I asked.
Gnieus Lelius, said he, high councilor, first minister to Ar, is regent in 
the absence of Marlenus. I have here letters to be delivered to him. They 
outline the dispositions of the main forces of Cos and the situation in 
Torcadino. Too, I have letters here for Seremides, high general of Ar. They bear 
the seal of the silver tarn. I do not think you will have difficulty obtaining 
an audience with him I had once known a Seremides in Ar. To be sure, such names 
are common.
I understand, I said.
With these letters, of course, he said, I shall include letters of safety.
How shall we pass through the forces of Cos? I asked. Such letters may have 
their weight with those of Ar but would scarcely seem designed to impress 
Cosians.
You and your party will seem to be ejected from the city with other civilians, 
he said, some thousand or so who will held until tomorrow. I do not think you 
will attract much attention. Indeed, Cos encourages the dispersion of these 
refugees, as it has little inclination to care for them.
I see, I said.
You were intending to Ar anyway, were you not? he asked.
Yes, I admitted.
You will, of course, be well paid for your trouble, he said. He threw a 
weighty purse upon the table.
I looked at it.
It is mostly silver, he said, and some copper. Gold would provoke suspicion.
(pg. 166) I would suppose I am not the first you have entrusted with such a 
mission, I said.
No, he said. You are the fifth. I have sent others with such letters, 
warnings, and such, as long ago as Tarnburg, and as recently as the banks of the 
Issus.
Your messages then must have been already received, I said.
Apparently not, he said. I have, at any rate, as yet, received no responses.
This could be dangerous, I speculated.
I think that is quite possible, he said. I would exercise great caution, if I 
were you.
What if I do not wish to do this? I asked.
You need not do it, of course, he said. Beyond that, for your trouble, and 
with no hard feelings, I shall give you letters of safety which will conduct you 
and your party safely through my men.
That is very generous, I said.
I place you under no pressure whatsoever, he said.
I shall do it, I said.
I knew you would, he said.
And that is why you place me under no pressure? I asked.
Of course, he said.
I share your general view on these matters, I said.
I gathered that, he said.
Do you wish me to take an oath, to pledge my sword? I asked.
No, he said, that will not be necessary.
I see, I said.
If you succeed in this matter, of course, I will be grateful, he said.
Of course, I said.
Whereas I have a reputation of being merciless to enemies, at least when it 
suits my purpose, he said, I, too, have a reputation of being generous to my 
friends.
I have heard such, I said.
Some expression of my gratitude would be in order, he (pg. 167) said. Perhaps 
a bag of gold, perhaps a hundred prize Cosian women?
No, I said. I shall do this labor of my own will, and for my own purposes.
Warrior, said he.
Warrior, I, in turn saluted him.
I eyed the papers on the desk.
Sleep this night in the Semnium, he said.
Why? I asked.
It will be safer, he said.
My weapons, and goods, I asked, and those of my party?
Give the receipts, yours and those of your friends, to the officer outside, he 
said. They will be delivered in the morning.
Why will it be safer to sleep in the Semnium? I asked.
Who knows whom one can trust? he asked.
He sat behind the desk. He began to sign various documents. The signature was 
forward-slanting, ascendant and bold.
Shall I wait for the letters? I asked.
No, Captain, he said.
Captain? I asked.
Surely you have served, in some capacity or another, in one place or another, 
with that rank or one at least equivalent to it, he said.
How did you know? I asked.
You carry yourself like a captain, he said.
There was no reason for me to receive the letters, of course, until I was ready 
to leave. I now sensed, however, more than before, the security in which he 
wished to hold them, and how important they might be. To be sure, developments 
might occur during the night, events to which pertinent references might be 
judiciously included.
It has been my experience, he said, looking up, that a judgment too hastily 
entered upon is sometimes, in the light of cooler reflection, regretted.
Sir? I asked.
Consider carefully, tonight, he said, in repose, and at length, whether or 
not you wish, truly to carry these letters.
(pg. 168) I have agreed to do so, I said. I felt sweat about the back of my 
neck, and on my back, and in my palms. There was apparently more danger in being 
the bearer of these messages than I had hitherto realized.
I shall wait upon your considered decision in the morning, he said.
And if I then do not choose to carry them? I asked.
You may keep the coins, he said. Too, you and your party will still receive 
letters of safety.
You are incredibly generous, I said.
Not really, he said. What is the cost, really, of some scraps of parchment 
and a few drops of ink?
The coins, I said.
A contribution from the treasury of Torcadino, he said.
If I do not accept the commission, I said, I shall return them to you.
As you wish, he smiled.
I thrust the coins in my wallet.
They were more than enough, I had gathered, to get myself, and the others, too, 
if they wished to accompany me, to Ar.
He finished signing the papers before him, and stood up.
He regarded me. Captain? he asked.
I found myself reluctant to leave the presence of this man. I stood in awe of 
him.
Captain? he asked.
Nothing, I said.
He looked down at the free woman, Lady Cara, of Venna, kneeling beside the desk.
I need contentment, he said.
She straightened herself, with a tiny sound of chain.
You may leave, Captain, he said.
Sir, I said.
Yes? he said.
Recently; on the Genesian Road, north of Torcadino, there was an attack on a 
portion of the Cosian supply trains, a massacre. Were your men responsible for 
that?
No, he said.
Do you know what party, or parties, were? I asked.
No, he said.
(pg. 169) But it was done by mercenaries, I said.
Doubtless, he said.
I then turned about and went toward the door. Oh! said Lady Cara. I heard the 
sounds of her chains. At the door, turning, I saw her on her feet, naked, in her 
chains, being held closely against him, looking up into his eyes. Then he threw 
her on her belly on the desk, on the papers, and the various documents of state. 
I then took my leave. (pg. 170)
16    A Night in the Semnium
I turned in the blankets, brought by soldiers, on the tiles of the vestibule of 
the Semnium. There were perhaps two hundred people, many of them civilians, 
being housed there this night. Near me, a free female, one of those to be 
counted among the spoils of Torcadino, was chained on one of the clients marble 
benches, one of several serving on such benches, women who, one after the other, 
in turn, were replaced by others.
I was troubled. I wished to go to Ar, but I had my own business there. I did not 
think I needed a mercenarys coins to buy my way there. Too, as an unknown 
fellow, it seemed I might be able to enter her gates without great difficulty. 
Letters of safety, aside from the difficulties they might involve me with Cosian 
sentries or outposts, which might be considerable, would presumably not be 
needed by everyone entering Ar. To be sure, if I wished to enter the presence of 
the first minister, or the high general, they might be of some use, but the 
letters for them, sealed with the sign of the silver tarn, might do as well. 
Besides, if I chose not to deliver these letters, who would know the difference. 
Others may have defaulted, for some reason or another, in this, or a similar 
mission. The officer, at any rate, seemed not, as yet, at least, to have 
received replies to such missives.
The woman on the bench, groaning and ravished, on her belly on it, clutching it, 
her legs chained on either side of it, was now alone. She lay on the cool 
marble, clutching it. Master, Master! she had wept. Nearby, to her right, and 
my right, only feet way, almost at our elbows, some sitting, some lying down, 
crowded together, chained, huddled, in the (pg. 171) half darkness, illuminated 
by a tiny lamp on the wall, against one wall of the Semnium, was a large group 
of choice free women, probably gathered here as the cream of Torcadinos free 
flesh loot, doubtless to be distributed as gifts in the near future. Most would 
doubtless go to high officers and agents. Some on the other hand, I supposed, 
perhaps lesser beauties, might receive a different disposition, being bestowed 
perhaps on local civilian supporters or given as good-will emoluments to 
suppliers and contractors.
Nearby, Hurtha and Boabissia were asleep. Mincon, apparently a trusted agent of 
his captain, had quarters, or business, elsewhere. His Tula he had taken with 
him. Feiqa was now far to the left, against the far wall, chained there by the 
ankle with a number of other slaves. They did not wish to mix the slaves and the 
free females. From her collar there was suspended a small rectangle of 
cardboard. This was attached to the collar by a small, closed-looped string. 
This is first put through a hole in the cardboard and drawn through itself, 
fastening it to the cardboard; it is then passed under or over the collar, the 
cardboard thrust through it, and then pulled down, snugly, about the collar, the 
cardboard now dangling from it. On the cardboard there was a number, matching a 
number on a similar piece of cardboard now in my wallet. By means of this tag I 
would claim her in the morning.
I wondered why the officer had not, as yet, received any replies to his 
messages. Perhaps, of course, the message had gotten through. Perhaps it was 
only that the recipients did not deign to reply, or that their replies, perhaps, 
had been intercepted.
The woman on the bench moaned, holding it. Elsewhere I saw another woman being 
removed from a similar bench, and being returned to the common chain.
I wondered if some of these women had been here before, perhaps as clients, or 
petitioners or even witnesses. I supposed so. It seemed likely.
A new female was brought to the further bench. She was sat upon it, straddling 
it. Her ankles were chained together beneath it. Her wrists were similarly 
secured, the length of chain running under the heavy, fixed-position marble 
bench.
(pg. 172) She was then, by the hair, drawn forward, to lie upon her belly on the 
cool marble.
All of these women, I suspected, had been in the Semnium before, in one fashion 
or another, or for one purpose or another, if only to meet friends or to examine 
and admire the interior appointments and mosaics. It is, after all, one of 
Torcadinos great buildings. But doubtless none of them had ever before been 
here in their present capacity, casual love meat set forth for the delectation 
of passers-by, or even of the idle or curious.
A new woman was being brought to the common chain now, to a place quite near me. 
She was a dark-haired, sweetly bodied beauty. On her neck was a hempen leash. 
Her hands were tied behind her back. In a moment she wore a heavy collar, and 
was on the chain. Her leash was then unknotted, and, with a quick, whiplike 
motion, as she winced, jerked away from her. Her hands, too, then, were freed. 
She was now on the chain, and no different from the others.
The woman on the bench near to me whimpered. She moved her body a little on the 
cool marble, piteously, clutching it with her hands, her legs chained on either 
side of the smooth, inflexible expanse.
The woman who had just been added to the chain rubbed her wrists. Apparently she 
had not been tied gently. I wondered if she, a free woman, not yet a slave, had 
dared to express less than total deference before a man, or if she were 
important.
Mother, whispered a voice, from among the other captives, is it you?
Is it you? whispered the new woman, startled, wildly, turning about.
Yes, said the other. Yes!
Daughter! she whispered.
The other, with a movement of chain, crawling, emerged from the other captives. 
They embraced, on their knees, weeping.
Be quiet, said another woman, whispering. Do you want us to be beaten?
Mother! Mother! wept the girl.
(pg. 173) Daughter! wept the woman.
Be quiet, said the other woman.
Are we permitted to speak? asked the daughter, fearfully.
We have not been told we may not speak, said another woman. But I would not 
be too loud about it. Do not draw attention to yourselves.
I do not even know if I may speak to you or not, sobbed the girl.
We are women, said her mother. If men do not wish us to speak, they will tell 
us, with their whips.
Mother, mother, wept the girl, holding her.
I had thought you might have escaped, said the older woman.
No, said the girl. The collar is on my neck.
Who are you? asked the mother.
437, whispered the girl. Who are you?
I am 261, she said. She then drew back, holding her daughter at arms length. 
You see? she said. You may read it upon my breast.
As you may read mine upon mine, said the daughter.
They then again embraced, sobbing, on their knees.
What has become of us? sobbed the girl.
It is a common fate for women, she said.
What will become of us? asked the girl.
Doubtless, the collar, and the service of a man, she said.
I do not want to serve men! said the girl.
As a slave you will have no choice but do so, and perfectly, said the woman.
I do not want to serve them! wept the girl. I am afraid of men! They are 
brutes! I hate them!
Surely, from time to time, said the woman, you have considered what it would 
be like to be their slave and serve them, fully, in all things.
Mother! said the girl. You are my mother! How can you dare to even think of 
speaking to me like that!
You are not a little girl any longer, said the woman, gently. You are now old 
enough to begin to understand such matters, Indeed, I think you do, or begin to, 
but do not admit this to me.
(pg. 174) Mother! said the girl, reproachfully.
You are no longer a child, she said. The years have passed. Are you not clear 
as to what has happened to you? Do you not understand the meaning of the 
wondrous changes which have transformed you into what you now are, the meaning 
of your new sensibilities, and feelings, and desires and instincts, and curves.
Do not speak to me like this! said the girl.
You are no longer a child, she said. You are now a grown woman, indeed, a 
beautiful young woman, a desirable young woman.
 Desirable!  she said, scandalized. But I could tell she was thrilled to 
hear this.
That at any rate, whatever you may personally think about it, is the judgement 
of men, who are the arbiters and masters in these matters, she said. Indeed, 
that much is attested to by your presence on this chain.
Am I desirable, she asked, truly desirableas a female?
I believe so, said the mother. And I am sure, sweet and dear daughter, that 
when you find yourself helpless in the arms of men, kicking and crying out, and 
squirming, their lust will make it quite clear to you.
You neednt put it just that way, said the girl. She shrank back in the collar 
and chain. She put her hand to the collar. It was closed with a padlock. The 
collars these women wore had rings. It was by means of these rings, one to each 
collar, at the right side of the collar, and a second padlock, the bolt of which 
passed through the ring and a link of the chain, that the collars were attached 
to the common chain. In this fashion, a woman could be removed from the chain 
and yet be kept in a closed, padlocked collar. This was a different arrangement 
than had held the larger groups of women earlier, outside, at various points on 
the Avenue of Adminius. To be sure these were choice wenches. It was not 
surprising, then, that they should now find themselves the captives of a 
somewhat more refined constraint system. Additional security can be achieved, 
and often is, particularly when moving women, or when they are to be kept on the 
chain for a longer time, by (pg. 175) riveting the collars shut. Needless to 
say, there is a large number of collar types, chaining arrangements, and 
security devices, the choices among them largely dictated by the motives and 
tastes of the master, and sometimes by his cultural background, all of which 
serve to keep women in perfect custody.
True, said the woman.
But you do think I am desirable?
Yes, said the woman.
Oh, said the girl pleased.
You are now ready for the collar, said the woman.
No! said the girl.
You will find you have little choice in the matter, she said.
I will resist! said the girl. I will be strong!
And doubtless, after a test period, if they are so kind as to give you one, you 
will simply be killed.
Killed? she gasped.
Yes, said the woman. Men are only human. They do not, nor should they have, 
endless patience, particularly with the sort of animal which you will then be. 
It is not like having a foolish free companion, one who knows no better, who 
will patiently work with you for years, trying to help you become a woman.
I will try to be strong! she wept.
Such expressions often constitute but transparent concealments for envy and 
resentment, she said. Consider whether or not this might be true in your case. 
Similarly, even worse do not use them to disguise your fear of men and of your 
own true nature. Too, they are but ill used when put forth to praise what may be 
actually only sexual inertness, neurotic rigidity or false pride. Do not concern 
yourself in this matter, sweet daughter, with the values of others, and 
particularly of men, or of those who desire to be imitative of men, but seek to 
find your own female values, the deepest and most feminine values in your being, 
those of your deepest self. Try to find out who you are, in the depths of your 
most complete femaleness, and then dare to be what, truly, you are.
(pg. 176) You are my mother, she said. You must not talk to me in this way.
Perhaps you are right, said the woman. And perhaps I would not myself even 
dare to do so if I were not here with you, naked, in a collar, too, with a 
number on my breast.
It is shameful for you to speak so! said the girl, angrily.
I want you to live, said the woman. And I want you to be happy, truly happy.
Shame, scolded the girl.
It is my love that prompts me to speak so, said the woman.
I hate you! said the girl.
Have I truly touched something so deep in you, so familiar, so recurrent, yet 
so frightening, that you dare not face it, she asked, that you would lash out 
so at me?
You are a terrible person! said the daughter.
I am one who loves you, more deeply than you can ever know, said the woman.
Liar, wept the girl.
No, she said. I am trying to tell you an end to lies.
Naked female! said the girl.
You said earlier, when first we discovered one another here, both stripped 
prisoners, the loot of soldiers, on a common chain, when I said that I had 
thought you might have escaped, that you had not, that the collar was on your 
neck.
Yes, said the girl.
Is it on your neck? she asked.
Yes, of course, said the girl. Almost inadvertently, lifting both hands, she 
touched it.
Then there is no escape for you, she said.
I know, whispered the girl. Nor for you.
I know, said the woman.
The girl sobbed.
Surely you understand what this means, she said. Soon, my lovely daughter, 
you will learn the delicate, lascivious draping of slave garments and the tying 
of slave girdles, in such a way as to accentuate your beauty for the pleasure of 
a master. You will be taught to kneel, and caress, and do things you have not 
now dreamed of. You will learn to wear chains (pg. 177) attractively and to move 
in them in such a way as to drive men wild with passion. You will be taught to 
cook and sew, and to polish boots and scrub floors. You will learn to bring a 
whip to a man in your teeth, on your hands and knees, head down. You will learn 
to love, and to serve. You will learn to be a slave.
No! No! said the girl.
Soon your lovely thigh will feel the kiss of the blazing iron, and you will be 
sold, she said. You will then have entered upon your new reality. You will 
then have begun your new life.
Mother, protested the girl.
Beware of free women, said the woman, for you will be altogether different 
from them.
Do not speak to me in this fashion! begged the girl.
I must speak to you, she said. I do not know how long we might have to speak 
together.
What do you mean? asked the girl.
At any moment a man might put a whip between us, and stop our talking, she 
said. Too, soon we may never see one another again.
Mother, she said, frightened.
Surely you do not think we will be kept together, she said. Soon we will both 
be evaluated, not as mother and daughter, but merely as women, and be taken on 
our diverse ways.
You, asked the daughter, skeptically, being evaluated as a woman.
Yes, my dear, she said, the same as you.
That seems absurd, said the girl.
I am nonetheless a woman, she said.
The girl looked down, angrily.
Does it disturb you to think of me in that fashion? asked the woman.
Yes, said the girl, angrily.
That is the way men will think of me, and look at me, I assure you, she said.
Absurd, said the girl. What are you even doing here? Why are you here?
(pg. 178) I am here, she said, for the same reason you are,
Why is that? asked the girl.
Surely you can guess, she said.
Why? asked the girl.
I was not brought here, and put here among these women, because I was your 
mother, I assure you, she said.
Why then? asked the girl.
I do not wish to speak, she said, before you,
Speak, demanded the girl.
I have been found attractive by men, she said.
You? asked the girl, scornfully.
Yes, she said. Is it so hard to understand, or accept, that men might find 
your mother an attractive female, a desirable property, a lovely animal, a sex 
slut of interest, one whom they might think worth owning, one whom they might 
not mind having on their chain?
You, too, then might have to crawl to men, said the girl, and to serve them?
Yes, said the woman, and with the same perfection as you, my dear.
Absurd, said the girl.
I will doubtless be taken my way, and you yours, she said, as no more than 
separate females. I see the thought offends you.
Yes, said the girl.
I am sorry, she said. But I will be owned, as much as you.
You would have to please a master, as I? said the girl.
Yes, she said.
I cannot believe that, said the girl. It makes no sense to me.
Do you think it will be only your fair self, with all its beauty, which will 
soon be at the bidding of a master? she asked.
But you are my mother, she said.
Surely you must understand that I must have been attractive to at least one 
man, at least once, she said, and smiled. Your presence would seem to attest 
to that.
(pg. 179) Not necessarily, said the girl.
True, smiled the woman.
You are my mother, said the girl.
Do you think that means my body is now like ice or wood, she asked, that I am 
not a human female, that I do not have feelings, that I do not have needs?
You cannot have needs, wept the girl. It is improper. You are my mother!
Your father did not much care for me, she said. Too, I think you, too, took 
me much for granted, as little more than an object in your environment. I have 
been terribly lonely.
You are my mother! said the girl.
I am many things, she said, or have been many things,
You cannot have needs, said the girl.
Look at me, said the woman. Do you think a woman so bared and chained, so 
exposed and dominated, cannot have needs? These things free me to have needs. 
They free me to be myself.
Disgusting! said the girl.
All my life, she said, I have wanted to kiss, and lick, and serve a man, and 
make him happy.
Disgusting! said the girl.
Now, perhaps, she said. I shall have the opportunity to do so.
I cannot believe you are speaking to me in this fashion, said the girl.
Look at me, she said. I have a collar on my neck. I cannot remove it. It 
attaches me to a chain, with others. I am naked. Men may look upon me as they 
please. There is a number on my breast. I am 261, among the catches of 
mercenaries. I will be sold. Do not tell me how I can speak. I am, like you, a 
woman on a chain!
I am afraid, Mother, said the girl, suddenly. I am so afraid!
We are all afraid, she said, holding her.
I do not know what will happen to me, said the girl.
None of us do, said the woman.
I do not want to be owned, wept the girl.
(pg. 180) Think of it from a mans point of view, she said. You are quite 
beautiful. Think of what pleasure men will take in owning you. Think how happy 
it will make them.
I would then have value? asked the girl.
Yes, said the mother. In time you might even become a treasure.
No, no, said the girl, suddenly. We must never think of things from the mans 
point of view.
Why? asked the woman.
I do not know! she said. But what pleases them, what fulfills them, what 
makes them so masculine, so powerful and strong, so different from us, must be 
denied to them!
Why? asked the woman.
I do not know, wept the girl.
To make them piteous and weak, so that we may dominate them? asked the mother.
I do not know, said the girl.
So, that we can pretend we are more like them?
I do not know, said the girl.
As a free female you might, if you wished, for whatever purposes, hatred or 
envy, the seeking of power, or whatever it might be, attempt to do them such 
hurt, such insidious and grievous injury, but such terrible and grotesque 
crimes, for which legal penalties are not even prescribed, my lovely daughter, 
when you are a slave, will not be permitted to you.
I am afraid to be a slave, she said.
We all are, said the mother.
I do not understand slaves, said the girl.
You understand them only too well, said the mother.
Why is it that so many of them, owning not even a bowl for their food, or their 
rags and collars, seem to be among the happiest of women, so radiant and 
fulfilled?
They have masters, she said.
Mother, said the girl, timorously.
Yes, my daughter, said the mother, encouragingly.
This morning, near noon, on the Avenue of Adminius, I was forced to call a man 
Master.
So, too, were we all, said the mother, soothingly. It is (pg. 181) just their 
way of accustoming us to obedience, and what lies before us.
There was something else, she whispered.
Yes, asked the mother.
I had to kiss a mans whip, she whispered.
So, too, did we all, I am sure, said the mother, kindly.
But it is worse, she whispered. I fear to speak.
Tell me, said the mother, soothingly, taking the girls head upon her breast.
I had feelings, said the girl. I had never felt just those feelings before.
I understand, said the mother.
When I felt the stout leather thrust against my lips, I trembled, she said. 
Then, as bidden, I kissed, and licked it, lingeringly. I looked up at him. I 
saw the ferocity, and the strength, and the uncompromising determination, in his 
eyes. Then, again, I bent to my work. I felt thrilled to the quick. My belly 
became hot. My thighs flamed. I felt wet.
The mother kissed her, and caressed her hair, softly, soothingly.
I am a terrible person, said the girl.
Such feelings are perfectly natural, said the mother. Do not be ashamed of 
them. They tell you what you are. It is not wrong to be what you are. It is good 
to be what you are, exactly what you are, whatever it may be.
Have you ever had such feelings? asked the girl.
Yes, said the mother.
What can possibly be their meaning? asked the girl, frightened.
It is simple, said the mother.
What? asked the girl.
That we are females, said the mother.
Females? said the daughter.
Yes, said the mother. Such feelings, of need and helplessness, are natural 
for us. Do not be afraid of them. They tell us what we are.
Are weare we slaves, Mother? asked the girl.
Hush, said the mother, quickly. One approaches; a guard.
(pg. 182) Quickly they separated, each looking down. The mother rested now on 
her right thigh and hip, her hands on the floor of the Semnium, the girl on her 
left thigh and hip, her hands, too, on the Semniums floor. They did not lift 
their heads. They did not wish to risk meeting the eyes of the guard, calling 
attention to themselves. They looked well in the collars, both affixed to the 
chain.
The woman near me, on the marble bench, grasped it more tightly. The padlock on 
her collar moved on the marble. The guard was removing her ankle shackles. He 
then sat her upright, and unchained her wrists. The ankle chain and wrist chain 
he left lying over the bench, in front of her. He then took her by the hair and 
drew her from the bench. He walked her, bent over, to a place on the chain. A 
second padlock was there, marking what had been her place. He knelt her there, 
and then opened the padlock on the chain. Without removing it from the chain he 
pushed its bolt through the ring on her collar and snapped it shut. She was 
again part of the chain. She lay down on the floor, in her place. The guard 
looked over the nearby women. None met his eyes. He was the same fellow who, 
earlier had brought in the newest arrival, bound and leashed, in the Semnium.
261, he said.
Please, no, she said.
He regarded her.
Master, she said, putting her head down.
A young girl, near her, gasped, hearing her mother use this word to a man.
261 was freed from the chain. He sat her on the bench, straddling it.
Please, she said, do not. My daughter is near. Then her ankles were 
shackled, the chain running under the heavy fixed-position bench. Then her 
wrists were enclosed in the wrist rings, the chain from them, too, running under 
the bench. He then put her down on the bench. She lay on it, on her stomach, her 
legs on either side of it. Her throat still wore the padlocked collar. The other 
padlock, that which had held the collar to the chain, he left on the chain. It 
marked the place to which she would be returned. He then left her.
(pg. 183) In a few Ahn it would be dawn. I had not slept well. I must make the 
decision soon, whether or not to carry certain letters. I gathered this 
couriership might be not without its dangers.
I glanced at the female on the bench. She was lusciously desirable. I put her 
from my mind.
I had reservations about taking Hurtha and Boabissia into danger. Even if they 
were willing, and informed, at least to the extent I was, I did not think I 
should permit them to accompany me. It might be too perilous for them, how 
perilous, of course, I did not know.
The female stirred on the bench. There was a tiny sound of chain. I forced the 
thought of her from my mind. She was excitingly desirable.
I had little doubt, however, that Hurtha would cheerfully come along, if asked, 
and perhaps if not asked, abounding with his customary indefatigable optimism 
whatever might be the odds. He had already complained, more than once, that his 
ax was getting rusty. This is an Alar way, I took it, of saying that it had not 
been used lately. That was perhaps just as well. If Hurtha came with me, 
however, it seemed that Boabissia should be left behind. If she were left 
behind, however, I did not doubt but what she would soon find herself in a 
collar. She was that attractive. I put the woman on the bench again from my 
mind. I wondered what Boabissia would look like on the bench, in such a 
predicament. Rather well, I supposed. I might slip from the city, without them, 
I thought. In that way I would not carry them into danger. That would be 
thoughtful on my part. If I did that, of course, I should speak to Hurtha and 
Boabissia. I wondered if I should slip from the city. I did not know what to do. 
It was hard to sleep.
Oh! said the woman on the bench, stiffening, my hand on her.
Do not relax your body, I said. Keep it tight against my hand.
(pg. 184) She moaned.
You are a free woman, are you not? I said.
Yes, she said.
You may relax your body, I said.
Quickly she drew herself forward on the bench, frightened, an inch or so.
Move back, I said.
She moaned, and slid back a tiny bit.
More, I said.
She complied, fearfully.
More, I said.
She was now back where she had been before. I do not know where your hand is, 
she said.
It is here, I said, lifting a finger, touching her.
Oh! she said.
You look well in a collar, and chains, I said.
Please, she said. Do not touch me.
Why, I asked.
My daughter is near, she said.
What is that to me? I asked.
She can see, she can hear! she whispered. Ohh! She shuddered, caressed.
You are a lusciously bodied female, I said. Doubtless you will bring your 
seller a good price.
Ohh, she said.
When you were brought in, I said, it seems your wrists were quite tightly 
bound behind you, more than with the customary tightness ample to keep a female 
in perfect custody.
Sir? she asked.
You may call me Master, I said.
Master? she said.
The way you rubbed your wrists, that suggests you were not merely bound with 
customary tightness, but punishment bound.
Perhaps, she said.
Perhaps you had showed less than absolutely perfect deference to men? I 
speculated.
No, Master, she said. I am not a fool.
(pg. 185) I would guess then, I said, caressing her, that the tie was 
intended to be an informative, or admonitory one, one from which you were to 
gather something of the meaning of your reduction in station.
Yes, she said.
Doubtless, then, you were formerly of some importance.
Yes, she said. I was important.
Are you important now? I asked.
No! she gasped.
Are you sure? I asked.
Yes, yes! she gasped.
Who are you? I asked.
I am261! she said.
I pulled her to a sitting position, before me, and then bent her backward and 
turned her body. Yes, I said, you are 261. I then put her back on her 
stomach. And who is your daughter? I asked.
437, she said.
Are you more beautiful than your daughter? I asked.
I do not know, she wept, clutching the bench.
I heard a gasp from the side, from our right, from among the other women.
I stepped from the bench, looking at the other women. You, I said to a girl 
there. Kneel, straighten your back, put your chin up, throw your hair behind 
your back. She did these things. You are 437, I said, reading her number.
Yes, she said.
Yes, what? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, quickly.
Yes, I said to the woman on the bench, she has something of your beauty.
Something! gasped the girl.
You are both quite beautiful, I said to the woman on the bench, returning to 
her. I suppose it would be difficult to say who, ultimately, under proper slave 
disciplines, will prove the most beautiful, but, clearly, now, at the moment, if 
these things are pertinent to the issue, you would bring the highest price.
I? asked the woman before me, wonderingly.
(pg. 186) Yes, I said. But she has something of your coloring and 
characteristics, and is quite beautiful, and I think it likely, in time, with 
more experience in life and love, she might aspire to equal your beauty.
The girl gasped.
Please, said the woman. We are mother and daughter.
You are only two women, I said, two women in collars, and, at this time, you, 
my chained beauty, would bring a higher price on the auction block, a price she 
could not hope, for perhaps years, to equal or excel. To be sure, I think you 
are both excellent collar meat.
The woman moaned. I then renewed my attentions to her body.
I gather it has been a long time since you have been touched, I said.
Yes, she said. Are you disappointed in me? Do I take too long to respond?
Mother! cried the girl, scandalized.
You are not a slave, I said. You do not have trained, honed reflexes. 
Smoldering fires have not been set in your belly, never far from the surface, 
ready to leap into flame at the smallest touch. You are a free woman. I do not 
expect much of you.
Oh! she cried, suddenly.
Still, I said, you seem to have in you the promise of vitality.
Oh, she said.
Interesting, I said.
Oh! she said. Oh!
Perhaps, as in all women, I mused, there is a slave in you.
She moaned.
Or perhaps it is not so much that there is a slave in you, I mused, as that 
you are simply a slave.
Please do not make me yield! she begged, suddenly. I continued to caress her.
Be silent! she said. Be silent! Can't you see I am in the hands of a man!
Mother! cried the girl.
(pg. 187) Oh! cried the woman.
You squirm like a slut! cried the girl.
What you are doing to me! cried the woman, half rearing up on the palms of her 
hands, the chains on her wrists.
Lie down, I instructed her.
She then lay there, on the cool marble, clutching it, tensely, her eyes wild, 
her head to the left.
Is anything wrong? I asked.
She lay extremely still, almost rigid, tensely, on the bench. She gripped the 
marble tightly. It seemed she did not dare to move.
Yes? I asked.
Do not make me yield, she begged. She was very beautiful, and very helpless. 
Such a female would indeed, I thought, bring a high price.
Why? I asked.
She moaned.
Why? I pressed. It was not necessary to beat her for not having responded 
promptly to my question. She was a free woman. Such tardiness in a slave, of 
course, is not acceptable. It can mean the whip for her.
Please, she said.
You want to yield, do you not? I asked.
No, no, she said.
I think it has been a long time since you have yielded, if ever before you have 
truly yielded to a man.
Yes, she whimpered.
Did you ever before, truly, yield to a man? I asked.
No, she whispered.
I think you now suspect what it might be like to do so, I said.
Yes, yes, she whispered, tensely.
I touched her, slightly. Oh, she said, grasping the marble even more tightly.
Be strong, Mother, called the girl.
Tears fell from the womans eyes, falling to the marble. The padlock, holding 
her in the close-fitting metal collar, (pg. 188) moved a little on the smooth 
marble. It made a small sound. She had long, dark hair.
I think you want to yield, I said.
No, no, she said.
I touched her, gently, Ohhh, she said.
I think you want to yield, I said.
No, no! she said
I again caressed her, this time with an exquisite delicacy, a brief, sweet touch 
that brought her, in her present condition, to the brink of an uncontrollable 
response. If I should continue I had little doubt but what she would, in a 
moment or two, be jerking on her belly, crying out in a rattle of chain, 
writhing helplessly on the marble, then bruising and marking the soft interiors 
of her lovely thighs against it, so tightly gripping it.
No man can make you yield, Mother! cried the girl.
I gathered she was a mere virgin. Doubtless in the next few weeks she would 
learn better.
Be silent, you stupid girl! wept the mother.
Mother! protested the girl.
Why do you not wish to yield? I asked the woman.
My daughter, she gasped. My daughter is here!
But you would be willing to yield if she were not present, I asked.
Yes, yes! said the woman.
Interesting, I said.
Mother! protested the girl, horrified.
Do you think I would have her removed from the room? I asked.
Please! said the woman.
No, I said.
She moaned.
Do you not want her to know what a pleasure and a joy you can be to a man? I 
asked.
I am her mother! she wept.
You are only another woman in a collar, I said. And, soon, you will be going 
your different ways. Besides, I do not think she is your equal in these things. 
Perhaps sometime she might possibly be your equal. I do not know. Perhaps (pg. 
189) you, in your love, could hope that for her, and even give her training, and 
advice. At present, however, dear lady, it is you, I assure you, who are the 
prize, you whom strong men would relish most on her belly before them. Who 
knows? Perhaps you will both find yourselves eventually in the same household. 
It might be interesting to see you competing for the favor of the same master. I 
have little doubt it would be you, properly enslaved, my dear, and not she, who 
would be most often drawn by the hair to the masters couch.
The woman sobbed.
What has been the relationship between you and your daughter? I asked.
The woman did not respond.
I gather it has been distant, I said. I gather that you love for her has been 
little reciprocated, that your sacrifices, your concerns and efforts in her 
behalf, have been little understood or appreciated. I gather that she, in the 
customary, unquestioning self-centeredness and vanity of her youth, seemingly so 
inevitable in the young, has given little concern to your feelings, to your 
reality as an independent woman and human being, that she has scarcely thought 
of you, or understood you, in these ways, that she has, typically, much taken 
you for granted, considering you often as little more than a convenience, a tool 
and fixture, in her world, as little more than her servant and satellite.
No, no! said the daughter.
The woman was silent.
But such things are over now, I said.
Yes, whispered the woman.
You are now only two women, I said, each in the custody of impartial iron, 
each destined to stand by herself on the sawdust of the slave block, each, 
separately, to helplessly submit to, and endure, the objective scrutiny of 
buyers. There it will not matter that you are mother and daughter. Probably you 
will not even be sold in proximity to one another, but in the order of your 
numbers, or in some order deemed aesthetically or commercially appropriate by 
professional slavers. There you will be evaluated, bid upon and purchased, as 
different animals, as separate properties, merely as independent (pg. 190) items 
up for sale, solely on your own merits. Then you will go your own ways, 
doubtless never to see one another again, doubtless each to the chains of a 
separate master. I wonder who will make the better slave?
I then touched her, gently, again.
Ohhh, she said, softly.
Who would be the best? I asked.
I do not know, said the woman.
Mother! scolded the girl.
Doubtless, in the end, under the suitable tutelage of strong men, you will both 
become superb, I speculated.
Yes, whispered the woman.
Perhaps, in the end, when you are both marvelous, there will be little to 
choose from between you, I speculated.
The woman said nothing.
But now, I said, there is a great deal to choose from, between you.
The girl cried out in anger.
The woman groaned, clutching the bench.
Can you imagine your daughter in slave silk? I asked the woman. Can you 
imagine her in a collar, kneeling and obeying?
Yes, whispered the woman.
Do not speak so, begged the daughter.
Can you imagine her naked, kicking in her chains, I asked, crying out, 
begging for a mans touch.
Yes, said the woman.
The daughter put her head in her hands, sobbing.
Hush, dear, said the woman. It will be so.
Men are horrid, wept the girl.
No, she said, they are the masters. They are as they are, as we are as we 
are.
I will never yield to them, wept the girl.
Then you will be killed, said the woman.
The girl gasped, shrinking back in the chains. I could pretend to yield, she 
whispered.
That is the crime of false yielding, said the mother. It (pg. 191) is easy to 
detect, by infallible physiological signs. It is punishable by death.
What, then, can I do? she wept.
Yield truly, or die, she said.
What chance have I, then? asked the girl.
None, said the mother. You will be a slave.
If you like, I said to the woman, I can go over there and, in moments, one 
hand on the back of her neck, my other hand free, have her leaping like a 
childs toy.
No, said the woman. It will be soon enough done to her, such things. She will 
learn soon enough, what it is, a bond maid, to be owned by men.
Do not worry so much about her, I said.
I am her mother, she said.
I would worry more about myself, if I were you, I said. I think you will find 
that you will prove to be a much more frequent object of male aggression than 
she. Merely to see you is to want to strip you and put you in a collar.
No! gasped the woman.
I am a man, and I can vouch for it, I said. I gave her an intimate, friendly 
pat.
Please! she said.
Be silent, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I assure you, I said, you are at present much more likely to excite the 
predations of men, to be viewed as a mere imbonded lust object, than your 
daughter. You are much more likely than she, at least at present, in my opinion, 
to discover that you have, perhaps to your terror and distress, and with 
predictable consequences to yourself, then a slave, occasioned their interest.
No! said the girl.
Be silent, low slave, I said to her.
Low slave! she cried.
I am now attending to this other woman, I said. I find her of interest.
You are a free woman, Mother, said the girl. You are not a slave. You do not 
have to yield to him. Resist him. Do not yield to him.
(pg. 192) Do not fret, daughter, said the woman. Can you not see? Even though 
he is a man, he consents to speak kindly to us. Appreciate such things, for you 
do not know when you will hear such words again.
He is a brute! said the daughter.
The master is merciful to me, said the mother. Can you not see? In virtue of 
your presence, and in respect for the delicacy of our situation, he has 
permitted me to almost entirely subside.
 Subside! said the daughter, scandalized.
Yes, said the woman. Thank you, Master.
Oh! said the woman.
Do you think I am merciful? I asked her. I feared she had misunderstood my 
intent.
He is touching me again! said the woman. She clutched the marble bench again.
Do you truly think I am merciful? I asked.
No, no! she said.
Do you think any true man would let a curvaceous, luscious beauty like you, a 
mere prisoner set out for pleasure, a future slave, off the hook in a situation 
like this, that he would not press home his advantage, so to speak, I said.
Tell him that that is exactly what a true man would do! said the daughter.
Dont be stupid, said the woman. We are not talking here about weaklings who 
call themselves true men, trying to disguise their weakness under false 
titles, but true men. Then she suddenly moaned. I found that of interest. She 
had not, apparently, subsided to the extent that either of us had thought. The 
coals of slave heat, it seemed, had not ceased to glow in her belly.
I ask mercy, she said.
It is denied, I informed her.
Resist him! said the daughter.
His hands are strong and powerful, said the woman. He knows what he is doing! 
I am soft, and female!
You wish to yield, I told her. It is not difficult to tell.
(pg. 193) I must not, Master, she said. My daughter is here. She would never 
again respect me! Ohh!
Is it so wrong for her to know that her mother is a hot slut? I asked.
Please, she begged.
You are, you know, I said, commending her.
I can't help it! she wept.
You are like a she-sleen in heat, I said. You squirm well. You are almost as 
hot as a slave. It is interesting to consider what you might be like when truly 
in bondage.
Please, she wept.
You belong in a collar, I said.
I must try to resist, she whispered tensely.
You could, instead, of course, I said, provide your daughter with an 
instructive exhibition of how a female can give incredible rapture to a man. She 
might profit from this lesson, carrying it to her advantage into slavery with 
her. You might even give her your impression, as far as your current 
understandings of such things might go, of such things as will soon be expected 
of her, of how a slave might respond to a master.
If you take me, she said, I will remain inert. I will not participate in your 
pleasure.
You do not seem very inert to me, I said.
She squirmed.
Was that a threat? I asked. I lifted her head up by the hair, with both hands. 
The padlock on the collar swung free. I could dash her brains out on the marble 
bench.
No, she said. No, Master!
I let her put her head down. The padlock again lay on the marble bench. There 
was a sound from the chains on her wrists. Beneath the bench the chain linking 
her ankles moved on the floor of the Semnium.
There are many ways to take a woman, I said. All of them are pleasurable. 
Much depends on the situation, and the time of day, and the preferences of the 
master. If you think that the pleasure of the man is inextricably linked with 
the pleasure of the woman you are nave. That is a common misunderstanding of 
the free woman. That is much (pg.194) like thinking that the fruit cannot be 
enjoyed if it has not first begged to be plucked from the tree. That is simply 
not true. One can simply take it and enjoy it. Indeed, there is something to be 
said for such takings. In them one simply imposes ones will upon the helpless 
other. In them one senses imperiousness and power. Those who have felt such 
things know their value.
I am yours to do with as you wish, she said, and you know it well.
I wonder if I should force you to yield, I mused.
She lay quietly now, tense, muchly aroused, not knowing what my decision would 
be. Whatever it was, helpless as she was, she would abide it.
Her wrists suddenly jerked up, and were then stopped by the chain. The chain 
under the bench, on her ankles, moved, too, as her feet moved under the bench.
Lie still, I told her.
I then began, with care, and exquisite delicacy, not hurrying, to exploit her 
profound needs, and the remarkable vitality of her body. I thought she would, in 
time, make a splendid slave. It would be a lucky fellow, who would have her in 
his collar.
He is making me yield! she said.
I continued to draw her gently, and as implacably as though she were bound and 
on a leash, up the long stairwell of her need and helplessness. It was as 
though, then, that I had brought her, whimpering and needful, with me, again in 
the Gorean fashion, down a long, patient, narrow-walled, heavily carpeted 
corridor, one in which her bare feet could feel the deep, soft piling of the 
carpeting, and through a heavy, barred door, one which I had locked behind me, 
showing her that there was no escape for her, and had then put her, mine, to her 
place at the foot of my couch.
Take me! she cried. I beg you to take me!
I wonder if I should force you to yield, I said.
I beg to yield! she wept.
Mother! cried the girl.
But your daughter is present, I reminded her.
I beg to yield! she wept, I beg to yield!
(pg. 195) No, Mother! cried the girl. Do not permit him to so degrade you!
Be silent, wept the mother. He has put me in his power.
When you are instructed to do so, I said, you will yield.
Yes, Master, she said.
Do not yield, Mother! cried the girl.
You will now yield, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
I now rolled again in my blankets. It was an Ahn or so until dawn. I must try to 
catch a bit of sleep. I felt content. I felt good. The female on the bench had 
now been returned to the common chain. She had been the last placed on that 
bench this night. When I had finished with her I had sat for few Ehn on the 
bench, beside her, and had put my hand down before her. She had licked and 
kissed it, in gratitude, the padlock on her collar moving gently on the marble. 
I gathered that she had desperately needed what I had done to her. This was 
particularly interesting, as she was not even, as yet, a slave.
What a slut your are! the daughter whispered chidingly, angrily, to her 
mother. Her mother now lay near her, on her side, her legs drawn up.
Yes, my daughter, said the mother.
You were like a slave! said the daughter.
I will soon be a slave, truly, said the mother, and so, too, do not forget, 
will you, my darling daughter.
I do not respect you any longer, said the daughter. You do not deserve 
respect any longer.
I do not ask for your respect, said the woman. Neither do I need it, nor any 
longer want it. There are things better and deeper than respect. That I have now 
learned. Too, when we are both enslaved, neither of us will be entitled to that 
commodity. Our conditions then, I assure you, will be far deeper and more 
biological than respect. I ask, rather, your understanding, and a little love.
I hate you! cried the girl.
(pg. 196) As you will, said the woman.
Suddenly the daughter lashed out and struck her. The mother cried out, softly, 
and drew her legs up more, but did not attempt to defend herself, nor to return 
the blow.
Hateful slut! hissed the daughter.
Is it so hard for you to understand that I, like you am a female, asked the 
mother, only that, and one now, like you, naked, and in a collar?
Slut! hissed the daughter.
Are you angry, asked the woman, that some men might prefer me to you?
No! said the daughter, intensely.
Did you wish it was you, and not I, who was chained on your belly to the bench, 
helplessly put out for the pleasure of strangers?
No! she said angrily.
Are you truly so jealous of me? asked the woman.
No, no! said the daughter, almost crying out, wildly.
Be silent, said another woman on the chain. You will get us all whipped.
Mother, whispered the girl. I am chained, and naked, and afraid.
Of course you are, my dear, said the woman. She then sat up. Come here, 
sweet, she said. She took her daughter gently in her arms, and held her head 
against her shoulder.
What is to become of us? asked the girl.
We are to become slaves, said the woman softly, kissing her gently on the side 
of the head.
Men will have their way with us, fully, whispered the girl.
Of course, said the mother.
We will exist merely for their service and pleasure, said the girl.
Yes, said the mother, kissing her.
I want it, Mother, whispered the girl.
I know, said the mother, soothingly.
How terrible I am, whispered the girl.
No, no, you are not, smiled the mother, caressing the girls head.
(pg. 197) Are we slaves, Mother? asked the girl.
Yes, said the mother, kissing her. Now, rest.
I love you, Mother, said the girl.
I love you, too, very much, said the mother.
Good night, Mother, whispered the girl, 261.
Good night, 437, said the woman gently, my daughter.
* * *
I awakened to the hand of Mincon on my shoulder. It is time to rise, he said.
I sat up in the blankets. I glanced over to where the fair prisoners had been 
kept. They were gone now. They had been moved out.
Mincon handed me a packet of letter. Here, he said. They are all here.
How do you know I am going to carry them? I asked.
Arent you? he asked.
Yes, I said, and thrust them into my tunic.
I have had your weapons, and other things, brought, he said. Do you have the 
claim ticket for Feiqa?
Yes, I said. It is in my wallet.
Most of the other girls have already been picked up, he said.
Surely it is still early? I said.
Not really, my friend, he said. Even Hurtha is up.
That late? I marveled. It was well known that Hurtha often slept past dawn. To 
be sure I occasionally permitted myself a similar indulgence, particularly after 
a pleasant evening with drink and slaves.
Yes, said Mincon. He and Boabissia are waiting for you, outside.
I must speak to them, I said. It is necessary to inform them of the dangers 
we might face. They might not wish to accompany me.
I have already spoken to them, said Mincon. Boabissia is determined to go to 
Ar. It seems she seeks there the answer to some mystery pertaining to her past. 
Hurtha, too, naturally, is undeterred.
Naturally, I said.
He seeks adventure, said Mincon.
(pg. 198) Wonderful, I said.
He likes you, said Mincon.
Oh? I asked.
Yes, said Mincon. He appreciates finding someone who listens gladly to his 
poetry.
Gladly? I asked.
He has already composed a poem this morning, said Mincon. He considers it a 
humorous poem. It is a jolly teasing of folks who sleep late.
Hurtha is composing such a poem? I asked.
Yes, said Mincon. Too, aside from adventure, and such, I think he regards 
himself as being on Alar business.
What is that? I asked.
He plans on scouting out the territories of Ar, to see if they are worth 
seizing by Alars.
I think he does not quite understand what is involved, I said.
True, said Mincon.
I will pick up Feiqa, I said.
Your things are over there, said Mincon.
In a few moments I was descending the outside steps of the Semnium, Feiqa 
heeling me, carrying my pack.
Tal Rarius! called Hurtha, heartily.
Tal Rarius! I said to him.
Greetings, said Boabissia.
Greetings, I said to her. She seemed to me very pretty this morning, smiling, 
in the long Alar dress. I think she was wearing it a little differently. I think 
she had corded it a bit more snugly. Clearly the delights of her figure were 
more evident now within it. Perhaps I should speak to her about that. She might 
not realize what that sort of thing might do to men, how it might stimulate and 
effect them, particularly strong men. Ever since we had set her out for the 
fellows at the wagon camp, making some coppers on her, a subtle change had 
seemed to come over her, indeed, a sort of transformation was becoming more and 
more evident every day. She seemed to be becoming more radiant, and female. I 
noted she even wore the yellow metal disk on her neck, on its (pg. 199) thong, a 
bit more snugly than she had before. The thong was looped twice about her neck 
now.
I wish you well, all of you, said Mincon.
We bade him farewell.
Even you, pretty, enslaved Feiqa, he said.
Thank you, Master, she said. And I, too, wish you well.
Mincon then motioned to a guard. The man approached. Mincon spoke to him as 
though we might be strangers, unknown to him, just emerged from the Semnium. 
Put these civilians with the others, he said. Usher them forth, with the 
others, from the city.
Move, said the guard, going behind us, prodding us with his spear. Over 
there. Get over there, with the others.
Do not resist, I said to Hurtha.
Very well, he said, agreeably.
Oh! said Feiqa, suddenly. The guard apparently, for his amusement, touched her 
with his spear blade, probably putting it between her legs and moving it upward, 
brushing it against the interior of her thigh.
As we passed another guard she cried out, again, softly. He had apparently 
lifted her brief skirt with the blade of his sword, considering her. Then we 
were with the larger group.
Master, said Feiqa.
Yes, I said.
Let it be you, she said.
I regarded her. I saw that the attentions she had received had much aroused her, 
the merciless weapon metal of men about her legs and belly. Her needs were much 
upon her. She had passed the night alone, a checked item, awaiting a morning 
pickup, on a holding chain. Such attentions as she had received, particularly 
when they literally touch the body, are sometimes called the caresses of the 
masters steel.
She shuddered, facing away from me, hearing the draw of my steel. She stood very 
straight. She was quite pretty. I waited for a few moments, and then touched 
her, and then, after a time, lifted her skirt, that she could feel the air upon 
her, and then, after a longer time, when I was pleased to do so, let it fall. 
Please, Master, she begged. Perhaps (pg. 200) tonight, I said. All right, 
said a voice. Now, move, all of you! I resheathed the steel and, with Hurtha 
and Boabissia, now again followed by Feiqa, moved along with the throng down the 
Avenue of Adminius toward the great gate of Torcadino.
How terrible it must be to be a slave, said Boabissia, and to have to submit 
to whatever men choose to do to you.
I did not respond.
Dont you think so? she asked.
What do you have in mind? I asked.
Like having your body touched with their steel, she said, as poor, dear 
little Feiqa.
I did not realize you were so solicitous for her, I said.
She is a sweet little slave, said Boabissia, condescendingly.
Feiqa, behind us, made a tiny, angry noise. She had been, of course, at one 
time, before being collared, a free woman of high station, of the city of 
Samnium. This word, incidentally, is, in effect, the same word as Semnium, 
although in the western coastal dialects it is commonly pronounced as I have 
given the spelling here. Its original meaning is apparently Meeting Place, and 
its application to a building, or a hall for the meeting of councils, is, it 
seems, a later development. In Feiqas opinion, of course, Boabissia, having 
come from the Alar camp, was little better, if any better, than a simple 
barbarian.
Did you say something, Feiqa? I asked.
No, Master, she said, quickly, humbly. She did not want to be beaten.
The touching of the naked body of the slave with steel, I said, helps her to 
understand that she is subject to the master in all things, totally.
I suppose you are right, said Boabissia.
Conceive of it touching your body, I said, particularly as you might have to 
wait for it, expecting it, and knowing it was to come, and that you had to 
submit to it, the cool, cruel touch of it, the caress of it, and as you might be 
bound, or chained.
Yes, perhaps, said Boabissia, uneasily.
(pg. 201) Sometimes slaves oil much more quickly after such a touch, I said.
 Oil  she asked.
Yes, I said.
What a horrid expression, she said.
Not at all, I said. It is an intimate, wonderful, exciting, succulent 
expression. Her body is being prepared for use.
 Use!  she said.
Of course, I said. She is a slave.
That is true, granted Boabissia.
And the intimate and exciting odors attendant upon such oilings, those of the 
helplessly aroused female, prepared for the masters use, are quite stimulatory 
to a male.
Doubtless, she said.
And so, I said, it is not uncommon that after such a touch, the caress of the 
masters steel, that the slave, cognizant then of her utter helplessness and the 
masters power, and her complete dependence upon his mercies, that she is 
totally and absolutely under his domination, yields to him quickly and 
lusciously.
I see, she said. Momentarily she trembled.
We continued to move along the Avenue of Adminius. There were some two or three 
hundred of us. We were some two-thirds of the way, or so, back in the group. 
This seemed to me a good position. I thought it possible that any guards who 
might have the duty of supervising our exit from the city, or perhaps the duties 
of inspecting or searching us, might, given the numbers involved, be somewhat 
lax or a bit less diligent in their efforts by the time we reached them, and we 
were not so far back that, the guards perhaps perking up, the end of the group 
in sight, we might find ourselves the target of some burst of compensatory 
ardor. We were now beyond the lines of suspended bodies outside the Semnium. I 
was not sorry to leave them behind me.
We continued to move slowly along the avenue, toward the great gate. I saw a 
naked slave girl kneeling to one side, at the side of a building, on the stones, 
her hands chained behind her to a slave ring. About her neck hung a sign on 
which was written, (pg. 202) Free for Use, As our eyes met she swiftly lowered 
her head.
Keep moving, said a guard.
Such women had apparently been put out as a municipal convenience, and to help 
keep order in the city. She might also, of course, have been put out for 
punishment, but, given the current conditions in the city, that seemed unlikely.
What a slut, said Boabissia.
A pretty one, I said. And free for use, too.
I wish they would not put them out like that, she said.
Do you object to public drinking fountains? I asked.
No, she said. But that is different.
Oh? I asked.
Yes, she said. Men are beasts, and seeing such women may get ideas. Perhaps 
free women would be less safe.
The existence of such women on Gorean streets, particularly in times of 
stress, I said, tends to keep free women safer.
She was silent.
It is true, I said.
Perhaps, she said.
Few men will trouble themselves to steal a dried crust of bread, perhaps even 
at great personal risk, if a free banquet is set forth before them. To be sure, 
some men are unusual.
I am not a dried crust of bread, she said, irritably.
It is only a figure of speech, I said.
I am not a dried crust of bread, she said.
You are a free woman, I said.
If I chose to be, if I were in the least interested in that sort of thing, she 
said. I could prove to be a quite tasty pudding for a man.
 Tasty pudding?  I asked, pleased to hear her speak in this way.
Yes, she said.
That is a common misconception of untrained free women, I said. They think 
themselves attractive and skilled, when they know little of attractiveness and 
almost nothing of skill.
(pg. 203) Skill? she asked.
Yes, I said. There is more in pleasing a man than taking off your clothes and 
lying down.
Perhaps, she said, irritably.
Indeed, I said, sometimes you do not take off your clothes, and you do not 
lie down.
I see, she said, angrily.
Perhaps you could get lessons from Feiqa, I said.
Oh, no, please, Master! cried Feiqa, fearfully. Please, no!
I smiled. I did not think, under the circumstances, it would be necessary to 
beat her. It had, after all, been a joke on my part, a capital one. To be sure, 
not everyone appreciates my splendid sense of humor. Boots Tarsk-Bit had not 
always done so, as I recalled.
That would be absurd, said Boabissia, angrily.
Yes, Mistress! said Feiqa, quickly.
To be sure, I said to Boabissia, you are in somewhat greater danger than many 
free women for you have not chosen to veil yourself.
Alar women do not wear veils, she said. They are an artifice of civilization, 
fit rather for perfumed girls who would be better off in collars.
You are not an Alar woman, said Hurtha.
I grew up with the wagons, she said, angrily.
That is true, he admitted, it seemed almost reluctantly. I supposed if Hurtha 
had encountered Boabissia under somewhat different circumstances his 
relationship to her would have been considerably different, for example, if he 
had bought her in a slave market. Her background with the wagons had perhaps, 
rightly or wrongly, inhibited him somewhat, I feared, keeping him from viewing 
her as what she essentially was, a rather juicy possibility for a female.
You do want to be safe, dont you? I asked Boabissia.
Of course, of course, she said, irritably.
Then perhaps you should not object to the occasional chaining out of slaves. I 
said.
Perhaps, she said.
And perhaps you should veil yourself.
(pg. 204) Nonsense, she said.
But you do want to be safe? I asked.
Of course, she said.
Then veil yourself, I said.
No, she said.
Well, perhaps it does not matter, I said.
Why is that? she asked.
You are probably right, I said.
What do you mean? she asked.
You are probably not pretty enough to interest anyone, I said.
Nonsense, she said. I am beautiful. And men would pay a high price for me.
Hurtha roared with laughter.
Boabissia turned about and glared at him. I was pleased she no longer possessed 
her dagger.
Do not laugh, I laughed.
I, too, then, I fear, had she been armed, might have had to defend myself.
You are stupid, both of you, she said, like all men. You simply do not know 
what to make of free women.
I am an Alar, said Hurtha. I know what to make of free women.
What? she asked.
Slaves, he roared.
I am pretty, arent I? asked Boabissia.
Yes, I said. You are. We are teasing.
And I would bring a high price, would I not? asked Boabissia.
I would think so, I said, at least for a new, untrained slave, for slave meat 
a master has not yet seasoned and prepared to his taste.
You see? she asked Hurtha.
Hurtha snorted with derision.
Am I not attractive, Hurtha? she asked.
You? he asked.
I, she said, angrily.
You are of no more interest than a she-tharlarion, he said, and if you were a 
she-tharlarion, I do not even think a (pg. 205) male tharlarion would be 
interested in you. He threw back his head, laughing.
If you saw me all soft and naked, at your feet, and perfumed and painted, and 
in a collar and chains, you would want me, she said, angrily.
Hurtha stopped laughing. Suddenly he seemed angry. His hand closed on the ax 
handle over his shoulder. His other hand clenched into a fist.
Do, not fear, Hurtha, she said, you big simple beast, that pleasure will 
never be yours.
Hurtha did not respond, but glared angrily, fixedly ahead.
We continued on our way.
He does think I am attractive, doesnt he? she asked.
Of course, I said.
And you would like to have me, too, wouldnt you? she asked.
Under certain circumstances, perhaps, I said.
If I were a slave? she asked.
Of course, I said.
Of course! she laughed.
Move along, said a guard, one of several along our route.
Boabissia began to hum an Alar tune. She seemed in fine spirits. I glanced over 
at her. A great transformation had come over her since the night before last, 
since she had been put on her back, her wrists tied to the spokes, a copper bowl 
resting on the dirt beside her. I wondered if she might make a suitable slave. 
It seemed possible. I imagined what she might look like with a collar on her 
neck, instead of the familiar thong and disk. I supposed it might be nice to 
have her. It was not too late, really, I supposed, to enslave her. One could 
then have her when and as one pleased.
What is wrong? she asked.
Nothing, I said.
Move, move along, said another guard.
Ah, said another, regarding Boabissia. She was, of course, not veiled.
Move, said another.
You, too, free wench, said another, irritably.
(pg. 206) Boabissia would walk straightly by these fellows, regally, her head 
high, seemingly ignoring them, apparently not even deigning to glance at them. 
To be sure, I was confident she was only too keenly and pleasurably aware of 
their scrutiny, their appraisal and appreciation. She was now, after her 
experiences of the night before last, too much of an awakened female not to be 
aware of, and pleased at, the effects she could exercise upon men.
Do you think it wise to behave in such fashion? I asked her.
In what fashion? she asked, innocently, smiling.
Never mind, I said.
She laughed.
To be sure, what had she to fear from them? She was a free woman. She had 
nothing to fear from them, absolutely nothing to fear from them, unless perhaps, 
one day, she should become a slave. Then she might have much to fear from them. 
In the distance I could see the great gate of Torcadino.
Slut, said one of the soldiers.
Boabissia laughed, not looking at him.
Collar meat, he called out.
She laughed again, giving him no other notice.
How well, if haughtily, she now walked. I considered the walks of free women, 
and of slaves. How few free women really walk their beauty. Perhaps they are 
ashamed of it, or fear it. Few free women walk in such a way as to display their 
beauty, as, for example, a slave must. I considered the length of garments. The 
long garments, usually worn by free women, such as that now worn by Boabissia, 
might cover certain defects of gait perhaps, but when one's legs are bared, as a 
slaves commonly are, one must walk their beauty and grace. Too, given the 
scantiness of many slave garments, it is sometimes necessary to walk in them 
with exquisite care.
The slave, for example, and this is commonly included in her training, seldom 
bends over to retrieve a fallen object. Rather she flexes her knees, lowering 
the body beautifully, and retrieves the object from a graceful and humble 
crouch. Sometimes, to be sure, commonly in serving at the parties of young men, 
certain objects, sometimes as part of a game, (pg. 207) objects with prearranged 
significances among the young men, are thrown to the floor, and she must pick 
them up in less than graceful fashion. Whatever object she first touches 
determines to whose lusty abuse she must then submit. This game is sometimes 
played several times in the evening. I considered Boabissia. Her walk now seemed 
something between that of a free woman and a slave. It was, if haughty, quite 
good, and it showed, I thought, definite signs of slave promise. There seemed 
little doubt that, with some tutelage, and perhaps a collar on her neck, the 
beauty could be kept in it, and considerably improved, and the sullying 
haughtiness removed. I glanced again at her. Yes, it seemed to me that Boabissia 
might even be ready to walk in a slave tunic. I had little doubt but what 
several of the fellows she had passed, her nose in the air, would, with whips, 
have been more than willing to give her instruction in the matter, with or 
without the tunic.
Are you sure you want to go to Ar? I asked her. it might be dangerous.
She touched the copper disk at her neck. Yes, she said. I will learn who I 
am.
And who do you think you are? I asked.
I do not know, she said. But I was found, as I understand it, in the remains 
of what had apparently been a large and wealthy caravan. Perhaps it was the 
caravan of my father.
Perhaps, I said.
At the least, passage in such a caravan would doubtless have to have been 
purchased, and that suggests affluence.
That is true, I said.
Presumably no drover, or low person, a mere employee, say, would have had a 
baby with him, she said.
Probably not, I said.
It seems likely to me, then, she said, that I am of wealthy family.
I suppose that is possible, I granted her. Indeed, it seemed to me to be quite 
possible. I was uneasy, however. The letter Tau on the disk, for some reason I 
could not place, seemed vaguely familiar to me. I wondered if, (pg. 208) 
somewhere, someplace, I might have seen that particular Tau, that is, that 
particular design of a Tau. Why is there a number on the disk? I asked.
I do not know, she said, but it must be some sort of an identificatory 
device, perhaps indexed to an address or a passenger list.
Or a wagon number, I said, if it was a large caravan, or, more likely, that 
of a merchant or company with many wagons.
Yes, she said. I never thought of that. That is perhaps it.
Perhaps, I said.
They would want to have some way of knowing where the baby belonged, I 
suppose, she said.
I would suppose so, I said.
That must be it, she said.
Perhaps, I said.
Would you care to hear my latest poem now, asked Hurtha, that which lightly 
chides those lazy fellows who choose upon occasion to sleep late?
Of course, I said, grimly.
It is a jolly poem, Hurtha informed me.
I am certain of it, I said.
 Awake, abominable sluggards!  quoth Hurtha. That is a strong first line, 
isn't it?
Catchy, I admitted.
 Arise, loathsome miscreants!  said Hurtha.
Already you have revised the first line? I asked.
Certainly not, said Hurtha. One does not tamper with that which is already 
perfect. That is the second line.
You are certain that this is a humorous poem? I asked.
Definitely, said Hurtha, chuckling.
I did not know you wrote humorous poems, I said.
I am versatile, Hurtha reminded me. I suppose you thought I spent all my time 
composing tragic odes?
I had not given it that much thought, I admitted.
I have a lighter side, said Hurtha, though doubtless only those who know me 
well have detected it. Too, it is not, (pg. 209) in my opinion, salutary for 
poetic growth to be too fixedly despondent.
I suppose not, I said.
You may believe me in the matter, said Hurtha.
Very well, I said.
A little despair goes a long way, he said.
I am sure of it, I said.
I shall begin again, said Hurtha.  Get up, you odious, foul, stinking, 
dawdling sleen!  said Hurtha.
I thought you said you were going to begin again, I said.
I am beginning with the third line, he said. He then turned to the fellow near 
him, an innocent fellow, is dedicated to my friend, Tarl, there. Indeed, it was 
he who inspired me to compose it.
I see, said the fellow, looking at me narrowly. He then moved a bit further 
away.
 Up, up, I say, inert tarsks, vile, loathsome, somnolent slimy urts!  cried 
Hurtha.
Several folks were looking at me in a strange way. I quickened my pace, staring 
ahead.
 It is noon!  called out Hurtha. Then he stopped, and began to laugh. Tears 
rolled down his cheeks.
What is wrong? I asked.
Some folks passed us.
I told you it was funny, laughed Hurtha, bent over.
Yes? I said.
Surely the humor is not too subtle for you? he asked suddenly, startled.
I am not an Alar, I admitted.
Boabissia laughed merrily, but I thought, a bit uneasily, uncertainly.
You see, explained Hurtha, patiently, I did not say it was morning. I said it 
was noon.
Yes? I said.
So you would expect me to say morning, but you see, it is already past morning. 
I said it was noon.
Oh, yes, I said, thinking that perhaps I had a glimmer (pg. 210) of his point, 
excellent, excellent. Many Goreans arise quite early. Perhaps it is well to 
keep that in mind. It may help somewhat, though perhaps not significantly. 
Boabissia made a noise, one I think intended to desperately simulate a laugh. 
She was, I am sure, merely attempting to improve her claim as to being an Alar. 
Feiqa, happily, laboring under no such onus, looked aghast.
We are here, I said, happily, at the gate!
Certain of the folks passed through the great gate of Torcadino were searched 
rather thoroughly. Some of the women, probably because the guards were 
interested in seeing them, were stripped stark naked, standing on the stones 
before the portal and, to their dismay, examined with Gorean efficiency. Certain 
coins and rings were found. After such a search a woman is sometimes good for 
nothing more than being a slave. But they were thrust through the gate, their 
clothes then clutched in their hands. Boabissia, interestingly, though quite 
comely, was spared this indignity. Some objects were confiscated from various 
folks, men and women, but little, really, was taken. I began to suspect that the 
treatment this group was receiving was, on the whole, little more than pro 
forma.
I also suspected, after a few Ehn, that Boabissia's immunity from Gorean Strip 
Search, in spite of the promise of pleasure to the guards of such a search, 
might be due to her party, that she was with us. The letters of the officer were 
now within my sheath. This tightened the draw, but the hiding place, considering 
the few options at my disposal, seemed a sensible one. Papers can be easily 
detected within a tunic or cloak linings. To be sure, if one has time, the 
messages can be written on cloth within the linings, and then should elude 
search, unless the garment is torn open. There are many possible hiding places 
for messages or valuables, of course. A few that might be mentioned are false 
heels or divided soles in sandals, tiny secret compartments in rings, brooches, 
ornate hair pins, hollow combs, fibulae, studs and clasps. The pommels of some 
swords are made, too, in such a way as to unscrew, revealing such a compartment. 
Similarly walking sticks and staffs often have one or more such (pg. 211) 
compartments in them, reached by unscrewing various sections of the stick or 
staff. Needless to say, some of these, too, contain, daggers or thrusting 
swords. Such concealed compartments and weapons, and sometimes even builders 
glasses, sun chronometers, and compasses, and such, are found in such objects. 
It is cultural for white-clad pilgrims from certain cities to carry such staffs, 
often entwined with flowers, in pilgrimages to the Sardar. Such folks are not as 
harmless as they might seem, as various brigands have learned to their sorrow.
You are together, all of you? asked a guard.
Yes, I said.
Pass, he said.
In moments we were past the great gate, and blinking against the sun, outside 
the walls of Torcadino. I looked back. The walls, from this close to them, the 
fall sun bright on them, seemed very high and formidable. No common scaling 
ladders could ascend them. Too, numerous, low, horizontal wall slots, some three 
or four inches in height, through which metal-shod poles, stout metal crescents 
at their tips, could be thrust, and maneuvered, marked their bleakness. Such 
poles, with little danger to the defenders, at sufficient heights, where 
sufficient leverages can be exerted, address themselves to the enemys ladders. 
Their effects are often devastating. The slots through which the poles are 
thrust may serve also, of course, as arrow ports. Individuals behind us were 
still coming through the gate. I then turned my eyes forward. I could see, some 
two hundred yards or so away, pennons of Cos, marking presumably the first row 
of siege trenches.
My hand I inadvertently against the sheath of my sword. It was there that I had 
concealed the documents I carried.
You were not searched, said a small fellow, near me. He had a mustache, like 
string, and narrow eyes. He had a pack on his back.
Many were not searched, I said.
He then continued on his way, toward the pennons in the distance.
(pg. 212) What are we to do? asked Boabissia, uneasily.
Keep moving, said a soldier, outside the gate, pointing toward the pennons.
Boabissia and I, then, followed by Hurtha and Feiqa, she bearing my pack, set 
out, with others, toward the pennons. I think there will be little difficulty 
in clearing the lines of Cos, I said. Refugees, I suspect, will be sped on 
their way. I am not sure what would be the best way to approach Ar. We might 
reach the Argentum Road and take it east to the Viktel Aria. We would then trek 
south to Ar.
That is a longer route, is it not? asked Boabissia.
Yes, I said.
Why take it? she asked.
It is not the route we might be expected to take, I said.
Are you afraid? she asked.
I am uneasy, I said.
Could we not trek directly to Ar, across country? she asked.
If I were alone, I would. I said.
I am not afraid, she said.
In the open country, there may be sleen, I said, particularly after dark.
Oh, she said.
Too, I said, you are pretty.
What has that to do with it? she asked.
Would you like to be a naked slave of peasants, a community slave, in a peasant 
village, I asked, and wear a rope collar, and be taught to hoe weeds and pull 
a plow, and spend your nights in a sunken cage?
No! she said.
To be sure, they would probably sell you in a town, sooner or later, when they 
needed drinking money, I said.
She shuddered.
I think, however, I said, we shall take the most direct civilized route from 
here to Ar.
Why? she asked.
To save time, I said. Time, I think, is important.
As you say, she said.
(pg. 213) We will take, then, that route called the Eastern Road, or Eastern 
Way, I said.
That is the route called the Treasure Road, is it not? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Why is it called that? she asked.
Because of the riches, and slaves, and such, often transported upon it, I 
said.
I see, she said, uneasily.
Doubtless you will see many slave caravans, I said, and, too, perhaps, the 
girls of poorer merchants, many women being marched on foot, chained in coffle, 
sometimes gagged and blindfolded.
Oh, she said, uneasily.
Splendid! said Hurtha.
I glanced back at Feiqa, who, bearing my pack, looked quickly down.
Single file here, called a solider of Cos, near the pennons. Watch your 
step.
A long plank had been laid across the first of the siege ditches.
The small fellow with the narrow eyes and the mustache like string was ahead of 
us. He went across the plank. I then crossed it, too, the plank bending under my 
weight, and was followed by Boabissia, and Hurtha, and Feiqa.
That way, said the soldier, pointing.
We were in a few Ehn, over other entrenchments, and were then near the hurdles 
commanding the interior ditches. Interspersed among these was an occasional 
lookout tower, composed of poles and planks, the lashed poles supporting a 
horizontal platform of planks, from which a watch could be kept on the gate of 
Torcadino. At night fires would be set and lanterns hung at various points about 
the siegeworks.
That way, said a soldier, directing us.
We were then within the perimeters of the Cosian camp. Most of the tents were 
circular, with low, sloping tops. Many were brightly colored, and set with bold 
stripes, and various (pg. 214) striking designs and patterns. Goreans tend to be 
fond of such things. A Gorean camp is often a spectacular sight, with its arrays 
of silks and flags, even from a distance. They also tend to be fond of fabrics 
stimulatory to the touch, spices tantalizing to their taste, strong, powerful 
melodies, and beautiful females. In this they make clear their primitiveness, 
and their vitality and health. The streets were laid out geometrically. This is 
usually done by engineers, with surveying cords.
Look, said Boabissia.
I see, I said.
Seeing herself the object of our attention the girl lying on her side in the mud 
shrank back, pressing her back against the heavy stake, some eight inches in 
diameter, it sunk deeply in the mud. She did not meet our eyes. She was naked, 
and dirty. She was chained to the stake by a heavy chain, it looped three times 
about the stake, tight in a groove, and bolted into place, then looped twice 
about her neck and fastened there by a padlock. She could not move more than 
four feet from the stake.
Girl, I said, to her.
She, addressed, scrambled to her knees. She kept her head down. She whimpered.
She does not speak, said Boabissia.
She is perhaps under the discipline of the she-quadruped, I said.
The girl whimpered, looking at us, nodding her head affirmatively. Then she put 
her head down again.
Oh, said Boabissia. In this discipline the female is forbidden human speech. 
She is also forbidden human posture, in the sense that she is not allowed to 
rise to her feet. Her locomotion, unless commanded to roll, or put under similar 
commands, suitable for a pet, will be on all fours. Her food will be thrown to 
her, or put in pans on the ground. In either case, she must feed without the use 
of her hands. She may also, of course, be fed by hand, but, again, will not be 
permitted to touch the food with her hands. She may be taught tricks. Sometimes 
these are taught as functions of arbitrary sounds, so that she must learn them 
as any animal might, without the benefit of an earlier understanding of the (pg. 
215) words used. If she is slow to learn, of course, she is punished, as would 
any other animal. When used, too, it will commonly be in the modality of the 
she-quadruped. This discipline is often used as a punishment, but it may also 
figure in the training of a new girl. It helps her to understand what she now 
is, an animal totally subject to her master. After some time, sometimes as 
little as a few Ahn, in this discipline, she begs mutely, pleadingly, as 
eloquently as she can, to be permitted to serve her master in fashions more 
typical of the normal female slave, fashions in which her bondage, because of 
the greater complexities and latitudes of dutifulness and subservience possible 
with human activity, speech and posture, for example, dance, beginning at least 
on her feet, and song, may be even more deliciously complete and pleasing to 
him. To make certain that there are no possible confusions or misunderstandings 
involved in such cases the master usually gives the female a brief opportunity 
to speak, usually only for a few Ihn, in which she must make her pleas, hoping 
to win his favor. If he is not satisfied with her pleas, of course, she is 
returned promptly to her former discipline. Too, for wasting his time, she might 
be exposed to other disciplines, as well, usually the lash.
We continued on, through the camp. In a few Ehn, as we were making our way 
through a corner of the camp, we would presumably encounter some 
contravallation, some outer lines or ditches, setup to protect the besiegers 
against possible attack by an outside, relieving force.
There, said Hurtha, pointing, there are the pens for camp girls.
He had indicated a fenced enclosure, within which were various smaller 
enclosures, and some cages. In such areas, there was probably more than one in a 
camp of this size, public girls are kept, slaves for the pleasures of the 
soldiers. The Gorean seldom does without women. Such girls are usually supplied 
in groups by contract slavers, for the course of given campaigns. They may be 
used in their enclosures or, more commonly, they are sent to the tents of the 
men who rent them, usually for the night. In the morning they return to their 
masters. Outside the entrance to this enclosure, where (pg. 216) the girls could 
see it, coming and going, was a simple structure of three heavy, squared 
timbers, two of which were upright, and the third fixed upon them, crosswise, in 
the manner of a lintel. In the underside of the horizontal beam there was fixed 
a stout ring, from which cords dangled. In these cords, her wrists crossed and 
bound over her head, there was now a fair prisoner. On the outside surface of 
the horizontal beam, the side facing us, there were two hooks, over which there 
hung a sign. The hooks are permanent fixtures, the signs may be changed, in one 
wishes to use them at all, depending on the error, deficiency or offense. This 
sign read, I was not fully pleasing to my master of the night. Punish me. Use 
whip at left. To the girls left, on the vertical beam there, suspended from a 
hook, was a five-stranded Gorean slave lash.
Wait, said Boabissia.
Yes? I said.
She was not fully pleasing, said Boabissia.
The girl tensed in the cords, hearing us behind her.
It would seem not, I said.
Are you not going to strike her? asked Boabissia.
I think she has already been well punished, I said.
Certainly the girl's back suggested that. To be sure, most of those stripes had 
probably been put on her earlier by her master, that he might assure himself 
that no matter what happened later in the day, the girl would be brought to 
understand that anything less than perfect performance was not to be tolerated 
in a female slave. The female slave is not permitted flaws in her service. She 
is not purchased for that. They will not escape notice, or correction.
Men are weak, said Boabissia. She went to the hook and removed the lash. 
Girl, she said.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl, frightened.
Let her go, I said. You can see she has been liberally whipped.
What are you? asked Boabissia.
(pg. 217) A slave, Mistress, said the girl, trembling in the confining cords. 
Her small hands twisted above the tight loops.
Then it is up to you to be pleasing, said Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl.
Fully pleasing, said Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl.
But you were not, said Boabissia.
No, Mistress, said the girl, trembling.
You must then be punished, said Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress, moaned the girl.
She has already been punished, I said to Boabissia. Show her mercy.
No, said Boabissia.
Girl, I said to the bound slave.
Yes, Master! she cried, eagerly.
Is it your intention to improve your service in the future? I asked.
Yes, Master! she said.
And will you strive to be a dream of perfection to your masters hereafter, no 
matter how brief your term of service may be to them, or whoever they might be?
Yes, Master! Yes Master! she said.
You see, Boabissia? I asked.
She is lying, said Boabissia. I am a female. I can tell.
No, Mistress! wept the girl.
Are you lying? I asked the girl.
No, no, Master! she wept.
I believe her, I said. Let us be on our way,
You are apparently more tolerant than I of inadequacies in a slave, said 
Boabissia.
Let us go, I said.
Not yet, she said.
Come along, said Hurtha.
I know females, said Boabissia. I am one of them. If you are weak with them, 
they will take away your manhood and destroy you. If you are strong with them, 
they will lick your feet with gratitude.
(pg. 218) She touched the body of the female slave with the whip.
Is it not so? she asked the girl.
Yes, Mistress, wept the girl.
If you are not strict with slaves, said Boabissia, they will grow lax, and 
then arrogant, and then begin to assume the airs of free persons.
I suppose that is true, I said.
They must be kept under perfect discipline, said Boabissia, absolutely 
uncompromising and perfect discipline.
Of course, I said.
Boabissia drew back the whip. How she hated the female slave. It is sometimes 
hard to understand the hatred of the free female for her imbonded sister. It has 
to do, I suppose, with the venomous jealousy of a woman who has taken an unhappy 
path, a road commended to her by many but one which she has discovered leads 
only to her ultimate frustration, misery and lack of fulfillment. No woman is 
truly happy until she occupies her place in the order of nature.
Do not strike her, I said.
I am a free woman, said Boabissia, and I shall do as I please.
Do not strike her, said Hurtha. Come along.
Men are weak, said Boabissia. I will teach you what women deserve, and need.
Please, no, Mistress! wept the girl.
Boabissia then, holding to the butt of the whip with two hands, swung it back, 
the lashes separated, free.
Please, no, Mistress! cried the girl.
Boabissia then, taking her time, struck her five times. She did not spare the 
wench. Then the girl, punished, hung in the cords, gasping, weeping.
Now will you be pleasing to your masters? asked Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress, wept the girl.
Now have you learned your lesson? asked Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress. Yes Mistress, wept the girl.
She is now telling the truth, said Boabissia. She then hung the whip again on 
its hook.
I looked into the eyes of the slave. Swiftly she put down (pg. 219) her head. 
But in that instant I saw what Boabissia had said was true. She would now be 
pleasing. She had now learned her lesson.
Now, said Boabissia, let us go.
Interesting, I said.
You must learn how to handle women, said Boabissia. That is all.
You are a woman, I said.
Do not be clever, she said. I am a free woman.
This way, this way, said a Cosian soldier. Do not straggle.
We then again set out on our way, following others. In my wallet there was a 
sack of coins, a plentiful supply of coins, though mostly of small denomination, 
such as would not be likely to attract attention. They had been given to me by 
the officer in Torcadino. I had kept them. I would attempt to discharge his 
commission. They would be more than enough, it seemed, to get us to Ar. In my 
sheath were his letters, and my letters of safety. I did not know what lay 
before me.
That way, said a soldier.
You have not yet heard my entire poem, said Hurtha.
True, I admitted, reluctantly.
Then, for several Ehn, he altering lines here and there, with a liberal abandon, 
subjecting the piece, it seemed, to immediate and amazing revisions, rampant and 
wholesale, doubtless justified by certain disputable if not heinous 
exploitations of poetic license, generously construed, I was regaled by Hurthas 
latest creation.
What do you think? he asked.
I have never experienced anything just like it, I admitted.
Really, he asked, eagerly.
Yes, I said, except of course, certain of your other poems.
Of course, he said. Do you think it will become immortal?
It is hard to say, I said. Are you worried about it?
Somewhat, he said.
Why? I inquired.
Because it is dedicated to you, my friend, he said.
(pg. 220) I do not understand, I said.
Suppose it becomes immortal, he said.
Yes? I said.
It well might do so, he said, for it is a genuine Hurtha.
Yes? I said.
Then you might be remembered in history as being no more than a despicable, 
loathsome, notorious, sleepyhead.
I see your point, I admitted.
And even if that should be true, he said, you are still my dear friend, in 
spite of all, and I simply could not bring myself to do that to you. What am I 
to do?
Dedicate it to some mythical fellow, I said, someone you just made up.
A splendid suggestion! cried Hurtha. He then turned to one of our fellow 
refugees. Excuse me, Sir, he said, but what is your name?
Gnieus Sorissius, of Brundisium, he said.
Thank you, Sir, said Hurtha. He then turned back to me. I shall dedicate the 
poem to Gnieus Sorissius, of Brundisium.
What? asked Gnieus Sorissius, of that coastal city.
Rejoice, said Hurtha to him. You may now die, for you have just become 
immortal.
What? asked Gnieus Sorissius, somewhat alarmed. Hurtha was, after all, 
carrying a large ax.
But what if you discard your poem, I asked, feeling as you often do, that it 
may not be up to your incredible standards, or what if you should be struck 
heavily upon the head, as I could conceive happening, sometimes more readily 
than others, and simply forget it?
I see your point, said Hurtha, gravely. I would then be denying poor Gnieus 
his place in history.
Of course, I said. It is not fair to make him so dependent on you.
Yes, said Hurtha.
Suppose, thinking himself immortal, I said, he then lives recklessly, fearing 
nothing, takes unwise risks gleefully and perhaps suffers unfortunate and 
grievous consequences?
(pg. 221) I had not thought of that, admitted Hurtha.
You might feel terribly responsible, I said.
Yes, said Hurtha. I am a sensitive fellow.
Too, he might then go through life uneasily, not knowing whether you had kept 
the poem not, and thus not knowing whether he was still immortal or not.
True, moaned Hurtha. What am I to do?
Is this that poem about fellows who sleep late, asked Gnieus, that one you 
have been carrying on about for past ten Ehn?
Yes, said Hurtha.
Well, said Gnieus, it is my habit to arise each morning by the fourth Ahn.
The fourth Ahn? cried Hurtha, aghast. That is rather early.
In my opinion, snapped the fellow, who seemed in a rather disagreeable mood, 
perhaps still somewhat disgruntled at having been turned out of Torcadino with 
little more than the clothes on his back, folks who remain longer in the furs 
are no better than lazy sleen.
Oh, said Hurtha. He shuddered.
Yes, said the fellow.
I am afraid I cannot dedicate my poem to you, said Hurtha. You get up just 
too early.
It is just as well, said Gnieus, for I charge a fee for having poems 
dedicated to me.
What? cried Hurtha
I decided I liked Gnieus. He was not a bad fellow, even for coming from 
Brundisium.
A silver tarsk, snapped Gnieus.
That is very expensive, said Hurtha.
That is what I charge, said the fellow.
Do we have a silver tarsk? asked Hurtha.
You would sell your priceless dedications, for mere money? I asked.
Never! cried Hurtha, resolved.
That was a close one. I had saved a silver tarsk, or its equivalent in smaller 
coins.
Gnieus Sorissius had now taken his leave.
(pg. 222) What a scoundrel, growled Hurtha, looking after him.
Indeed, I admitted. I wished that I had managed to handle my large friend as 
neatly as Gnieus Sorissius, even if he was from Brundisium. Perhaps he had had 
dealings with Alar poets before. Could that be?
Perhaps I shall have to dedicate the poem to you, after all, said Hurtha.
We have now come to the edge of the camp, I said.
We paused, to look back. We were on a slight slope.
How beautiful it is, said Boabissia.
The camp was a splendid sight. Torcadino was in the distance.
I think, said Hurtha, looking back, I shall compose a poem, a mood piece.
What about the poem about fellows who sleep late? I asked.
I think I shall discard it, he said. The subject is trivial, and perhaps 
unworthy of my powers. Do you mind, much?
No, I said.
Good fellow, said Hurtha.
That also solves your problem about the dedication, I said.
It does, doesnt it, he said.
Yes, I said.
Since I have saved us a silver tarsk then, he said, perhaps you would be so 
good as to divide a silver tarsk with me, sharing and sharing alike, as always.
Very well, I said. Alars are not always adept at mathematics, but many of them 
are large, fearsome fellows.
Thank you, said Hurtha.
Think nothing of it, I said. How often can one save a tarsk so adroitly? Had 
there been two fellows we might have saved two tarsks.
No, said Hurtha. For there was only one dedication.
You are right of course, I said.
Let us go, said Hurtha.
Wait just a moment, I said.
Yes? he said.
(pg. 223) Do you notice anything unusual about the camp? I asked.
It is very beautiful, said Hurtha, as was observed even by Boabissia, who is 
only a female.
Something else, I said.
What? he asked.
We are beyond the camp, I said.
Yes? he said.
There is no contravallation here, I said, no defending, outer ditches, 
nothing to protect the camp against outside attack.
Interesting, said Hurtha.
The Cosians, I said, apparently do not fear the arrival of a relieving force 
from Ar.
That seems very strange, does it not? asked Hurtha.
I find it very troubling, I said. I do not understand it. It is simply, if 
nothing else, a matter of routine military precaution.
How can they be so sure that Ar will not come to the relief of Torcadino? 
asked Hurtha.
I do not know, I said. I found this detail, however, the absence of external 
contravallation, like may others in the past weeks, disturbing. It seemed to be 
a new military anomaly. It, like several of the other things, such as the 
absence of fortified camps and defended supply trains, seemed inexplicable, and 
cumulatively now, alarmingly so.
What can explain such things, asked Hurtha.
I do not know, I said. I am uneasy.
I think we should go on, said a man, another refugee with us. If we are 
caught here we may be taken for loiterers, or spies.
That is true, I granted him.
I then looked back at Feiqa, the former Lady Charlotte of Samnium. She wore a 
brief slave tunic, with a neckline that plunged to her belly. The soft, interior 
curvatures of her breasts could be seen within the opening of the garment. This 
is suitable for women who are only slaves. I considered her. She was lovely. I 
went to stand near her, the camp and the walls of Torcadino behind her. I put my 
hands within her (pg. 224) garment. She looked up at me. My touch was gentle. 
The straps of my pack, which she bore for me, were wet and hot on her shoulders. 
There were bands of sweat beneath the straps, and beneath them, too, the tunic 
was wet and wrinkled. Some of the wrinkles would leave a mark on her skin for a 
time. Her breasts felt interesting, warm, full, moist with sweat. She had a 
collar locked on her neck. She was mine.
Let us go, said Boabissia.
Tonight, I said, we will have to get you cleaned up. Your body is sweaty. 
Your feet are dirty.
Yes, Master, she said, pressing herself softly, purring, like the small, sweet 
owned beast she was, against my hands. I put down my head and let her lift her 
lips to mine, where they briefly met. Ah, she said, softly. Then I lifted my 
head away from her. I removed my hands from her. I drew then the sides of her 
tunic back to their original position. I held her then by the upper arms. My 
grip was tight. She could not think of freeing herself. You are a slave, are 
you not? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, totally, and yours, completely!
I turned her about, facing the camp, with Torcadino in the distance.
Do you think you have the favor of your master? I asked.
It is my fervent hope that I do, she said.
Do you see that area? I asked, pointing.
Yes, Master, she said.
Speak, I said.
It is the enclosure of camp girls, she said.
Yes, I said. Do you recall a girl there, I asked, one who had not been 
fully pleasing last night to a rent master?
Yes, Master, she said.
What was done to her? I asked.
She was whipped, mercilessly, she said.
Tonight, I said, you will serve me.
Yes, Master, she said.
What will be done to you, if you are not fully pleasing? I asked.
I will be whipped, mercilessly, she said.
(pg. 225) Do you object? I asked.
No, Master, she said. I would have it no other way,
I then stepped away from her, and rejoined the others.
That is the Treasure Road, I said, indicating a narrow road in the distance. 
At its end lies Ar.
Let us be on our way, said Boabissia. I am eager to reach Ar.
I glanced back once at Feiqa. She smiled. She was very beautiful. I would look 
forward to having her tonight. I was confident she would prove to be fully 
pleasing. If she were not, of course, I would whip her, and well. One cannot 
compromise with female slaves, They are women.
We began to descend from the crest of the slope, making our way slowly toward 
the road. Most of the refugees were already there, or in its vicinity. In my 
sheath were the letters of safety, and, below them, thrust down beneath them, 
the letters given to me by the officer, he who was now the master of Torcadino. 
These letters, all, bore his signature. The signature was written in an 
ascendant, bold script. It was not difficult to read. It was Dietrich of 
Tarnburg. I noticed the small fellow with narrow eyes, he with the mustache 
like string, nearby. He had apparently lagged behind. I did not give this much 
thought at the time. (pg. 226)
17    Slavery Agrees with Feiqa
Papers, papers? inquired the soldier. Have you papers? No, I said. I did 
not think it would be wise to advertise my possession of letters of safety until 
it should prove impossible to proceed further without them.
He then went to others, making the same inquiry. None of the refugees, of 
course, carried such papers.
We were in a roadside camp, eleven days from Torcadino. It was not a bad camp. 
There was shade, and a spring nearby. Peasants came there to sell produce. In a 
few Ehn Boabissia, Hurtha and I, and Feiqa, would be again on our way. I had 
purchased passage on a fee cart.
It is good to see a uniform of Ar, said a man.
Yes, I said.
Does one need papers? the small fellow with the mustache like string was 
asking a soldier.
The soldier did not respond to him.
Can one enter Ar without them? he asked.
But the soldier had then continued on his way.
Boabissia came up to see me. I have spoken to the driver, she said. He is 
ready to leave. Many of the refugees, afoot, had already left the camp.
I nodded.
You are looking pretty, Feiqa, observed Boabissia, somewhat critically.
Feiqa looked up smiling from where she knelt, packing my things. Thank you, 
beautiful Mistress, she said, and then put down her head.
Slavery apparently agrees with you, slut, said Boabissia.
(pg. 227) Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress, said Feiqa, smiling, looking 
down.
Cart Seventeen will leave in two Ehn! called a fellow.
That is our car, said Boabissia.
We had better get Hurtha, I said.
He is still asleep, she said.
Awaken him, I said. He can sleep in the cart.
Finish that packing, slut, said Boabissia to Feiqa.
Yes, Mistress! she said.
Boabissia then went to waken Hurtha. I did not envy her this task. It was not 
always easy to awaken the Alar giant.
I am ready, Master, said Feiqa, smiling, shouldering my pack.
I went to Feiqa and put my hands on the collar on her throat. She looked up at 
me, eagerly.
Apparently slavery does agree with you, I said, looking into her eyes.
Oh, yes, Master, she whispered. Yes, yes! (pg. 228)
18    The Treasure Road
Way! Make way! called the driver. He sat on the wagon box, some yard or so 
below, and separated from, the high railed wagon bed, serving, with its benches, 
as the passenger area. The wheels of the cart were narrow, and some seven feet 
in height. There were two of them. They were treaded with strips of metal. The 
cart was drawn by a bipedalian tharlarion, a slighter breed than, but related 
to, and swifter than, the common shock tharlarion used generally by the lancers 
of the Gorean heavy cavalry.
Rich tarsks, snarled a fellow on the road, moving to the side.
Make way! called the driver, cracking his whip. The arrival of the cart was 
announced as well by the jangling of two bells, affixed to projections on its 
sides, before the wheels. Then we were through the group of refugees, and moving 
swiftly again.
I think little treasure moves these days upon this road, said Hurtha.
You are doubtless right, I said, and the traffic, it seems, flows toward Ar.
Will the Cosians take this route? asked Hurtha.
Probably, I said. It is the most direct route between Torcadino and Ar.
I glanced at Boabissia. She was standing at the front of the cart, grasping the 
front rail, looking forward. Her hair and dress were blown backward in the wind.
Look, I said to Hurtha. See the soldier by the road, there?
Yes, he said, turning about to get a better look.
(pg. 229) That is another uniform of Ar, I said.
That is comforting news, said the fellow to my right. We had seen few such 
uniforms lately.
Are you going to Ar? asked the small fellow sitting across from me. It was he 
who had the thin mustache.
Yes, I said.
Do you have papers? he asked.
No, I said.
Oh, he said, smiling.
Why? I asked.
I assume Ar will not accommodate all the refugees who may seek asylum there, 
he said. It is hard to see how she could. Doubtless papers, or letters, might 
be needed.
Perhaps, I said.
Such might be worth their weight in gold, he speculated.
Perhaps, I said.
He leaned forward, confidentially. Are you carrying valuables? he whispered.
No, I said. My left hand, I fear, moved, as though to touch the sheath beside 
me. Then I checked the movement.
It is just as well, he said.
Why? I asked.
Do you see the fellow at the end of your bench? he asked.
Yes, I said. Why?
He covered the right side of his mouth with his open hand. That is Ephialtes, 
he whispered, the notorious thief of Torcadino. Beware of him.
My thanks, I said. It is always good to have such warnings.
The fellow nodded, and sat back on the bench, leaning back against the railing.
I resolved that I must watch out for the fellow at the end of the bench, 
Ephialtes. I was grateful to the fellow across the way for pointing this out to 
me.
In the back of the cart there was a place for baggage. It was there, in that 
section, behind that railing, that I had put Feiqa. This was appropriate, as she 
was property. She was in chains. I did not fear that she would attempt to 
escape. But it (pg. 230) is good, from time to time, to so secure your girls. 
Just as they are subject to the whip, so, too, are they subject to chains.
I rose to my feet and went to stand beside Boabissia.
Greetings, she said.
Greetings, I said to her.
I cannot wait to see Ar, she said.
If you are standing here, hoping for a first glimpse of Ar, I said, you are a 
few days to early.
I cannot wait to get to Ar, she said.
Look, I said, gesturing to the side of the road with my head.
Female slaves, she said, noting them, as we sped past. They were off the road, 
on the grass, in various attitudes of rest.
They could give them clothing, she said.
The day is warm, I said. Too, such women are often marched naked to save 
their tunics, that they may not be soiled with dirt and sweat.
The girls were chained together by the neck. Some of them watched us as we 
passed. Then they were behind us.
Normally, many more slaves are transported on this road, I said. We have 
actually seen very few.
What will I find in Ar? asked Boabissia. She fingered the copper disk at her 
neck.
I do not know, I said.
I think I may have a great inheritance, she said. Perhaps I shall find that I 
own vast estates, that funds in trust have been left for me, that I am of noble 
family, that I am one of the richest and most powerful women of Ar!
Why should you think such things? I asked.
Do you think them impossible, she asked, turning to me.
No, I said. I do not think they would be impossible.
I was traveling, though only a baby, with a great caravan, she said. Does 
that not bespeak station and wealth?
I shrugged. I do not know, I said.
I think it possible, she said.
Yes, I said. It is possible, surely.
(pg. 231) Look at those poor women, said Boabissia. We were now passing, they 
had been coming towards us, three sturdy lasses under the herd stick of a brawny 
male. They were bent almost double under towering burdens of branches and 
sticks, bound together in fagots. They were moving in single file. They were 
tied together, a rope on their necks. They looked up as the fee cart passed 
them. The male waved to our driver, who returned the salute.
Such a fate might have been yours, I said, had we attempted to reach Ar 
across country.
They are slaves? she asked.
Of course, I said.
Oh, she said, then it does not matter.
I had not anticipated the possibility of buying passage on a fee cart, I said. 
I did not know any would still be running. Else I would not even have 
considered traveling across country, at least with a free woman.
We are making excellent time, she said.
Yes, I said. In a few days we should reach Ar.
Is it a beautiful city? she asked.
Yes, I told her.
I am certain, said Boabissia, happily, fingering the small copper disk at her 
neck, that I am of lofty birth, and high station. I cannot wait until I get to 
Ar, to claim my glory and wealth!
I did not respond.
There is no telling, what with interest rates on the Street of Coins, the 
maturation of notes, and such, to what heights my fortune, in these several 
years, may have soared.
I did not respond.
I may be one of the noblest, richest and most powerful women in Ar, she said.
Perhaps, I said.
We then passed a cage wagon. There were some five female slaves within it, in 
rag tunics. Two of them held the bars of the cage, watching us, as we passed.
They are probably on their way to a market, somewhere, I said.
(pg. 232) Feiqa is looking well lately, said Boabissia, somewhat critically.
Yes, I think so, I said.
What are you doing with her at night? asked Boabissia.
I do not know, I said. I suppose the usual things masters do with slaves.
I see, said Boabissia. I spoke to her this morning.
Oh? I said.
Yes, said Boabissia. She seems frightened of me.
You are a free woman, I told her.
She did not dare even to look into my eyes, she said.
Perhaps she feared to be thought too forward or bold, looking into the eyes of 
a free woman, I said.
Perhaps, said Boabissia. Is she so timid with you?
Sometimes, I said.
I do not think you have beaten her much lately, said Boabissia.
No, I said.
Why not? asked Boabissia.
She is now pretty well trained. I said.
 Trained,  said Boabissia.
Yes, I said, ideally, once a girl is trained, suitably trained, of course, 
there is not likely to be much call for beating her. She may also, of course, I 
said, be beaten at the masters pleasure, for any reason or for no reason.
Of course, said Boabissia. She is a slave.
Too, some masters feel that a girl should be whipped once in a while, if only 
to help her keep clearly in mind that she is still a slave. Such whippings, 
occasionally administered, are thought to by many to have a salutary effect on 
her.
Of course, said Boabissia. One must be strict with slaves.
To be sure, I said, a skilled, diligent slave is seldom beaten.
Perhaps, said Boabissia, but I think it is still good for them to feel the 
whip once in a while.
Perhaps you are right. I said.
If I were a man, she said, I would be merciless with them.
(pg. 233) I was silent.
I would teach them their sex, and quickly, and no two ways about it, she said.
It is perhaps fortunate for them that you are not a man, I said.
Perhaps, she laughed.
You are not a man, I said.
I know, she said.
Do you? I asked.
Of course, she said.
You are a beautiful young woman, I said.
She blushed, even with the wind against her face.
Perhaps you should hope, and desperately, I said, that you never fall slave.
Why, she asked.
Because perhaps you might fall into the hands of a fellow who might be as 
rigorous and strict with you, as you would be, or as you seem to claim you would 
be, had you a female such as yourself in your power, and you were a man.
But I am a free woman.
Feiqa was once free, I said.
Not really, she said.
Oh, I asked.
No, she said. I spoke to Feiqa the other day. I asked her if she was a 
natural slave. Do you know what she said?
No, I said.
She said,  Yes. 
I think it true, I said.
Is it true that she begged bondage, asked Boabissia, that she chose slavery 
of her own free will?
Yes, I said.
What a fool, said Boabissia.
Perhaps, I said. To be sure, such a decision should not be made lightly. Such 
a decision may be made of ones own free will, but it cannot be revoked by ones 
own free will, for, after it is made, one is then helpless to alter or influence 
ones new condition in any way.
You do not think so? asked Boabissia.
No, I said.
(pg. 234) Why not? asked Boabissia.
Suppose some women were natural slaves, I said.
Some wicked, low women? asked Boabissia.
If you like, I said.
Continue, she said.
If some women are natural slaves, and know this in their hearts, I said, 
would you prefer that they conceal this from the world? Do such lies please 
you? Do you commend them, truly? Would you advise these women to indulge in 
deceit, to rejoice in the practice of hypocrisy? What do you say to their needs? 
Are these of no importance, because they may not appeal to you, personally? Do 
you encourage them to deprivation? Do you really prescribe for them in their 
tumult and yearning larger and larger, and more and more bitter, does of 
frustration? Must everyone be as you think perhaps you yourself should be, as 
you desperately command yourself to be? What do you fear? What accounts for your 
hostility, your venomous resentment? Would you truly keep them from their 
natural fulfillment?
I suppose not, said Boabissia, if they are truly such things.
Yet, there are some I have heard of, I said, who might deny a natural slave 
her bondage, even by law, no matter what might be the mental, emotional and 
physical damage of this.
That is absurd, said Boabissia. Slavery is fitting, morally and legally, for 
the natural slave, of course. No one in their right mind could conceive of 
denying that.
For natural slaves? I said.
Yes, she said.
A wench such as Feiqa? I said.
Of course, said Boabissia.
In such a case then, I said, if Feiqa is a natural slave, it might be 
fitting, dont you think, that she acknowledged this, and then entered humbly 
upon her authentic reality?
Yes, said Boabissia, as she is such a slut,
Perhaps you think it was even morally incumbent upon her, given what she was, 
to have done so? I asked.
I think it was fitting, that it was fully appropriate, said (pg. 235) 
Boabissia, uneasily, but I do not think it was her actual duty to have done 
so.
Then you might see her act, considering all that is involved, the bold 
confession, the loss of status, the stern nature of bondage, the now belonging 
helplessly and totally to a master, how free women will now treat her and look 
upon her, as the act of a very brave woman, I said.
Or of a very desperate one, said Boabissia, perhaps one who has fought with 
herself for so long and so painfully that at last she can stand it no longer, 
and in piteous surrender and relief flings herself to the feet of a man, where 
she belongs.
Perhaps, I said.
Such a fate is appropriate for natural slaves, said Boabissia scornfully. The 
sooner they get the collars on their necks the better.
The better? I asked.
The better for themselves, the better for men, the beasts, and the better for 
noble free women, whom they can then no longer pretend to be like.
I am glad to hear you say that, I said.
Oh? asked Boabissia.
Yes, I said, for all women are natural slaves.
No! said Boabissia. No!
And no woman, I said, can be completely fulfilled unless she understands 
this, accepts it and behaves accordingly.
No! said Boabissia. No! No!
It is just a theory, I said.
Boabissia clung to the rail, gasping. Her hands were white on the rail. She was 
trembling.
Are you all right, I asked.
Yes, she whispered, her head down, clinging to the rail. I could not help 
thinking how lovely a collar would look upon her throat.
She looked up. It is only a theory, is it not? she asked.
Yes, I said.
She shook, clinging to the rail.
To be sure, I said, it may be a true theory.
(pg. 236) She did not respond. I then, seeing that she was distressed, returned 
to my seat. After a time, she returned to, too, to her place on the bench. She 
did not meet my eyes, then, nor those of Hurtha, nor, I think, of any of the 
other men in the cart. (pg. 237)
19    The Checkpoint
They are gone! I whispered, tensely.
What are gone? asked Hurtha, sitting up in the furs, a few feet from me.
The camp had been stirring now for better than an Ahn.
The letters of safety, I said, those of safe conduct for our party.
What is wrong? asked Boabissia, her hair wet and loose, come from the nearby 
stream, where she had washed it.
Our letters of safety, I said, are gone. I had them here, in the sheath.
Perhaps they have fallen out, she said.
No, I said. They were firmly lodged within. They could be withdrawn only 
purposefully.
There is supposedly a checkpoint down the road, said Boabissia. I heard of it 
last night.
So, too, doubtless, said I, did the thief.
We were all about, said Boabissia. How could anyone have done it?
Presumably it could have been done only by one practiced in stealth, who knew 
for what he was searching, and where it might be found. He might even have had a 
tool for the extraction of the papers.
The blade was in the sheath, was it not, asked Boabissia, and the sheath 
beside you?
Yes, I said, and the sheath was on its strap, slung about my shoulder. The 
blade would have had to be removed, I assume, and then replaced, after the 
extraction of the papers.
Why would it be replaced? asked Hurtha.
(pg. 238) That the absence of the papers not be immediately noticed, I said. 
I would not have noticed the matter had I not, as a matter of habit, this 
morning, tested the draw of the blade.
This habit, unnecessary and trivial though it may seem, is one inculcated in 
warriors, in many cities. The theory is not only that it is well to practice the 
draw frequently, as the first to draw may be the first to strike, but also to be 
familiar with it on a daily basis lest its parameters alter from time to time, 
due to such things as contractions and swellings of the leather, these having to 
do with temperature and moisture. Less obviously, but more deviously, the blade 
could be tightened, or even fastened, in the sheath by an enemy, by such means 
as a tiny wooden shim or plug, or a fine wire looped below the hilt. The 
practicing of the draw, and the associated testing of sheath resistance, is a 
small, but seldom neglected detail, in the practice of arms.
Such skill seems impossible, said Boabissia. Who is there who could of done 
such a thing?
Some warriors could have done it, I said. Many red savages could have done 
it.
But who is about here? asked Boabissia.
Some thief, I said, one who is highly skillful, one worthy even of the 
thiefs scar of Port Kar, though I doubt he wears it. The thiefs scar in Port 
Kar is a tiny, three pronged brand, burned into the face over the right 
cheekbone. It marks the members of the Caste of Thieves in Port Kar. That is the 
only city in which, as far as I know, there is a recognized caste for thieves. 
They tend to be quite proud of their calling, it being handed down often from 
father to son. There are various perquisites connected with membership in this 
caste, among them, if one is a professional thief, protection from being hunted 
down and killed by caste members, who tend to be quite jealous of their various 
territories and prerogatives. Because of the caste of thieves there is probably 
much less thievery in Port Kar than in most cities of comparable size. They 
regulate their numbers and craft in much the same way that, in many cities, the 
various castes, such as those of the metal workers or cloth workers, do theirs.
Feiqa, said Boabissia.
(pg. 239) Yes, Mistress? said Feiqa, frightened. The lovely slave had knelt 
immediately, being addressed by a free person.
Did you see anything? asked Boabissia.
No, Mistress, said Feiqa, putting her head down.
Stupid slave, said Boabissia.
Yes, Mistress, whispered Feiqa, not looking up.
Are such papers needed at the checkpoint? asked Hurtha.
Quite possibly, I said. We are near Ar. I do not know.
In this camp, said Boabissia, it seems unlikely that there could have been so 
skilled a thief.
Not necessarily, I said.
I think Feiqa took them, said Boabissia.
No, Mistress! cried Feiqa.
Let her be tortured for truth, said Boabissia. It is legal in Gorean courts 
for the testimony of slaves to be taken under torture. Indeed, it is commonly 
done.
Please, no, Mistress! wept Feiqa.
It would have been difficult for her to have done so, I told Boabissia, for 
last night her hands were chained behind her, that she might awaken me 
intimately, not using her hands, at dawn.
Disgusting, said Boabissia.
I then put her to her back and caressed her, while recovering, until she begged 
to be put to further use, to which plea I acceded. I then, when pleased to do 
so, a time or so later released her.
Disgusting, said Boabissia.
But she is only a slave, I said.
True, said Boabissia. Then she looked at Feiqa. Slut, she said.
Yes, Mistress, said Feiqa, not meeting her eyes.
How Boabissia hated Feiqa! Did she really think it was wrong, or improper for 
Feiqa to give her master such incredible pleasure? I did not think so. Feiqa, 
after all, was a slave. It was one of her purposes. I think it was rather that 
she was intensely jealous of Feiqa, that she keenly resented that she, the proud 
Boabissia, being free, was not subject to the same imperious enforcements.
(pg. 240) No thief so skilled, surely, said Boabissia, would be with the 
refugees, She continued to regard the trembling Feiqa balefully. It must have 
been the slave. Let her be tortured.
Feiqa moaned.
It could not have been Feiqa, I said to Boabissia. Last night her hands were 
secured, I reminded her, chained behind her back.
Then who? asked Boabissia.
Perhaps you, said Hurtha, coming up behind Boabissia and holding her by the 
upper arms, from behind. His grasp, I gathered, was not gentle.
No, said Boabissia. No! She squirmed. She was as helpless as a slave in 
Hurthas grip.
Perhaps it is you who should be put under torture, growled Hurtha.
No, no! said Boabissia. I am free.
It would not be impossible for a skilled thief to be with the refugees, I 
said. It would be necessary only that he, or she, had been turned out of 
Torcadino with other citizens.
Do you know of such a person? asked Hurtha.
Yes, I said.
Who? asked Hurtha.
Wait here, I said.
Who? asked Hurtha.
One called Ephialtes, of Torcadino, I said. I was warned about him.
Let me come with you, he said. I shall break his neck.
That will not recover the letters, I said. Wait here.
Some of the carts, and many of the refugees, have already left, said 
Boabissia, pulling her free of Hurthas hands, he loosening his grip. She was 
shaking. She was not accustomed to having been so helplessly in the power of a 
man, as helplessly, it might seem, as might have been a slave.
Please, Mistress, wept Feiqa. I did not steal the letters. I could not have 
done so, even if I had dared to do so, which I would not in my life have dared 
to do. Do not ask to have Feiqa tortured. Please be kind to Feiqa.
(pg. 241) You are a slave, snapped Boabissia, and, as such, are subject to 
torture, or to whatever free persons desire to do to you.
Yes, Mistress, wept Feiqa, shuddering.
Wait here, I said.
Boabissia made as though to accompany me, but Hurthas hand on her arm stayed 
her.
* * *
Aii! cried the fellow, startled, in pain. My hand had closed on the back of 
his neck. I then forced him to his knees, and then to his belly. He squirmed. I 
thrust his nose and mouth into the soft earth. Instantly he was quiet. I 
permitted him to lift his head a little. He coughed and gasped.
Where are they? I asked him.
What? he said, wildly, spitting out dirt.
The letters, three of them, I said.
You cannot rob me here, he said. There are too many about!
To be sure, some of the refugees had gathered about us.
Do not interfere, I warned them.
Where are the letters? I demanded.
What letters? he asked.
I again thrust his face into the dirt. He coughed and spit, and twisted his head 
to the side, gasping.
Where are they? I demanded.
I know nothing of letters, he gasped.
Do not interfere, I warned those about. More than one of them carried heavy 
clubs.
I then with a length of binding fiber, extracted from my pouch, tied his ankles 
together, and then fastened his hands to his ankles. He turned to his side. I 
then, methodically, began to go through his belongings.
What are you doing? he asked. Stop him, he called to those about. A man or 
two took a step forward, but none challenged me.
He is armed, said one of the fellows to the trussed captive.
I do not find them here, I said to the crowd.
(pg. 242) What is he looking for? asked a fellow, just come up to the group.
Letters of some sort, said a fellow to the newcomer.
Where are they? I asked the captive, again.
I know nothing of your letters, or whatever they are, he said. Let me go!
Let him go, suggested a fellow in the crowd. To be sure he did not step boldly 
forth.
What do you think you are doing? asked another fellow.
Let him go, said another man. That one I saw.
This fellow, I said to the crowd, is a thief. He stole three letters from me. 
I mean to have them back.
I am not a thief, said the man.
Did you see him steal the letters? asked a fellow.
No, I said.
Did someone else, then? said the fellow.
No, I said, irritably.
How do you know he took them then? asked a fellow. It seemed a fair question.
You have not recovered the letters from him, said another. Does that not 
suggest that you might be mistaken?
I opened the fellows pouch. It contained coins, but there were no letters 
within it.
I poured the coins back into the pouch, and pulled shut its drawstrings.
Where have you hidden the letters? I asked the fellow. My voice was not 
pleasant.
I do not know anything about your letters, he whispered. I think he had little 
doubt that I was in earnest. He was frightened.
Have you sold them already? I asked.
I do not know anything bout them, he said. Are you not a thief?
No, I said.
Release him, said a man.
You have no proof, said another.
He has a sword, said a man. He does not need proof.
Let the fellow go, said another man.
He is a thief, I said, angrily.
(pg. 243) I am not a thief, said the fellow.
He is not a thief, said another man.
He is a well-known thief from Torcadino, I said.
Nonsense, said a man.
Who do you think he is? asked another fellow.
Ephialtes, of Torcadino, I said.
I am not Ephialtes, said the man.
He is not Ephialtes, said another fellow.
He has been so identified for me, days ago. I said.
And who made this identification? asked a fellow.
I do not now see him about, I said.
That is not Ephialtes, said a man.
Even if it were, said another fellow, you apparently did not see the theft, 
and do not have clear evidence, even of a circumstantial nature, that he is the 
culprit. The fellow who had said this wore the blue of the scribes. He may even 
have been a scribe of the law.
Release him, suggested another fellow.
I am Philebus, a vintner, of Torcadino, said the man.
He is lying, I said.
That is Philebus, said a man. I have dealt with him.
Release him, said a man.
I untied the fellow. Put your things back in your pack, I said. I watched him 
do this. The pack might have had a false lining. Still I had not felt the 
resistance of letters, nor heard the sound of paper from it, when I had tested 
it.
Cart Seventeen is ready to leave! I heard called.
That is my cart, said the fellow, thrusting the last of his various articles, 
strewn about, into the pack.
It is mine, too, as well you know, I said. Do not fear. I shall accompany you 
to the cart and see that you board safely. I had no intention of letting him 
out of my sight. Although I had no proof of the sort which might convince a 
praetor I was confident that it was Ephialtes of Torcadino who had stolen the 
letters. It was ironic. I had ridden in the very cart with him.
We are ready to go, said Boabissia coming up to me.
The cart is going to leave.
(pg. 244) I know, I said. I heard. Go along, you. I thrust the fellow before 
me, toward the carts.
* * *
I stood near the front railing of the cart. I did look back to make sure the 
fellow was still on the bench where I had placed him. That is the checkpoint 
ahead? I asked the driver, as I leaned over the railing.
Yes, he said, lifting his head and speaking back over his shoulder. You will 
all get out here, and those who pass will board again, on the other side. There 
are no refunds, if you do not pass. Such failures are not the responsibility of 
the company.
We are only a day from Ar, said a fellow.
There is the barrier, said another, coming to stand beside me at the railing.
Look, said another, joining us. Look at that poor sleen. He indicated a 
small figure near the checkpoint, impaled on a high pole, lifted some twenty 
feet above the heads of the refugees.
Among the crowds there, I said, suddenly, pointing, there are soldiers with 
purple cloaks and helmets. I had not seen such things in years, since the time 
of the usurper, Cernus, in Ar, dethroned long ago in the restoration of 
Marlenus, ubar of ubars.
Those are Taurentians, members of the elite palace guard, said a man.
The Taurentians were disbanded in 10,119, I said.
They have been restored to favor, said a man.
Had you not heard? asked another.
No, I said. The sight of Taurentians made me uneasy. Such men, with their 
internal esprit de corps, their identification with their own units, their 
allegiance to their personal commanders, their status, privileges and skills, 
their proximity to the delicate fulcrums of power, hold in their hands the power 
to enthrone and dethrone ubars.
It was done only this year, said a man.
They are fine soldiers, said another.
I know, I said. I had met them in combat, as long ago as the sands of the 
Stadium of Blades. There is a common (pg. 245) myth, given their post in the 
city, that Taurentians are spoiled, and soft. This myth is false. They are elite 
troops, highly trained and devoted to their commanders. One does not gain 
admittance to their coveted ranks in virtue of mediocre skills or poor 
condition. The current year was 10,130 C.A. In the chronology of Port Kar, it 
was Year 11 in the Sovereignty of the Council of Captains. Their captain, when I 
had known them long ago, had been Saphronicus of Ar. Seremides of Tyros, in 
those days, had been a high general of Ar. He, appointed through the influence 
of Cernus, who was soon to ascend the throne of Ar, had replaced the venerated 
hero, Maximus Hegesius Quintilius of Ar, who had earlier expressed reservations 
concerning the investiture of Cernus, a merchant and slaver, in the caste of 
warriors. Maximus Hegesius Quintilius was later found assassinated in his own 
pleasure gardens, slain there by the bite of a chemically prepared poison girl, 
one killed by Taurentians before she could be questioned. Such an appointment, 
of course, that of one of Tyros to such a post, later would have been 
unthinkable, given the developing frictions between Ar and Cos, and her mighty 
ally, Tyros, frictions largely consequent upon competitions in the valley of the 
Vosk. After the defeat and deposition of Cernus, so briefly a ubar, I had seen 
both Saphronicus and Seremides in chains before Marlenus, then again upon the 
throne. They had both, with other high traitorous officers, been ordered to Port 
Kar, in chains, to be sold to the galleys.
One of the figures in the purple cloak and helmet stood out from the others near 
the side of the road and lifted his hand.
The driver pulled back on the reins of his tharlarion and the beast slowed, 
grunting. The high-wheeled cart halted.
Passengers alight and take your places in the line to the right, said the 
driver. I am going in the wagon line. Rejoin me on the far side of the barrier, 
in the wagon line. He had been here before.
How will be able to pass? whispered Boabissia, whom I helped down, through the 
cart gate. You no longer have the letters.
I am not sure, I said. But surely most of the folks here do not have 
letters. I kept my eye on the fellow who had (pg. 246) called himself Philebus, 
claiming to be a vintner of Torcadino. I had no intention of letting him out of 
my sight. If letters were required, and he presented those stolen from me, I 
would find that of interest. I would also, when the opportunity presented 
itself, an opportunity which I would see to it would present itself, break his 
arms and legs.
Waiting, waiting, complained Hurtha. I think that I shall compose a poem on 
the insolencies of bureaucracy.
A good idea, I said.
Done! he said.
Done? I asked.
It is a short poem, he said. Would you care to hear it?
It must be quite short, I said.
Yes, said Hurtha.
I would be pleased to hear it, I said, keeping my eyes on the so-called 
Philebus.
Lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, began Hurtha.
Wait, I said. There is only one word in the poem? I began to suspect I had 
penetrated the secret of the poems swift completion.
No, said Hurtha, already there are more than a half dozen. Count them.  
Lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines. 
Yes, I said, you are right.
The lines moved forward a few feet. I kept my eyes on the so-called Philebus.
Lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, said Hurtha.
You are starting again? I asked.
No, he said, I am picking up from where I left off. Do you really want to 
hear this poem?
Yes, of course, I said. I began to suspect that certain basic civilities, 
hitherto regarded as largely innocent, retained from my English upbringing, 
might not be wholly without occasional disadvantages.
Then do not interrupt, said Hurtha.
Sorry, I said.
Those lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines are (pg. 247) very long, 
those long lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines.
Yes, they are, I granted him.
What? asked Hurtha.
Those lines, I said, they are pretty long.
Yes, agreed Hurtha, somewhat suspiciously. Please do not interrupt.
Sorry, I chuckled. After all, how often does a common fellow like myself get a 
chance to put one over on a poet.
You are quite a wit, observed Boabissia.
Thank you, I said. But, from the tone of her voice, I suspected her compliment 
was not to be taken at face value. I think she was prejudiced somewhat by her 
affection for the stocky larl, Hurtha. I did not think it was to be explained by 
her love of poetry. I did glance back to Feiqa. She was smiling. She was 
obviously of high intelligence. Then, observing herself the object of my 
scrutiny, she put down her head, quickly, even more humbly than was perhaps 
required under the circumstances. After all, her neck was in a collar.
Be pleased that Hurtha does not strike you to the ground with a heavy blow, 
said Boabissia.
I am pleased, I said. I am pleased.
If I may continue, said Hurtha.
Please, I said.
 Those long lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines they make me 
tired, those long lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines, lines,  said 
Hurtha.
I could believe it. But I refrained from comment.
 I do not like them, those long lines, those long lines, lines, lines, lines, 
lines, lines, lines,  said Hurtha.
Is that it? I asked.
That is the first verse, said Hurtha. Also, I am catching my breath.
I thought you said it was a short poem, I said.
You neednt listen if you do not wish to, said Hurtha. I can recite it to 
Boabissia.
No, no, I said. I just thought you said it was a short poem.
It was, when I said that, he said. But I have since (pg. 248) expanded it. 
Does the subject matter not seem worthy to you of a more substantial treatment?
Of course, I said.
Our own lines moved forward a few steps.
You do not like it? asked Hurtha.
It is wonderful, I said. It is only that I am not sure that it is as 
wonderful as many of your other poems.
What is wrong with it? he asked.
It seems to me perhaps a bit long, I said. Also, it may be a bit 
repetitious.
 Repetitious? he asked, in disbelief.
Yes, I said. For example, with respect to the word lines. I kept my eye on 
the fellow before me, the so-called Philebus, he who claimed to be a vintner 
from Torcadino.
Hurtha burst out laughing and, tears in his eyes, seized me by the arms. I kept 
an eye on the so-called Philebus, lest he take this opportunity to take to his 
heels.
My poor, dear sweet friend, said Hurtha. How simple you are, dear friend! How 
little you know of poetry! The length is deliberate, of course, constituting an 
implicit allegory of interminability, manifesting and conveying in no uncertain 
manner, but in one which perhaps you have not as yet full grasped, the withering 
tedium of the bureaucratic assault on the spirit and senses of man!
Oh, I said.
Too, similarly pungent and subtle is the recurrent emphasis on the expression 
lines, which, on a level and in a dimension to which I have hopes you may yet 
attain, forcefully enunciates and clarifies not only the concept but more 
significantly the emotional significance of lines, those inevitable attributes, 
attaining in themselves an almost symbolic grandeur, of the perfidious 
bureaucratic infection.
I see, I said.
May I now continue? he asked.
Please, do, I said. I was so overawed by Hurthas exposition that the 
so-called Philebus might then have slipped away unnoticed, but when I checked he 
had not done so. He did not wish to lose his place in line, it seemed. I decided 
that I, as a simple soldier, and unpretentious fellow devoted to the (pg. 249) 
profession of arms, had best reserve judgement on such things as poets and 
poetry. It was dangerous, weighty stuff. I felt a sudden twinge of jealousy for 
Hurtha. He was both a warrior and a poet.
Hurtha then regaled us with his poem, which, truly, seemed to capture something 
of the inscrutability and ponderousness of the institution which had inspired 
it. I listened in awe, keeping my attention from time to time, and actually 
rather often, as my attention wandered, on the so-called Philebus. Boabissia, as 
I occasionally noted, with an admixture of skepticism and envy, seemed 
enraptured. Feiqas countenance was cheerfully inscrutable. She would not meet 
my eyes. The so-called Philebus seemed as though he might desire to withdraw 
from our vicinity now and then, even giving up his place inline, particularly 
when Hurtha would come to an often-repeated, stirring refrain, but my hand on 
his collar kept him in his place. I will not attempt to give Hurthas poem in 
its entirety, but I think I may have suggested something of its drift already. I 
might also mention that it is possible that it might lose something in the 
reading of it. Poetry, after all, or most poetry, is presumably meant to be 
heard, not read. It is intended for the ear, not the eye. And certainly the mere 
reading of it could scarcely convey the impact of hearing it proclaimed in the 
living voice, and particularly in a voice such as Hurthas.
The line had been moving along rapidly enough, incongruous though this might 
have seemed, given the thesis of Hurthas poem. We were now rather near the 
checkpoint.
You are a Taurentian, are you not? I asked a fellow in a purple helmet.
He did not answer me.
You are a bit far from Ar, for Taurentians, are you not? I inquired. We must 
be at least a day from Ar. It did not seem to make much sense to me that 
Taurentians, supposedly the palace guard, though they also patrol certain 
portions of the city, should be this far abroad, particularly in these troubled 
times.
He turned away from me, not answering me.
A surly fellow, remarked Hurtha, somewhat offended.
(pg. 250) We were now a few yards from the checkpoint. Only a few feet away, set 
off from the road a little, on our right, was the impaling pole we had seen from 
the cart. It was some six inches in diameter. On it was a small body. It had 
apparently been twisted and jerked until the point of the pole had emerged 
through the chest. It had then been drawn down the pole better than a yard. I 
could see some ribs erupted through the tunic. Its limbs were askew, hanging 
downward. The pole itself was red with blood. Nailed to it were some papers, 
fluttering in the wind.
Wait, I said.
What is it? asked Boabissia.
We know that fellow do we not? I said, looking up to the impaled body.
Boabissia averted her eyes, sick. Feiqa did not raise her head.
He seems familiar, admitted Hurtha.
He should, I said. He came with us from Torcadino. He was our fellow 
passenger for several days.
I looked up at the dangling head. The mouth was open. The roof of the mouth 
would be exposed. I could see the upper teeth. From the upper lip, on either 
side, the two ends of the mustache dangled back, as the head hung, on the sides 
of the neck, like two pieces of oiled string.
So they have finally caught up with him, said the fellow before us.
Yes, agreed a man a place or two behind us.
Do you know him? I asked the fellow before us.
Of course, said the man. He is well known to everyone in Torcadino.
Hold my place, I said to Hurtha.
I do not think any will strive to take it, said Hurtha, adjusting his ax on 
his shoulder, cheerfully looking about himself.
I walked to the side where the pole had been set up. I examined the papers 
nailed to the pole. They were partly ripped by the wind, and were stained with 
blood, where the blood had run down the pole.
What are you doing there? said a Taurentian.
(pg. 251) What was his crime? I asked.
Carrying false papers, he said.
I see, I said.
Return to your place, said the Taurentian.
I returned to my place.
Do you know that fellow? I asked the fellow before me, he whom I had treated 
so harshly.
Of course, he said.
It was he who identified you as Ephialtes of Torcadino, to me, I said.
I am Philebus of Torcadino, said the man.
Do you know who he is? I asked.
Of course, he said. That is your man. That is Ephialtes of Torcadino.
I am sorry for the way in which I treated you, I said.
My bruises rejoice, said the fellow.
I am really sorry, I said. I hope I did not hurt your feelings.
My feelings are fine, he said. It is only my body which was damaged. It is 
only that which, as a whole, is in acute misery.
I am really very sorry, I said.
It could have been far worse, he said. Think how sorry you would have had to 
have been, had you broken my neck before you discovered your error.
That is right, said Hurtha. There is much to be thankful for.
What were the papers? asked Boabissia.
I shall tell you later, I said.
Next, said a Taurentian. You, there, what is your business in Ar?
I am a vintner, said the fellow before me. I was put out of Torcadino. I have 
relatives in Ar. It is my intention to seek caste asylum in Ar.
Have you papers? asked the Taurentian.
I have documents certifying my caste standing, he said. He then produced some 
papers from his pack.
The Taurentian then wrote a notation on the papers and motioned him ahead.
(pg. 252) I am called Tarl, I said, stepping forward. I am from Port Kar, a 
city neutral to Ar. My friend is Hurtha, an Alar. The free woman is Boabissia, a 
woman from the Alar camp. The shapely collar slut bearing my pack is mine. I 
call her Feiqa. We are venturing to Ar on various errands, such as the seeking 
of our fortunes. The use of we in the sentence, of course, was understood, as 
is common in Gorean, to refer only to free persons. The collar slut, Feiqa, my 
lovely slave, was along only as any other animal in such a situation might be 
along, because her master had brought her.
Have you papers? asked the man.
No, I said.
You have no papers whatsoever? asked the man.
No, I said. We have none whatsoever.
He looked at me for a moment, and then he waved us through. Boabissia was 
shuddering. In a few Ehn we had climbed up through the cart gate and, beyond the 
checkpoint, were again moving toward Ar.
As we left the checkpoint it was not toward Ar that I looked but back toward the 
checkpoint. There I could still see people waiting in line, and other carts 
coming up to the point. I could also see the twisted, bent body of Ephialtes of 
Torcadino on the impaling pole, and the flutter of papers nailed to it. I had 
been a fool. It had been Ephialtes of Torcadino himself who had cleverly 
directed my attention away from himself, focusing it on an innocent vintner. In 
a way I had to admire him. It seemed clear to me now that, in asking if I was 
carrying valuables, he had tricked me into inadvertently betraying their hiding 
place, by the incipient movement of my hand toward the sheath. Too, he had 
certainly removed the letters of safety from my sheath with great skill, even 
replacing he blade. Had I not checked the draw this morning, as is my wont, I 
might not have known the papers were missing until I arrived at the checkpoint. 
I had determined, incidentally, that the deeper papers, the letters, some 
addressed to Ars regent, Gnieus Lelius, and the others to her high general, 
Seremides, were still in the sheath. I now had strong, mixed feelings about 
them. I was now convinced (pg. 253) more than ever of their importance, but also 
of the danger of carrying them.
The Taurentians were far from Ar. I suspected that it was their mission, on 
behalf of some high-placed power in Ar, to sift through refugees and travelers, 
seeking out those who might be inimical to their interests, or party, in Ar. I 
now understood more clearly than before why earlier messengers or agents might 
have failed to make contact with the regent and high general. I was, I recalled, 
seemingly not the first to have been dispatched upon this delicate mission. 
Doubtless Ephialtes, in possession of the letters of safety, had been mistaken 
for an agent of Dietrich of Tarnburg. I shuddered. I was pleased that it had 
been Ephialtes, and not I, who had presented the letters at the checkpoint. 
Probably, at the demand of the officer, I would have surrendered them. And 
doubtless, if not here, then somewhere else I might have surrendered them, in 
some context, or upon some demand, somewhere or another.
I smiled bitterly. Letters of safety, indeed! They had not been letters of 
safety so much, it seemed, as death warrants, or orders for execution, laden 
with mortal peril for any so bold or foolish as to carry them. I saw the small 
figure of Ephialtes disappearing now in the distance. He had sought to steal 
protection but had purloined only death. He had been caught like some tiny 
insect in a dark and terrible web, once whose existence he had not even 
suspected.
What were the papers nailed to the pole? asked Boabissia.
Our letters of safety, I told her. Then I turned about to look ahead, down the 
road. We will be in Ar tomorrow morning, I told her. Perhaps from the nights 
camp you will be able to see her lights.
Is Ar a great city? she asked.
Yes, I said. (pg. 254)
20    We See the City of Ar
When we come over the crest of this hill, called the driver, you will see 
Ar.
Boabissia rose from her seat to stand by the front railing of the fee cart. She 
clutched it with both her hands.
Move, move aside, called the driver to some of the pedestrians on the road.
The sun was on our left. The hill was steep. There were few wagons drawn up 
along the road here. If they were halted, it seemed they had chosen to halt on 
the far side of the hill, where, at rest, they might see the city.
A woman, with a pack on her back, stumbled, and then regained her feet, hurrying 
along the side of the road.
Ah! cried Boabissia. Ohh!
More than one of the passengers rose to their feet, standing near the benches.
The driver halted the fee cart at the crest of the hill.
I had seen Ar at various times before. Such a sight I was accustomed to. It 
would not move me, as it might others, the first time to look upon it.
Incredible! said a man.
Marvelous! whispered another.
I smiled at their childish enthusiasm, at their lack of maturity. Then I rose, 
too, to my feet. I saw then, in the distance, some four or five pasangs away, 
the gleaming walls of glorious Ar.
I had not realized how vast was the city, said one of the men.
It is large, said another fellow.
There is the Central Cylinder! said a man, pointing.
The high, uprearing walls of the city, some hundred feet or (pg. 255) more in 
height, the sun bright upon them, stretched into the distance. They were now 
white. That had been done, apparently, since the time of Cernus, the usurper, 
and the restoration of Marlenus, ubar of ubars. It was hard to look at them, for 
the glare upon them. We could see the great gate, too, and the main road leading 
to it, the Viktel Aria. Indeed, we ourselves, soon, I thought, would transfer to 
the Viktel Aria. Within the gamut of those gleaming walls, so lofty and mighty, 
rose thousands of buildings, and a veritable forest of ascendant towers, of 
diverse heights and colors. Many of these towers, I knew, were joined by 
traceries of soaring bridges, set at different levels. These bridges, however, 
save for tiny glintings here and there, could not be well made out at this 
distance.
I do not think I have ever seen anything so beautiful, said a man.
We were looking upon what was doubtless the greatest city of known Gor.
I did not know it was like that, said another man.
I remembered the great gate. I remembered, long ago, the horde of Pa-Kur. I did 
not forget the house of Cernus, the Stadium of Tarns, the great tarn, Ubar of 
the Skies, the racing factions, the Stadium of Blades, the bloodied sands of the 
arena. I had not forgotten the streets, the baths, the shops, the broad, noble 
avenues, with their fountains, the narrow, twisting streets, little more than 
darkened corridors, shielded from the sun, of the lower districts.
I have never seen anything like it, said a man.
Nor I, said another, in awe.
I gazed upon the city. In such places came together the complexities and the 
poverties, the elementalities and the richnesses of the worlds. In such places 
were to be found the rare, precious habitats of culture, the astonishing, moving 
delights of art and music, the truths of theater and literature, the glories and 
allegories of architecture, bespeaking the meanings of peoples, man-made symbols 
like mountain ranges; in them, too, were to be found iron and silver, and gold 
and steel, the chairs of finance and the thrones of power. I gazed at the 
shining city. How startling it seemed. Such places were (pg. 256) like magnets 
to man; they call to him like gilded sirens; they lure him inward to their 
dazzling wonders, bewitching him with their often so meretricious whispered 
promises; they were symbols of races. In them were fortunes to be sought, and 
fortunes to be won, and fortunes to be lost; in them there were crowds, and 
loneliness, in them success trod the same pavements as failure; in their plazas 
hope jostled with despair, and meaning ate at the same table with 
meaninglessness. In such places were perhaps the best and worst that man could 
do, his past and future, his pain and pleasure, his darkness and light, come 
together in a single focus.
Drink, cool drinks! called a woman, selling juices by the side of the road, 
coming up to the cart. There was a mall crowd at the crest of the hill. It was a 
place where carts, and wagons, and travelers often stopped. In such a place 
there were coins to be made. She paid no attention to the sight below. Doubtless 
she had seen it a thousand times. Her eyes were on possible customers.
Would you like a drink? I asked Boabissia.
Yes, she said.
I purchased her some larma juice for a tarsk bit.
Is it cool? I asked.
Yes, she said. The morning was hot.
It would have been stored overnight, I assumed, in an amphora, buried to the 
neck in the cool earth. Sometimes Earth girls, first brought to Gor, do not 
understand why so many of these two-handled, narrow-necked vessels have such a 
narrow, usually pointed base, for they cannot stand upright on such a base. They 
have not yet learned that these vessels are not intended to stand upright. 
Rather they are commonly fitted into a storage hole, buried there to keep their 
contents cool, the necks above the earth. The pointed base, of course, presses 
into the soft earth at the bottom of the storage hole.
Bread, meat! called a fellow, coming up beside the cart. Several of us availed 
ourselves of his provender. I bought some wedges of Sa-Tarna bread and slices of 
dried tarsk meat, taking some and giving the rest to Boabissia and Hurtha. I 
also went to the back of the cart, to the baggage area where I kept Feiqa. I 
gave her some of my bread and meat. I did not (pg. 257) permit her to touch it 
with her hands, but, reaching between the thick wooden bars, some six inches 
apart, to where she knelt among the packs and boxes at the back, fed her by 
hand. Thank you, Master, she said.
I then returned to the front of the cart. Some of the passengers had alighted.
I regarded again the walls of glorious Ar, shining in the distance.
I cannot wait, said Boabissia, to claim my patrimony.
I nodded. I finished my food.
Let us return to the cart! the driver called to some of the fellows who had 
alighted. Let us return to the cart!
I looked again upon the city in the distance. From here it looked very 
beautiful. Yet I knew that somewhere within it, perhaps within its crowded 
quarters, from which mobs might erupt like floods, or within its sheltered 
patios and gardens, where high ladies might exchange gossip, sip nectars and toy 
with dainty repasts, served to them by male silk slaves, or among its houses and 
towers, or on its streets or in the great baths, that somewhere there, somewhere 
behind those walls, was treason. Somewhere there, within those walls, coiled in 
the darkness of secrecy, corruption and sedition, like serpents, I was sure, 
awaited their hour to strike.
It is a fine sight, said a fellow, climbing up through the cart gate, and 
standing beside me for a moment, to look down on the city.
Yes, I said.
He returned to his place.
From where we were, of course, we could not see dirt and crime, or poverty or 
hunger. We could not detect pain, misery and greed. We could not feel loneliness 
and woe. And yet, for all these things, which so afflict so many of its own, how 
impressive is the city. How precious it must be, that so many men are willing to 
pay its price. I wondered why this was, I a voyager and soldier, more fond of 
the tumultuous sea and the wind-swept field than the street and plaza. Perhaps 
because it is alive, like drums and trumpets. To be near it or within it, to be 
stirred by its life, to call its cylinders their own, is for many reward enough.
(pg. 258) The last fellow, climbing up and closing the gate behind him, took his 
seat.
I did not take my eyes from the city, so splendid before us. Yes, I thought, it 
is all there, the habitats of culture, the intricate poetries of stone, the 
incredible places where, their heads among clouds, common bricks have been 
taught to speak and sing, the meanings uttered scarcely understood by those who 
walk among them; yes it is all there, in them, in the cities, I thought; in them 
were dirt and crime, iron and silver, gold and steel; in them were perfume and 
silk, and whips and chains; in them were love and lust in them were mastery and 
submission, the owning and the helplessly being owned in them were intrigue and 
greed, nobility and honor, deceit and treachery, the exalted and the base, the 
strong and the weak. In such places, filthy, and crowded and frail, are found 
the fortresses of man. They are castles and prisons, arenas and troves, they are 
cities; they are the citadels of civilization.
The driver called to his tharlarion and shook the reins.
Ahead! he called to the beast. Move!
I returned to my seat, the cart beginning to move.
You have seen Ar before? said a man.
Yes, I said.
It is then an old thing for you, he said.
Yes, I said.
You will have to forgive me, he said. But I found it quite astonishing, this 
first time.
It often affects one that way, the first time, I said.
I suppose so, he said.
The cart continued to move down the incline. I noted the sound of the narrow, 
metal-rimmed wheels on the stones. I watched the walls of Ar grow closer. (pg. 
259)
21    Within the Walls of Ar
Are you come from Torcadino? asked the man.
Yes, I said.
Thousands of you are in the city, he said, from Torcadino and other places.
I nodded. I had never, myself, seen Ar so crowded.
We need no more of you refugees here, snapped a woman, a seller of suls at the 
Teiban Market.
We seek lodging in the city, I said to the man.
Lodging is dear, he said. It is difficult to know what to tell you. He 
glanced at Feiqa, who put down her head. She was kneeling behind me, to my left, 
my pack still on her back. She had knelt when we had stopped, and begun to speak 
to the free person. This was appropriate, of course, for she was a slave. Her 
location was approximately what it had been when she had been following me, in 
the heeling position. She, he said, you could sleep in the street, chaining 
her by the neck to a ring, perhaps putting her in an iron belt, but that sort of 
thing will not do for free folks.
No, I said.
You could try the southern insulae, he said, such as those below the Plaza of 
Tarns.
The Anbar district? I asked, skeptically.
Or those of the Metellan Quarter, he said.
What about east of the Avenue of the Central Cylinder? I asked.
There is the District of Trevelyan, he said.
That sounds nice, said Boabissia.
We would hope to survive the night, I said.
You know the city? he asked.
(pg. 260) I have been here before, I said.
You are two big fellows, he said. I doubt that anyone would bother you.
If they do bother us, said Hurtha, It is my hope that they are carrying 
coins.
We do not have much to steal, I told the man.
You have a free female there, he said. Such can bring their prices in certain 
places.
I am not afraid, said Boabissia.
Brave and noble girl, he said.
I can take care of myself, said Boabissia.
To be sure, he said, her price could be lowered for stupidity.
I am not stupid, said Boabissia.
Forgive me, he said. From your remark I thought that perhaps you were.
Boabissia regarded him in fury.
The fellow regarded her. It was one of those looks which, in effect, undress a 
woman, exposing all her lineaments, careless of her will, to his view.
Do not look at me in that way, she said. I am free.
He continued to consider her, perhaps now as she might look trembling, suing for 
his favor, in chains at his feet.
You are not veiled, he said.
I am an Alar woman, she said.
No, said Hurtha. She is not an Alar.
I have been with the wagons, she said.
That is true, said Hurtha.
Boabissia, as I have mentioned, did not much resemble the typical Alar woman. 
She seemed of a much different type, that of the delicious, soft women of the 
cities, the sort which are generally put on slave blocks. Indeed, I suspected 
that her origin might be urban.
What district do you think we might try? I asked the fellow.
Regardless of this free woman, he said, you have something of value there, 
He indicated Feiqa. She put down her head, appraised.
What district do you think we might try? I asked.
(pg. 261) I have suggested several, he said.
Ar is a large city, I said.
Are you looking for decent lodging? he asked.
Yes, I said.
Are you willing to pay a silver tarsk a night? he asked.
No, I said. We could not afford that.
Then I do not think you will find any, he said.
I thank you, Citizen, I said, for your time.
Is it true, he asked, that there are considerable Cosian forces in the 
vicinity of Torcadino?
Yes, I said.
They have taken the city? he asked.
I do not think so, I said.
But the refugees, he said, so many of them.
They have been turned out of the city to make its defense more practical, I 
said.
The main forces of Cos, he said, are said to be advancing on Ars Station.
I doubt that, I said.
That would make sense, he said. The Cosians want the river, and the control 
of its basin. That is what the trouble is all about. That is why their major 
move will be there. Too, it is probably no more than a raid.
Ar is in danger, I said.
They would never dare to meet us in pitched battle, he said.
Ar is in great danger, I said.
Ar is invincible, he said.
The main forces of Cos are as close as Torcadino, I said.
Rumors are rampant, he said. One does not know what to think.
I trust the regent, your high councils, your military leaders, the general 
staff, and such, are well informed.
Doubtless, he said.
Where is Marlenus? I asked.
In the Voltai, said the fellow. On a punitive expedition against Treve. 
That, too, had been my information.
He has been absent for months, has he not? I asked.
(pg. 262) Yes, he said.
Does this not seem strange to you? I asked.
He does as he chooses, said the man. He is Ubar.
Is the city content that he should be absent in what may be perilous times? I 
asked.
If there were any true danger, said the man, he would swiftly return. He has 
not returned. Thus there is no true danger.
You do not think there is any real danger? I asked.
No, said the man. Any one of our lads could bet a dozen Cosians.
It seems to me Marlenus should return, I said.
The man shrugged.
Perhaps they have lost contact with him, in the reaches of the Voltai.
Perhaps, said the man. But the city does not need him.
The Ubar is no popular? I asked.
He has held power in Ar for a long time, said the man. Perhaps it is time for 
a change.
Do many think so? I asked.
Such voices are heard here and there, he said, in the taverns, the markets, 
the baths. Gnieus Lelius is an excellent regent. Marlenus is too bellicose. The 
city is sound. We are not threatened. He squabble with Cos is peripheral to our 
interests.
Is Gnieus Lelius interested in being Ubar? I asked.
No, said the fellow. He is far too modest, too humble and unpretentious for 
that sort of thing. The folds of the purple cloak, the weight of the Ubars 
medallion, are of no interest to him. He cares only for excellent governance, 
and the peace and prosperity of the city.
But you are sure he is interested in the welfare of Ar? I asked.
Of course, said the fellow. That answer was reassuring to me. This Gnieus 
Lelius, if truly interested in the welfare of Ar, must act. If he had flaws as a 
regent presumably they might be due to his lack of information, or perhaps to a 
certain unwarranted optimism, or untutored innocence or (pg. 263) naivety. Such 
things are not uncommon among idealists, so tender and thoughtful, so loving and 
trusting, prisoners of verbalisms, dazzled by inventions and dreams, projecting 
their own benevolence unto the larl and the forests, skeptical of reality, 
construing the world in the metaphor of the flower. What consolation is it for 
others if they should eventually discover they live in a world of facts, if 
disillusioned they should eventually recognize their errors, living to see the 
harvests of their foolishness, living to see their civilization split asunder, 
to see their world fall bleeding under the knives of power and reality.
What of Seremides, the high general? I asked. Might he not ascend the 
throne?
Unthinkable, said the man. He is as loyal as the stones of the Central 
Cylinder itself.
I see, I said. My question had not been prompted, of course, merely by the 
obvious consideration that the Ubars cloak might seem an attractive prize to a 
strong, ambitious man, but by the sober understanding that Ar was in a situation 
of crisis, whether she knew it or not. In such times, of course, in the light of 
the failures and ineffectuality of an inept civilian administration, it is not 
unknown for military men, seeing what must be done, simply responding to the 
imperatives of survival, to take power and attempt to instill the will, the 
discipline and order without which catastrophe cannot be diverted.
But surely it is not anticipated that the governance of Ar will long remain 
under a regency. I said.
Marlenus is expected back soon, said the man.
Suppose, however, I suggested, he does not soon return?
Then there is another possibility, he said, an interesting one.
What is that? I asked.
A Ubara, he said.
A Ubara? I asked.
She who was, until forsworn, the daughter of Marlenus, he said.
Oh? I asked.
(pg. 264) Talena, he said. Have you heard of her?
Yes, I said.
Marlenus was dissatisfied with her, said the fellow. It had to do with some 
business in the Northern forests. He swore her from him, making her no longer 
his daughter. For years she has lived in obscurity, sequestered in the Central 
Cylinder. Now, with the absence of Marlenus, and the generosity of Gnieus 
Lelius, she is carried once again, in the streets of Ar.
I gather that would not be in accord with the will of Marlenus, I said.
Marlenus is not here, he said.
Why would one think of her in the terms of a Ubara? I asked. Sworn from 
Marlenus, she is no longer his daughter.
I am not a scribe of the law, he said. I do not know.
I do not think she has a Home Stone, I said.
Gnieus Lelius permitted her to kiss the Home Stone, he said. It was done in a 
public ceremony. She is once again a citizeness of Ar.
Gnieus Lelius seems a generous, noble fellow, I said.
He is a patron of the arts, said the fellow. He has founded parks and 
museums. He has won the support of the elite in this fashion. I myself favor him 
for he has remitted certain classes of debts. This has considerably eased my 
financial burdens. The lower castes are fond of him for he frequently, at his 
own expense, distributes free bread and paga, and sponsors games and races. He 
has also declared new holidays. He has made life better and easier in Ar. He is 
much supported by the people.
You are certain that he is concerned for the welfare of Ar? I asked.
Of course, he said.
Is he difficult to see? I asked.
One does not simply walk up to the Central Cylinder and knock on the door, he 
said.
I suppose not, I said.
But Gnieus Lelius makes a point of being available to the people, he said. 
That is one reason he is so much loved.
Commoners, then, can look upon the regent? I asked, (pg. 265) other than from 
afar, as in state processions or at official games?
Of course, said the man.
I was pleased to hear that. I had urgent letters for Gnieus Lelius and 
Seremides. I must somehow manage to deliver them. I had feared it might be 
difficult. I did not wish to deliver these missives into the hands of a 
subordinate. Who could one trust? Too, I surely had no wish to attempt to cut my 
way through the corridors of the Central Cylinder to effect a private audience 
with these fellows.
Can they actually speak with him? I asked.
Surely, he said.
When, next, do you think he might be holding public audiences? I asked.
Two days from now, said the fellow.
Is it a court day? I asked.
Better than that, he said. It is one of the new holidays, the day of 
Generosity and Petitions.
Excellent, I said.
The audiences are held near the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central 
Cylinder, he said.
Thank you, I said.
Did you wish to speak to him about something? asked the man.
I thought it would be nice, I said, at least to look upon him.
He is a charming fellow, said the man.
I am sure of it, I said.
Many minor petitions are granted, he said, and some of the major ones. To be 
sure, it depends wholly, at least in the major cases, upon the justice of the 
petition.
I understand, I said.
Those wishing to present petitions must take a place on the rope, he said.
What is that? I asked.
Obviously the regent cannot give an audience to everyone, he said. Those who 
are granted audiences wear the Gnieus Lelius Generosity Ribbon which encircles 
them and is tied about the rope, actually a velvet cable, leading to the dais.
(pg. 266) This helps to keep the line straight and, as the audiences are held 
out of doors, controls the number of petitioners.
I understand, I said. How does one obtain a position on the rope? I asked.
Sometimes it is a nasty business, said the man.
Good, said Hurtha, approvingly.
I suppose it is a good idea to come early? I said.
Some people are there from the fourteenth Ahn the day before, he said.
I see, I said. Thank you, Citizen.
You might try the Ally of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. That is behind the 
Avenue of Turia.
What? I said.
For lodging, he said.
Oh, I said.
Do you know where it is? he asked.
I know where the Avenue of Turia is, I said. It is named for the city in the 
southern hemisphere, incidentally, doubtless as a gesture of amicability on the 
part of Ar. Stately Tur trees, appropriately enough, line its walks. It is a 
broad avenue with fountains. It is well known for its exclusive shops. It is in 
the vicinity of the Street of Brands.
That is the one, he said. The Street of Brands, incidentally, can be a 
particular street, but, generally, as in Ar, it is a district, one which has 
received its name from its dealings in slaves, and articles having to do with 
slaves. In it, commonly, are located the major slave houses of a city. To it, 
slavers may take their catches. In it, on a wholesale or retail basis, one may 
purchase slaves. Similarly one may bid upon them in a public auction. The major 
markets are there. For example, the Curulean is there. One may also rent and 
board slaves there. It is there, too, in the confines of the houses, that girls 
are often trained superbly and thoroughly in the intimate arts of giving 
exquisite pleasures to masters. Too, of course, in such a district, one may 
purchase such articles as appropriate cosmetics for slaves, suitable simple but 
attractive jewelry, fit for slaves, in particular, earrings which, in Gorean 
eyes, so fasten a womans degradation helplessly upon her, appropriate perfumes, 
slave silk, and (pg. 267) such. Too, it is in such a district that one will find 
a wide variety of other articles helpful in the identification, keeping, 
training and disciplining of females, such things as collars, of the fixed and 
lock variety, leashes, of metal and leather, neck, wrist and ankle, ranging from 
simple guide thongs to stern control devices, wrist belts and ankle belts, yokes 
and leg-stretchers, waist-and-wrist stocks, iron belts, to prevent her 
penetration without the masters permission, linked bracelets, with long chains 
and short chains, body chains, pleasure shackles, multicolored, silken binding 
cords, some cored with chain, and, of various types, for various purposes, 
whips.
My thanks, I said. We will try it.
I wish you well, he said.
I, too, wish you well, I said.
He then went about his business. The woman near us, sitting on a blanket on the 
stones, her basket of suls before her, looked up. Do you want suls? she asked.
No, I said.
Be gone, then, she said.
Come along, I said to my party. I led them east on Venaticus, to the Avenue of 
the Central Cylinder. It was then my intention to go south on that avenue until 
I came to Wagon Street, taking it east to Turia. There is more than one wagon 
Street in Ar, incidentally, but the one I had in mind, that which led to the 
Street of Brands, was the one usually called Wagon Street. The wagon streets 
are generally east-west streets. They are called that, I suppose, because they 
are open to wagon traffic during the day, and wide enough for two wagons to pass 
on them. On many streets in Ar wagon traffic is discouraged during daylight 
hours because of their narrowness. There is little difficulty, of course, with 
the avenues and boulevards. They are generally wider. Many girls, incidentally, 
have been on Wagon Street, being brought down it on their first trip to Ar, 
though perhaps they did not see much of it, their ankles chained to the central 
bar in the blue-and-yellow slave wagons, those delivering them, according, say 
to the disk numbers on their collars, or the addresses marked on their left 
breasts, to the various houses on the Street of Brands.
(pg. 268) Ah! said Boabissia.
The Avenue of the Central Cylinder, I said. It is indeed beautiful. We will 
go right here.
I am thirsty, said Hurtha, going toward a fountain. We followed him. There are 
many among this avenue.
Hurtha leaned his ax against the fountain and thrust his head half in the water 
and then pulled it out sputtering. He then splashed water on his face. Then, 
cupping his hands, he drank. I drank, too. And Boabissia, too, drank, lifting 
water delicately to her lips. I saw that in our company she had learned 
something of her femininity. It seemed that she was beginning, timidly and 
hopefully, to suspect and experience the true nature of her sexuality, that she 
might now be daring to think of fulfilling her softness and nature, daring to 
think of what it might to be, fully and truly, what she actually was, a female. 
She, at any rate, was no longer attempting, grotesquely, and laughably, to 
emulate the behavior of an Alar warrior.
May I drink, Master? asked Feiqa.
Certainly, I said. Then, suddenly, angry, scandalized, I seized her by the 
hair. She cried out in pain, twisting.
Are you not a beast? I asked.
Yes, Master! she wept.
And only that? I inquired.
Yes, Master! she cried.
I then flung her to her knees at my feet, and with my foot spurned her to the 
stones. She lay there, startled on her side, my pack awry on her back, near the 
fountain. Master? she asked, tears in her eyes.
You are a best, I said. You drink from the lower bowl, like other animals, 
like sleen and tharlarion.
Yes, Master, she said.
What a stupid slave, said Boabissia.
Forgive me, Master, wept Feiqa.
I regarded her. She was quite attractive, and she had good legs. There was 
little doubt of that the way she lay on the stones. She was terrified, the 
former Lady Charlotte, once a rich, high citizeness of Samnium, now the mere 
beast, mine (pg. 269) and collared, Feiqa. She looked up at me in terror. She 
had grievously erred.
That was good, said Hurtha, wiping his mouth.
Master? asked Feiqa.
Tonight, I told her. You will be whipped,
Yes, Master, she said.
A chair, with soldiers, is coming, said Boabissia.
We saw some folks gathering about to watch, but leaving a path for the movement 
of the chair and soldiers. It was an enclosed sedan chair, its silken curtains 
drawn. It was borne on long poles slung in tandem fashion between two 
tharlarion. The chair and soldiers were making their way north on the Avenue of 
the Central Cylinder, toward the Central Cylinder. The soldiers were 
Taurentians.
It is a womans chair, is it not? asked Boabissia.
Yes, I said.
Those are palace guardsmen, aren't they? asked Hurtha.
Probably, I said. They are, at least, of the same sort as the palace 
guardsmen.
Taurentians, they are called, he said.
Yes, I said.
They look like capable fellows, he said.
I am sure they are, I said. The eyes of the soldiers were mostly on the crowd. 
There seemed little doubt such men formed an efficient guard. The chair, I 
noted, was not borne by male draft slaves, but was supported by tharlarion. 
There might be various reasons for this. One might be ostentation, a simple 
display of wealth, for good tharlarion are generally more expensive than male 
slaves, particularly draft slaves. But perhaps, even more, the cargo might be 
regarded as too precious to be risked in the vicinity of male slaves. After all, 
they are men. Too, perhaps it was felt appropriate, if the cargo was deemed of 
sufficient beauty, that it even be borne by male slaves. After all, might there 
not be some danger, as the fair occupant entered into, or descended gracefully 
from, the sedan chair, that there might be the careless movement of a veil, 
revealing a bit of throat, or the inadvertent lifting of a robe of concealment, 
giving them the glimpse of a briefly exposed ankle?
(pg. 270) Drink, I said to Feiqa.
Yes, Master, she said.
Whose chair is that? I asked a fellow near us, as the chair moved past.
Do you not know? he asked.
No, I said. We are but newly come to Ar.
From Torcadino? he asked.
Yes, I said.
That, he said, is the chair of she who may become the Ubara of Ar.
Talena, said another fellow.
What is wrong? asked Boabissia.
Nothing, I said. I watched the chair move down the street, toward the Central 
Cylinder.
I looked at Feiqa. She knelt on all fours before the lower bowl of the fountain, 
her head down, drinking.
How could this Talena become Ubara of Ar? I asked. I thought she was sworn 
from the line of Marlenus.
She can be given legal entitlement to the succession, said a fellow. I have 
heard it discussed.
Not as of the line of Marlenus, I said.
No, he said. But one need not be of the line of Marlenus, surely, to rule in 
Ar.
Minius Tentius Hinrabius and Cernus, both, ruled in Ar, said a man. Neither 
was of his line.
That is true, I said.
She is a free citizen, said a man. Accordingly, she could be given such 
entitlement.
Why not Gnieus Lelius or Seremides? I asked.
Neither is ambitious, happily, said a fellow.
But why her? I asked. Why not any one of thousands of others?
She was of royal family, said a man. She was once the daughter of Marlenus.
I see, I said. I looked down at Feiqa. Are you watered? I asked her.
Yes, Master, she said.
She looked lovely, on all fours, at the lower bowl of the (pg. 271) fountain, 
where, drinking, as a collared, briefly tunicked beast, she belonged. Rise, I 
said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I looked after the chair. But I could not now see it for the folks following it.
Which way are we going? asked Hurtha.
This way, I said. We could go south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, 
some four or five pasangs, and then make a left on Wagon Street, taking it over 
to the Avenue of Turia. Somewhere in that vicinity, probably in the lower end of 
the avenue, somewhere in the Street of Brands district, was the Alley of the 
Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. I would have to ask directions once we were on the 
Avenue of Turia. I did not doubt but what we could quickly find such an area. It 
sounded as though it would not be unknown.
What is the name of the place? asked Boabissia.
The Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, I said.
I do not like the sound of that, said Boabissia.
I do not think it sounds bad, I said.
No, said Hurtha.
I looked back at Feiqa. She put down her head. She had been careless. She had 
been thoughtless. Tonight she would be whipped. (pg 272)
22    The Insula of Achiates
The stench is terrible, said Boabissia.
Do not throw up, I told her. You will get used to it.
I have told them, time and time again, said the proprietor, testily, carrying 
the small lamp, that they should keep the lid on. It is heavy, of course, and 
so it is too often left awry. With a grating sound, he shoved the heavy 
terracotta lid back in place, on the huge vat. It was at the foot of the stairs, 
where the slop pots could be emptied into it. Such vats are changed once or 
twice weekly, the old vats loaded in wagons and taken outside the city, where 
their contents are disposed of at one of the carnarii, or places of refuse pits. 
They are then rinsed out and ready to be delivered again, in their turn, to 
customers. This is done by one of several companies organized for the purpose. 
The work is commonly done by male slaves, supervised by free men.
Follow me, said the proprietor, beginning to ascend the stairs.
I followed him. Behind me came Boabissia. Then came Hurtha. Feiqa came last. The 
staircase was narrow. It would be difficult for two people to pass on it. That 
would make it easy to defend, I thought. It was also steep. That was good. It 
did not have an open side but was set between two walls. That conserved space. 
It made possible extra rooms. Space is precious in a crowded insula. The 
stairwell boards were narrow. That was not so good, unless one were on the 
landing. That would be the place to make a stand. One could not get ones entire 
foot on them. They were old. Some were split. Several were loose. For a bit we 
could make our way in the light from the shallow vestibule below, where it 
filtered in (pg. 273) through the shutters of the entrance gate, but in a moment 
or two, we became substantially dependent on the proprietors tiny lamp. It cast 
odd shadows.
I cannot stand the smell, said Boabissia.
The room is a tarsk bit a night, said the proprietor. You may take it or 
leave it. You are lucky we have one left. These are busy days in Ar.
We could have had a better place were it not for something, said Boabissia, 
irritably.
That might have been true. I did not know. It was hard to say. Several of the 
insulae we had investigated did not allow animals, which meant, of course, that 
we could not keep Feiqa with us. Some of them did, however, have some provision 
for slaves, such as basement kennels or chaining posts in the yard. I preferred, 
however, to keep Feiqa with us. She was lovely. I did not wish to have her 
stolen.
The insula of Achiates, said the proprietor, is still the finest insula in 
all Ar.
It is dark, said Boabissia.
How far is it now? I asked.
Not far, said the proprietor.
As we climbed, the landings were frequent. The ceilings on the various levels of 
insulae are generally very low. In most of the rooms a man cannot stand upright. 
This makes additional floors possible.
I put out my hands and touched the walls on the sides of the staircase. They 
were very close. They were chipped. In places there were long diagonal cracks in 
them, marking stress points in the structure where the plaster has broken. The 
insula of Achiates might be the finest insula in Ar, but I thought that it stood 
somewhat in a condition of at least minor disrepair. A bit of renovation might 
not have been entirely out of order. The walls, too, were frequently discolored, 
run with various stains, water stains and other stains.
This place stinks, said Boabissia. It stinks.
It is those brats, said the proprietor. They are too lazy to go downstairs.
There are families here? asked Boabissia.
(pg. 274) Of course, said the proprietor. Most of my tenants are permanent 
residents.
We continued to climb. We had now come some seven or eight landings.
It is stuffy, said Boabissia. I can hardly breathe.
Insulae were not noted for their ventilation, no more than for the luxury of 
their appointments or their roominess. To be sure it conserves fuel.
It is hot, said Boabissia.
You complain a great deal, observed the proprietor.
It is so dark, said Boabissia. How can one fine ones way around in this 
place?
One becomes familiar with it, said the proprietor.
You should have lamps illuminating the stairs, said Boabissia. I suppose that 
tharlarion oil is just too expensive.
Yes, said the proprietor. But it is also against the law.
Why is that? I asked.
The danger of fire, he said.
Oh, said Boabissia, sobered.
Insulae, incidentally, are famed for their proneness to fire. Sometimes entire 
districts of such dwellings are wiped out by a single fire.
Can we have a lamp in the room? I asked.
Of course, said the fellow. As long as it is tended. But you may not wish to 
have one much lit. It fouls the air.
Do you have insurance on this building? I asked.
No, said the fellow.
I was pleased to hear that. He would then not be likely to have the building 
fired to collect on the policy. On the other hand, it was not unusual that such 
dwellings lacked insurance. This was not simply a matter of proprietary 
optimism, but also of the difficulty of obtaining it, at least at affordable 
rates. Most carriers would not accept the risks involved.
We came to another landing.
We heard a noise and the proprietor lifted his lamp. A slave girl was 
illuminated, on the landing. She was barefoot. She wore an extremely brief 
tunic, one which was divided to her navel. It was awry. Her hair was in 
disarray. In the light (pg. 275) of the lamp her collar glinted. She flung 
herself to her belly before us, fearfully yielding slave obeisance.
She belongs to Clitus, the Cloth Worker, on the floor above, said the 
proprietor.
The girl trembled on her belly before us.
I saw that if Achiates permitted slaves in his house they must exhibit suitable 
discipline. They must be well trained.
We continued up the stairs. The girl had had light brown hair, it seemed. When 
we had passed she continued on her way. We could hear her bare feet for a time 
on the stairs. She seemed to know them well. In time one can fine ones way 
around them in the dark. She was doubtless on an errand.
Oh! cried Boabissia, on the next landing. An urt!
That is not an urt, said the proprietor. They usually come out after dark. 
There is too much noise and movement fro them during the day. The small animal 
skittered backward, with a sound of claws on the boards. Its eyes gleamed in the 
reflected light of the lamp. Generally, too, they do not come this high, said 
the proprietor. That is a frevet. The frevet is a small, quick, mammalian 
insectivore. We have several in the house, he said. They control the insects, 
the beetles and lice, and such.
Boabissia was silent.
Not every insula furnishes frevets, said the proprietor. They are charming as 
well as useful creatures. You will probably grow fond of them. You will probably 
wish to keep your door open at night, for coolness, and to give access to them. 
They cannot gnaw through walls like urts, you know.
Is it far now, I asked.
No, said the proprietor. We are almost there. It is just under the roof.
It seems we have come a long way. I said.
Not really, he said. We are not really so high up. The flights are short.
We then climbed another flight, to the next landing.
Oh! said Boabissia, recoiling.
You see, said the proprietor. You will come to like the frevets. We watched 
a large, oblong, flat-bodied black object, about a half hort in length, with 
long feelers, hurry toward a (pg. 276) crack at the base of the wall. That is a 
roach, he said.
They are harmless, not like the gitches whose bites are rather painful. Some of 
them are big fellows, too. But there aren't many of them around. The frevets see 
to it. Achiates prides himself on a clean house.
Ai! said Feiqa, suddenly, startled, moving.
Kneel, slave girl, said a young, imperious voice.
Swiftly Feiqa knelt.
Kiss my feet, female slave, said the voice.
Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His 
face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the 
rooms somewhere. Feiqa a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down 
her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly He 
was a free person, and a male.
Go away, you disgusting child, said Boabissia.
Be silent, woman, he said.
I have a good mind to strike you, said Boabissia.
Lift your head, slut, said the lad to Feiqa.
She obeyed.
He regarded her. You are a pretty one, he said. What do you say? he 
demanded.
Thank you, Master, she said.
He then stood close to her and ran his hands through her hair. He then took her 
collar by the sides in his small fingers and jerked it forward, towards him, 
against the back of her neck. He then, by the pressure on the collar, forced her 
head rudely from side to side. He then pressed it up, cruelly, under her chin, 
forcing her head up. He was exerting his force on her through her slave collar. 
She would have no doubt it was on her. He did these things, incidentally, with 
the typical awareness of men who know how to handle women in collars, in such a 
way as not to injure or threaten the windpipe. Such a thing is never done, 
unless it is intentional. A good, solid collar, he said.
I am pleased that master is pleased, whispered Feiqa, frightened.
It is on you well, isn't it? he said.
Yes, Master, she said.
(pg. 277) What does it mean? he asked.
That I am a slave, she said.
Go away, said Boabissia.
Oh, said Feiqa.
The lad had put his hands rudely within her tunic and caressed her. Tears sprang 
to Feiqas eyes.
Go away, said Boabissia.
Are you not grateful, slave? asked the lad.
Yes, Master, said Feiqa.
You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave, said the lad.
Yes, Master. Thank you Master, said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his 
feet.
More lingeringly, he said.
Yes, Master, she said.
The lad then turned about. It is pleasant to master slaves, he said. Perhaps 
when I am older, and rich. I shall buy myself one, much like this one, though 
perhaps younger, nearer my own age.
He then left.
He lives in the building, said the proprietor. He, and some of the others, 
sometimes in gangs, enjoy playing Capture the Slave Girl.
I see, I said.
Feiqa, still kneeling, somewhat shaken, adjusted her tunic.
I smiled. I now had an excellent idea what had happened to the lovely, 
light-haired slave we had seen earlier on a lower landing, she whose tunic was 
opened and whose hair had been in such disorder. She had been captured 
earlier.
It is an excellent game, said the proprietor. It helps them to become men.
Many Gorean games, incidentally, have features which encourage the development 
of properties regarded as desirable in Gorean youth, such as courage, 
discipline, and honor. Similarly, some of the games tend to encourage the 
development of audacity and leadership. Others, like the one referred to by the 
proprietor, encourage the young man to see the female in terms of her most basic 
and radical meaning, in the terms of her deepest and true nature, that nature 
which is most biologically fundamental to her, that nature which is (pg. 278) 
that on the inestimable prize, that of the most desirable prey, the most 
luscious quarry, that of she who is to be captured and mastered, absolutely, she 
to whose owning and domination all of nature inclines, and without which the 
ancient sexual equations of humanity cannot be resolved. Such games, in short, 
thus, encourage the lad, almost from infancy on, to reality and nature, to 
manhood and mastery.
What a disgusting child, said Boabissia.
The lad had now disappeared.
She looked at Feiqa. You, too, are disgusting, she said.
Yes, Mistress, whispered Feiqa.
It would be the same with you Boabissia, I said, if you were a slave. You, 
too, then, as much as Feiqa, would be at the mercy of free persons. You, too, 
then, would have to obey, and anyone, as much as she. You, too, as then a mere 
slave, would have to cringe, and perform, and kiss, even if it were only at the 
command of a child. You, too, then, as much as she, would have to obey, 
responding swiftly, hoping desperately to please, while being put through your 
paces.
It is this way, said the proprietor. Up this ladder, now.
It is stifling, said Boabissia.
Up the ladder, I said.
She went up the ladder, carefully. She held her skirt together, with one hand, 
as she could, about her legs. That, I thought, was a note of charming reserve, 
appropriate in a free woman. I followed her, into the dark opening above. Then I 
turned about and, on my hands and knees, looked down. Feiqa looked frightened. I 
do not think she wished to ascent into that darkness. To be sure, it did not 
seem a pleasant prospect. Hand up the pack, I said to Hurtha. I was not sure 
Feiqa could manage it on the ladder. Hurtha removed it from her back, and stood 
on the lower rungs, lifting it up to me. I glanced at Feiqa. She had backed 
away. She was near the stairs. She was frightened. She did not wish to ascend 
the ladder. It frightened her, and that to which it might lead. Certainly it was 
not much of a ladder. It was narrow, and moved with ones eight. The rungs, of 
different sizes and (pg. 279) unevenly spaced, were roped in place. Too, it 
would be dark, and hot, in the loft. What would await her there? She was a 
slave. Feiqa backed away another step. Her hand was before her mouth. I was 
afraid she might bolt.
Slave, I said, sternly.
Yes, Master, she said, and hurried up the ladder.
Keep both your hands on the uprights, I told her.
Yes, Master, she said.
Below, Hurtha laughed.
Disgusting, said Boabissia.
I reached down and helped Feiqa to the loft.
Here is the lamp, said the proprietor, handing it to Hurtha. He then, the lamp 
in hand, climbed up to join us.
Be careful of the lamp, said the proprietor.
I took the lamp from Hurtha and lifted it up. There was a narrow corridor there, 
with some rooms on the left and right.
It is the last room on the right, called the proprietor.
Wait, I said to him. I then, bending down, carrying the lamp, led the way to 
the room.
I pushed open the door. It was small and low, but it was stout. It could 
doubtless be well secured from the inside. It would doubtless prove to be an 
effective barrier. The folks in insulae take their doors seriously. Such a door, 
plus his own dagger, is the poor mans best insurance against theft.
Frightful, said Boabissia.
It is furnished, as you can see, called the proprietor from below.
It is too small, it is too dirty, I can hardly breathe up here, said 
Boabissia.
It is my last vacancy, called the proprietor.
I cannot stay here, said Boabissia.
Go inside, and wait for me. I told my party. They bent down and entered the 
room.
Is there no light? asked Boabissia.
There is a small shuttered aperture on the left, I said, holding up the lamp. 
Some light will come through that in daylight hours.
It is dirty here, and hot, said Boabissia. I will not stay here.
(pg. 280) It is a copper tarsk a night, called Achiates. Take it or leave it. 
It is my last vacancy.
I will not stay here, said Boabissia, firmly. I saw that Feiqa, too, regarded 
the room with horror.
I feel faint, said Boabissia. There is not enough air.
Open the shutters, I said.
It is too hot in here, said Boabissia.
We are just under the roof, I said. The hot air rises and gets trapped here.
I think I will be sick, Boabissia said.
Open the shutters, I said.
This is a terrible place, said Boabissia.
It is an insulae, I said. Thousands live in them.
I will not stay here, she said.
What do you think? I asked Hurtha.
It is splendid, said Hurtha. To be sure, it would be even better if the 
temperature were more equable and if there were air to breathe.
I came to Ar to claim my patrimony, said Boabissia, not to suffocate and 
roast in a loft.
Have no fear, I said. When the temperature goes down these places, I am told, 
can be freezing.
There, you see, said Hurtha.
I will not stay here, repeated Boabissia.
I then retraced my steps to the opening to the upper level, where the loft had 
been converted into even more rooms. The proprietor was waiting below.
We will take it, I told him. I dropped a copper tarsk into his palm. He then 
turned about and went down the steps, and I, with the lamp, returned to the 
room.
They had opened the shutters. There was a tiny falling of light, in a narrow, 
descendant shaft, into the room. In it there drifted particles of dust. They 
were rather pretty.
I blew out the lamp.
Surely you did not pay a copper tarsk for this place, said Boabissia.
Ar is packed with refugees, I said. Many will not do so well as this.
This is a terrible place, she said.
(pg. 281) It is furnished, I said. I looked about. Against one wall, there was 
a chest. There was some straw in a corner of the room. One could distribute it 
and sleep upon it. There were also some folded blankets. Too, there was a bucket 
with some water in it, with a dipper in it. That had probably not been changed 
recently. Then there was a slop pot as well, one for the wastes to be emptied 
into the vat on the ground floor. It was a long trip. It was not hard to 
understand how such wastes were occasionally cast from roofs and windows, 
usually with a warning cry to pedestrians below.
I looked about the room, in the dim light.
There, in one wall, was a long crack. The floor creaked, too, in places, as one 
trod upon it. I trusted this was merely from the disrepair and age of the 
boards. Insulae are seldom maintained well. They are cheap to build, and easily 
replaced. Their structure is primarily wood and brick. There are ordinances 
governing how high they may be built. Although we had come up several flights, 
we were probably not more than seventy or eighty feet Gorean from the street 
level. Without girders, frame steel and timber iron, as the Goreans say wrought 
in the iron shops, such as are used in the towers, physics, even indexed to the 
Gorean gravity, is quick to impose its inexorable limits on heights. Such 
buildings tend to be vulnerable to structural stresses, and are sometimes 
weakened by slight movements of the earth. Sometimes walls give way; sometimes 
entire floors collapse.
I put the lamp down on the chest. I put my pack against a wall.
This is a terrible place, said Boabissia. She knelt to one side, her knees 
together, in the position of the free woman. She did not sit cross-legged. No 
longer did she affect the posture of an Alar warrior. She had learned, I think, 
to some extent, in some sense or other, in a sense that she herself perhaps did 
not yet fully understood, in a sense that she had not yet herself fully plumbed, 
that she was a female.
The room was dusty, and dingy.
Hurtha was sitting to one side, cross-legged. He was examining his ax.
The room was hot. It was small. It was, at least, furnished.
(pg. 282) To one side there was a slave ring. Near it were some chains. Too, 
among them, opened, I saw an iron collar, woman-size, with its lock ring. This 
permits it to be fastened on various chains, to be incorporated in a sirik, to 
be locked about the linkage of slave bracelets, and such. Too, there were some 
manacles there, of a size appropriate to confine perfectly and helplessly the 
small, lovely wrists of a female. Various keys hung on a hook near the door, 
well out of reach from the ring. On the wall, too, near the keys, and implement 
common in Gorean dwellings, hung a slave whip.
I removed the whip from the wall, and shook out the strands. There were five of 
them, pliant and broad.
I looked at Feiqa.
She knelt before me.
This morning, I said, you erred. It was a rather serious mistake. You were 
intending to drink from the upper bowl of the fountain, that reserved for free 
persons.
Please do no punish me, Master, she begged. I do not want to be whipped! Let 
me go this time! Just this time!
I looked at her.
I will not do it again! she wept.
I am sure you will not, I said. Take off your clothes. (pg. 283)
23    The Day of Generosity and Petitions
Hurtha! I protested. No! But it was too late. The fellow has already been 
struck with a thrust of the ax handle, to the back of the neck. He was having 
difficulty falling, however, unconscious though he might be, for the press of 
folks about the far end of the velvet rope, leading to the Central Cylinder, 
fighting for places on it.
Here is his ribbon, said Hurtha cheerily, holding it above grasping hands. 
Tie it about yourself and the rope.
That fellow may have been waiting in line since yesterday, I said.
Perhaps, admitted Hurtha, thrusting the ribbon to me. I seized it, and looped 
it about my shoulder and body, and about the velvet rope, and tied it. This 
would keep me on the rope. Hurthas elbow, with a lateral stroke of great force, 
discouraged a fellow from snatching at the ribbon. I do not think he knew what 
hit him. Two other fellows backed away. I waved to them. Move forward, said a 
Taurentian. We shuffled forward.
The ribbons are all gone, moaned a man.
Gone! wept a woman.
Are you a citizen of Ar? inquired a fellow.
Why? I asked, warily.
Only citizens of Ar, on the Day of Generosity and Petitions, are permitted to 
approach the regent, he said. The holiday is for citizens, and citizens alone. 
Do you think we want folks streaming in from thousands of pasangs about to rob 
us of our places?
I suppose not, I said.
(pg. 284) I do not think you are of Ar! he said. Give me your ribbon!
I would rather keep it, I said.
Guardsman! he cried. Guardsman! Then he quieted quickly, lifted up by the 
back of the neck.
Do you know how Alars cut out a tongue? he was asked.
No, he squeaked.
It is done with an ax, said Hurtha, From the bottom, up through the neck.
I did not know that, said the fellow, dangling.
An ax much like this, said Hurtha, holding the great, broad blade before the 
fellows face, from behind. Do you understand?
Perfectly, said the fellow.
Did you wish to speak to a guardsman? asked Hurtha. There is one just over 
there.
Why would I want to do that? asked the fellow.
I have no idea, said Hurtha.
I dont either, said the man.
Hurtha then dropped him to the stones and he scurried away.
There may be a problem, I admitted to Hurtha. I am not a citizen of Ar.
How would they know? he asked. Are you supposed to be carrying the Home Stone 
in your pouch?
There could be trouble, I said.
You could always ask for a clarification of the rules after you have seen the 
regent, he said.
That is true, I granted him.
What could they do to you? asked Hurtha.
Quite a number of things, I suppose, I said.
Even if they boiled you in oil, said Hurtha, as that is normally done, it 
could be done only once.
True, I said, though remaining uneasy.
The only thing you truly need to fear, said Hurtha, is that your honor might 
be lost.
I suppose you are right, I said. Still I would not look forward to being 
boiled in oil.
(pg. 285) Of course not, said Hurtha. It would be extremely painful.
Stop pushing, I said to the fellow behind me.
Move up, he said.
You could always sing, said Hurtha.
What? I asked.
That is what the chieftain, Hendix, did, he said, in Alar legend, when 
captured by his enemies and put in oil. He shouted at them, and laughed at them, 
insulting them all the while. And then while boiling he sang merry Alar songs. 
In that way he showed his contempt for his enemies.
Perhaps toward the end he lost the tempo or was a bit off key, I speculated.
Perhaps, said Hurtha. I was not there.
Greetings, said a fellow, coming up to me.
I remembered him. He was the fellow I had spoken to in the Teiban Market.
Did you find lodging? he asked.
Yes, thanks, I said. In the insula of Achiates.
He is a splendid fellow, said the man, though a bit of an avaricious 
scoundrel.
Excuse me, I said.
Yes? he said.
Come closer, I said.
Yes? he asked, coming over.
Is it true, I asked, that only citizens of Ar are permitted to approach the 
regent on this day?
You certainly need not fear, he said, for though you came in from Torcadino, 
clearly you are of Ar.
But what if I were not? I asked.
Are you not? he asked, interested.
I considered judicious replies, rapidly.
To be sure, he said, your accent, now that I think of it, does not ring quite 
true. Perhaps you have been away from the city for a long time. Those of Ar 
commonly have a gentle, liquid accent. I think it is one of the loveliest of the 
Gorean accents.
What if perhaps I were not of Ar? I asked. I looked about myself, noting the 
distance to the nearest guardsmen. I (pg. 286) considered how long it might take 
to remove the ribbon and, hastily, hopefully without combat, disappear down a 
side street.
Your question is purely academic, of course, he said.
I reached for the ribbon.
No, he laughed, putting out his hand. Stay in your place. I know you are not 
of Ar, or do not think you are of Ar, for that seems clear from your speech. I 
am just teasing you. He might have found his humor a bit less delightful had he 
seen Hurtha behind him with his ax. Hurtha lowered the ax. Ones who are not 
citizens of Ar may approach the regent on this day as well as citizens, if they 
can get a place on the rope. It is all part of the meaning of the day, of the 
generosity and benevolence of Ar, and such.
I was told by a fellow earlier that only citizens might be on the rope, I 
said.
No, smiled the fellow. He was just trying to get your place.
Is that true? I asked the fellow behind me.
I hope so, he said. I am from Venna,
It is true, said a fellow behind him.
Move ahead, said the Taurentian to Hurtha. Move away from the rope.
The crowd must now stay to the sides, away from the rope.
A fellow moved in behind me, with a ribbon.
Where did you come from? asked the man from Venna. The ribbons were gone.
They are seldom really gone, at least until late, said the fellow.
What are things like at the back of the line? asked a man.
Bloody, said the fellow. But the guardsmen are dispersing people now,
How did you get a ribbon? I asked. I knew how I had gotten mine. Hurtha had 
given it to me. He had received it as a donation, of sorts, from a fellow who 
was not at the time in a condition to use it. I wondered if the regent was aware 
of the mayhem that attended the acquisition of the ribbons. To (pg. 287) be 
sure, most folks who had come early had probably received them in a civilized 
and orderly fashion. I had had difficulty in getting Hurtha up this morning. It 
was our third day in Ar. Yesterday we had spent a great deal of time walking 
about the city. It is pleasant to see the slave girls. Feiqa, too, who was 
heeling us, I gathered, from the men turning about, the occasional intakes of 
breath, the various comments and observations, and sometimes the literal sex 
calls, some of the bold, obtrusive, hooting sort, done as a compliment and joke, 
with which masters sometimes summon their girls running to hem, attracted more 
than her share of appreciative appraisals. This was understandable. She was 
superb slave meat. I did not know where Boabissia was now. She was probably 
somewhere in the city. She had wanted to see more of it. Feiqa had probably been 
left in the insula.
The guardsmen hold out some, he said. I paid a silver tarsk for this one.
I see, I said.
Move along, said a Taurentian.
Hail, Gnieus Lelius! called a man. One could now see the chair on the dais. He 
was not wearing the purple of the Ubar, but his shoulders were covered with a 
brown cloak, rather of the sort worn by Administrators in certain cities, 
civilian statesmen, servants of the people, so to speak. I wondered if the 
regent knew about the business of selling the ribbons. Some, too, I supposed, 
would be sold by citizens who had received them earlier in the legal 
distributions.
Move forward, said a Taurentian.
I clutched the letters from Dietrich of Tarnburg within my tunic. My hand was 
sweaty.
A fellow two places ahead of me, for some petition or other, received ten pieces 
of gold. That is a considerable sum. There were cries of pleasure and wonder 
from the crowd. Hail, Gnieus Lelius! I heard. Hail Gnieus Lelius! Most of 
the folks, as far as I could tell, however, received only a kind word from the 
regent, or an earnest assurance that their petitions would be examined with 
care. Several individuals, (pg. 288) however, to be fair, did receive handfuls 
of coins, mostly copper, from the regent, who, smiling, would dip his hand into 
heaping coin bowls near him, and then spill coins into the outstretched hands of 
the grateful recipients. Hail, Gnieus Lelius! I heard. Taurentians were about 
the regent, and, too, some scribes. Notes, it seemed, and names, were being 
taken. Doubtless a record of the claims, grievances, petitions, and such, was 
being kept. It seemed there was not an excessive amount of guards. So loved, it 
seemed, was the regent.
Yes, Citizen? said the regent. I looked up. He was a regal looking fellow, 
tall and gaunt. He seemed fair, and kindly. I thought he would probably be a 
conscientious and dedicated public servant, perhaps even a gifted statesman. 
Certainly he had been high councilor in Ar. Indeed, he was now regent.
Citizen? he asked. His voice was not sharp. It was kindly. He was not 
impatient. I supposed it was not unusual for a common citizen suddenly finding 
himself in the presence of one so great, to find words failing him.
I reached inside my tunic and drew forth the letters.
He has a petition, or petitions, said one of the scribes. Give them to me, 
fellow.
I drew back the letters, not handing them to the scribe.
These papers, I said, excellency, are for you. I will deliver them only to 
you. I am not a citizen. I have come a long way.
I turned the letters in my hand. On them, then, could be seen the seal of the 
silver tarn. I then turned them again in such a way that the seals could not be 
seen. Two or three of the scribes reacted. I saw that they recognized the seal. 
Another scribe moved toward me. He seemed dangerous, not like a scribe. I 
suspected, then, that some of the scribes about were perhaps not truly scribes, 
but guards.
Thank you, said the regent, kindly. He took the letters, keeping the seals 
down.
Who are you? he asked. And where do you lodge?
His voice was no different than when he had spoken to others. Yet I was sure he 
had seen the seals.
(pg. 289) I am Tarl, I said, of the city of Port Kar, and I am now lodging in 
the insula of Achiates, in the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. This 
information was taken down.
Write down, said the regent to the scribe nearest him, that we have received 
petitions from Tarl of Port Kar, who is lodging in the house of Achiates, which 
we will take under careful consideration. This was done.
I am grateful, I said, that you will be pleased to ponder carefully the 
contents of these petitions. I assure you that I am quite earnest in this 
matter, and I attest with conviction to the veracity of what I take to be their 
contents.
I understand, he said.
I bowed to him. Excellency, I said. He inclined his head, graciously 
responding to my salute. I removed the ribbon from my body. My commission had 
been accomplished. I had delivered the letters. Dietrich of Tarnburg, and Ar, 
had been served. More I could not do.
The regent motioned that I should approach more closely.
Thank you, he said. I have waited for such word for a long time.
It is nothing, I said.
Wait, said he.
I turned about. He poured coins into my hands, copper tarsks.
My thanks, Excellency, I said, gratefully, as though I might have been another 
petitioner.
Hail, Gnieus Lelius! Hail, Gnieus Lelius! I heard, the crowd acclaiming yet 
again the regents generosity.
I then turned about, and took my leave. (pg. 290)
24    The Origins of Boabissia
And this was found about your throat as a baby, in the wreckage of a caravan, 
by Alars? he asked. He stood close to her. He looked at it in the light, 
holding it between his fingers. It was still on its thong about her neck.
Yes, said Boabissia.
It was on your neck? he asked.
Yes, said Boabissia. And I have continued to wear it.
I see, he said.
Are you acquainted with the young woman inside? an attendant had asked at the 
gate.
Yes, I said. I think so.
It was here she entered, said Feiqa.
Yes, I said.
Please come in, had said the attendant. We had entered and followed him 
through the gardened courtyard, with its fountains, and, on the other side of 
the court, across the shaded portico and into the recesses of the house.
Hurtha and I had returned around noon to the insula, after leaving the area 
before the Central Cylinder. As soon as we had entered through the shuttered 
gate into the insulas small, dim vestibule, there, in the light, the dust in 
it, we had seen Feiqa. Masters, she said, eagerly, rising to her feet, moving 
toward us. Then she stopped short. The shackle on her left ankle, fastening her 
to a floor ring, saw to this. She knelt at the end of the chain. The shackle 
looked well on her ankle. Masters, she said.
Where is Boabissia? I asked. I thought you would have been left upstairs.
(pg. 291) I was, she said. But Mistress returned and fetched me. She had 
found something which greatly excited her. I must accompany her that I would 
know the place, and then, presently when you returned, lead you there.
That is why you are chained here? I asked.
Perhaps, Master, she said. But Mistress also, of course, may have thought of 
a slaves comfort.
I smiled. Boabissia was not the sort of person who would think of a slaves 
comfort. Indeed, she believed that slaves should be treated with great 
strictness and subjected to ruthless and uncompromising discipline.
Why did she not wait for us? I asked.
She could not wait, said Feiqa. She was in too great a hurry to get back.
What is this all about? I asked.
She thinks she may have found the house of her people, said Feiqa, that she 
might enter, that incredible fortune might be hers, that she might be able to 
claim her patrimony.
I gather it was a fine house. I said.
I think it is probably very beautiful, said Feiqa. I caught a glimpse of the 
garden within, in the courtyard, and the house beyond, a large, lovely house, 
with a shaded portico, when she was admitted. Whoever owns it must be very 
rich.
What makes her think that it might be the house of her people? I asked.
The tiny sign near the call rope, said Feiqa. It is a Tau, much as on her 
neck ornament.
The same form of Tau? I asked.
It is very similar, she said.
Exactly similar? I asked.
No, she said.
But very similar? I asked.
Yes, she said.
Some clue, then as to her origins, may be there, I said. Goreans are usually 
rather careful about such things as crests, signs, family emblems, and such. 
Sometimes such things are actually registered, and legally restricted in their 
use to given lines.
(pg. 292) I really think it is possible, Master, said Feiqa.
If all is well then, I said, let us rejoice for Boabissia, and her good 
fortune.
It looks like a fine house? asked Hurtha.
Yes, Master, said Feiqa.
Boabissia will like that, he said. She has always been a spoiled, greedy 
little thing. It will not displease her to be rich.
The family, too, if there is a fine house, and grounds, and such, I said, may 
be powerful and of high station.
She will not object to that either, said Hurtha.
Where is this house? I asked.
It is not far, Master, said Feiqa.
That is interesting, I said.
There are some fine houses in this district, said Hurtha, particularly over 
several blocks. We saw some yesterday.
True, I said. Ar, as many cities, sometimes had rather contrasting 
neighborhoods in surprising proximity to one another. For example, the Avenue of 
Turia, nearby, was one of the finest streets I Ar. Yet, behind it, reached by a 
crevice between some buildings, only a walk of some two or three Ehn away, was 
the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla.
Where is the key to your shackle? I asked.
Over there, Master, said Feiqa, pointing. It hung on a hook, where it might be 
convenient to tenants or visitors, near the door that led to the apartment of 
Achiates.
I fetched the key. I returned to where she knelt, shackled. I looked down upon 
her. I wondered if there would be point in having her, there, suddenly, on the 
floor of the insulas vestibule, before I unshackled her. She was very 
beautiful.
Master? she asked.
I thrust her back to the floor, in a rattle of chain. Oh! she cried. It did 
not matter. She was only a slave. Oh! she gasped, and then was clutching me. 
Disgusting, said a free woman, entering the insula, and then proceeding 
upstairs. I stood up. Feiqa was at my feet, gasping, shaken. Such things may be 
done to such as she. They are only slaves.
Feiqa reached to my foot and kissed it, tears in her eyes.
Kneel, I said. I then removed the shackle from her fair (pg. 293) ankle. But I 
then held her ankle in my hand, substituting now for the clasp of the shackle 
the grip of the master. She gasped. She put her head down. She knew herself 
held, and as a slave. She lifted her head. She looked at me wildly. She was 
helpless. Once more I found her beautiful. I thrust her back, again, down to the 
stones of the dimly lit vestibule, and pulled her by the ankle to me. Then I saw 
to it, as it pleased me, at my caprice, for she was a mere slave, that she must 
again helplessly suffer the exigencies of her bondage.
Oh, Master, Master, Master, she said, kissing me.
Lead us to the place Boabissia found, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
On the way, following Feiqa, hurrying ahead of us, we saw a female slave, 
stripped, carrying a heavy yoke, tied on her, supporting buckets of water. Her 
master was behind her Sometimes he poked her with a sharp stick, to hurry her 
along. Boabissia would have approved of that. She was in favor, I recalled, of 
stern treatment for slaves, particularly, it seemed, luscious female slaves, 
like the lovely nude struggling bound in the yoke, with its buckets, or Feiqa. 
We also saw a chain of female slaves, permitted tunics, but hooded, in neck 
coffle, and two slave wagons, with blue and yellow silk. This was the district 
of the Street of Brands.
It is this house, said Feiqa.
The wall is impressive and the gate is strong, observed Hurtha.
I saw the Tau near the call rope. It was indeed quite similar to that which was 
on Boabissia's small disk. I now recalled what Boabissia's disk had reminded me 
of. The resemblance, however, was not exact. There were at least two 
differences. That was good. The form of Tau near the call rope I had seen 
before, long ago, in Ar, on another street, and, more than once, at the Sardar 
Fairs.
Is anything wrong? asked Feiqa.
Boabissia has already entered? I asked.
I think so, said Feiqa.
I drew on the call rope. We heard the bell jangle within. In a moment an 
attendant, a young man, had come to the gate.
(pg. 294) And this was found about your throat as a baby, in the wreckage of a 
caravan, by Alars? he asked. He stood close to her. He looked at it in the 
light, holding it between his fingers. It was still on its thong about her neck.
Yes, said Boabissia.
It was on your neck? he asked.
Yes, said Boabissia. And I have continued to wear it.
I see, he said. May I remove it?
Of course, she said. He delicately undid the thong. Boabissia smiled at Hurtha 
and myself. She had been there when we had been ushered into his presence. Feiqa 
has been put on a neck chain, just inside the gate. It was fastened to a ring, 
one of several there, fastened in the wall. It was sunny there. She must kneel. 
She must keep her head down. I gathered they did no pamper slaves in this house. 
We would pick her up on the way out. The fellow had greeted us pleasantly. It 
was almost as though he had expected us, or someone, to come. He had not, as I 
recalled, seemed surprised to see us. Similarly we had encountered no difficulty 
in being admitted into his presence, in spite of the fact that he was presumably 
an important man. It was a large, officelike room. There was a broad desk. There 
were many papers about. He was a distinguished looking fellow. I had never seen 
him before.
He was examining the disk in his hand.
I think, said Boabissia, that it may afford a clue to my identity.
Perhaps, said the fellow.
But surely it does, she protested.
How could I know that you did not merely find this, or buy it, or steal it? he 
asked.
I assure you, I did not, said Boabissia. It is mine. It was on me as an 
infant. I have always worn it.
He regarded it.
Is it not the same as the sign on your house? asked Boabissia.
It is quite similar, he admitted.
But not identical, I said.
(pg. 295) Boabissia cast me an angry look.
The fellow looked at me, and smiled. It is, however, he said, what the sign 
was, some years ago, before its style was slightly changed.
But that is right! exclaimed Boabissia. It was on me from years ago!
Precisely, he smiled.
I would not have known that, she said. Had I made a counterfeit, I would have 
done it, not knowing any better, in your modern fashion, and then you would have 
been able to detect, from the time involved, that the disk was a forgery, that 
it was fraudulent.
True, he said.
You see! said Boabissia to me, triumphantly.
Yes, I said.
He is jealous, said Boabissia to the fellow. He is almost beside himself with 
envy. He only wants to see me denied my fortune, deprived of my rightful 
deserts.
Your fortune? asked the fellow. Your rightful deserts?
Yes, my rightful deserts, my rightful dues, said Boabissia. I am determined 
to receive them.
I understand, he said. I shall examine the records. If all tallies, as I 
suspect it will, have no fear, you will receive, as you have put it, your 
rightful deserts, your rightful dues.
All I want, said Boabissia, is exactly what I deserve.
I shall check my records, he said. If it is within my power, I will try to 
see that you do indeed receive exactly what you deserve, precisely what you 
deserve.
Thank you, she said, and cast an angry look at me.
What is it, incidentally, he asked, that you think you deserve?
Do you not recognize me? she asked.
I do not understand, he said.
I may be your long-lost daughter, she said.
To the best of my knowledge, he said. I do not have any daughters, long-lost 
or otherwise. I do have some sons.
Look at me, she said.
Yes? he said.
Is there no general family resemblance? she asked. I, (pg. 296) for one, 
surely did not note any. To be sure, members of the same family sometimes differ 
considerably from one another in their appearance.
I do not understand, he said.
You are perhaps my uncle, she said, if you are not my father.
Oh I see, he said.
Might I not be your niece, or a cousin?
An interesting idea, he said.
Look at me, she said. Look closely. What do you think?
You are curvy, he said.
Curvy? she asked.
I think I see now, he said, what you have come here for.
I am seeking my identity, she said.
And perhaps a little more? he speculated.
Only what are my dues, she said, defensively.
You consider yourself perhaps the heiress to riches? he inquired.
Perhaps, she said. The caravan was a large one. Doubtless my presence there, 
as a mere infant, suggests great affluence on the part of my people. They might 
even have been the masters of the caravan. Surely you yourself are wealthy. This 
is a fine house, with luxurious appointments, with space and splendid grounds. 
Surely the sign on the disk is meaningful to you. You seem to have admitted as 
much.
I see, he said.
Surely in the fullness of your honor, as I conceive of you as a gentleman, she 
said, you would not wish to deny to me what I have coming. I thought that was 
a rather nasty thrust on the part of Boabissia. It is seldom wise, incidentally, 
to impugn, or attempt to manipulate, the honor of a Gorean.
No, he said, pleasantly enough, apparently taking no offense, I would be one 
of the last to deny you exactly what you have coming.
Good, she said, rather haughtily, putting her head in the air. Boabissia could 
occasionally get on ones nerves in this fashion.
(pg. 297) I believe that I am a wealthy man, said the fellow. Too, I think it 
is fair to say that I have some standing in this city, and some power.
That would be my impression, said Boabissia.
You think there is some relationship between us? he said.
Yes, said Boabissia. The disk, as you have as much as admitted, makes that 
clear. I invite you to consult your records.
I gather you think you may be of my line, or of some pertinent collateral 
line, he said.
Yes, she said. I think that is altogether possible.
If you are truly of my line, or even of some closely related collateral line, 
he said, you would doubtless become overnight one of the most famous, one of 
the wealthiest and most powerful women in Ar.
Perhaps, said Boabissia. She drew herself up proudly.
I think that perhaps, as you seem to believe, he said, there may be some 
relationship between us.
The disk proves it, she said.
I think you are right, he said.
Consult your records, she said.
Do you truly wish me to do so? he asked.
Yes, said Boabissia. Indeed, I demand it.
Very well, he said. It will only take a moment. He reached for a small bell 
on his desk.
Let us go, Boabissia, I suggested. We could return tomorrow.
Be silent, she said, to me.
The man rang the small bell, to which, in a moment or two, an attendant 
responded. In a bit, then, the attendant, seemingly informed as to what was 
required, left the room. The man himself then sat behind the desk and put the 
small disk before him, to his right, on the surface of the desk.
Boabissia glanced at Hurtha and myself. She was terribly excited.
Let us go, Boabissia, I suggested.
Be quiet, she said.
(pg. 298) It will be only a little bit, said the man. If you wait now, it 
will save you a trip back tomorrow.
Leave, if you wish, said Boabissia.
Why would they wish to leave? asked the man, puzzled.
I have no idea, said Boabissia.
Nor do I, he said.
In a bit the attendant had returned with a large, somewhat dusty, oblong 
ledgerlike book. It was tied shut with a cord. It contained several pages. It 
was bound in leather. On the cover, though it was hard to see from where I 
stood, there seemed to be some designations, such as perhaps dates and numbers. 
The older records, such as these, he said, are kept here, together with 
duplicates of the more current records. The more current records, together with 
duplicates of the older records, are kept at the house.
I nodded. In that way two identical sets would be maintained, in different 
locations. This was not uncommon with Gorean bookkeeping, particularly in 
certain kinds of businesses.
Is this not the house? asked Boabissia.
This is my personal residence, he said.
You have another house? she asked.
Of course, he said.
Boabissia threw me a pleased glance.
My place of business, he said.
Oh, she said.
He untied the cord and blew some dust from the cover of the book. Its pages were 
yellowed.
Do not dally please, said Boabissia.
He opened the book. He put to one side, taking it from a shallow pocket within 
the books cover, a punched copper disk, on a string, rather the size of that 
which Boabissia had worn, and put it next to Boabissia's.
Look! said Boabissia, joyfully.
Yes, I said.
The disk also had some device on it, as did Boabissias, but I could not see it 
well from the distance.
The disk, she said. It has something on it.
Yes, I said.
Doubtless it is the same mark as is on mine, she said.
(pg. 299) Perhaps not, I said.
The fellow began to turn the pages.
Hurry! said Boabissia.
He had then apparently found what he was looking for. He picked up the disk 
which had been Boabissia's from the desk, looked at it, and then checked it 
against something in the book. He then perused the entry there. Then he 
rechecked the disk against the book. He then rose to his feet and approached 
Boabissia.
Yes? said Boabissia. Yes?
You were right, my dear, he said. There does exist a relationship between us, 
and, indeed, I think as you suspected, a most important relationship.
You see! cried Boabissia, almost leaping in place, elatedly, triumphantly to 
Hurtha and myself.
But, my dear, he said, it is not exactly the sort of relationship which you 
anticipated.
What are you doing? she asked.
Then, suddenly, as she cried out in surprise, in dismay, he tore her dress down 
to her waist.
Yes, he said. You are curvy.
She looked at him, startled, not daring, under his fierce gaze, to raise her 
hands, to lift her garment.
The relationship, he told her, is that of slave to master.
No! she cried.
Strip, he said.
Do so, immediately, I said to Boabissia, sternly.
Trembling she thrust down her dress over her hips, and stood then within it, it 
down about her ankles.
Your sandals, too, I said, quickly!
Frightened she slipped from them, too. When a Gorean orders a woman to strip he 
means now, and completely, leaving not so much as a thread upon her body. She 
stood there, confused, trembling and terrified. Her clothing was about her feet. 
It was as though she stood in a tiny pond of cloth.
What is going on? asked Hurtha.
Do not interfere, I said. It is as I feared.
Here, said the fellow. He indicated the book and the (pg. 300) disk which had 
been within it, and Boabissia's disk. I went to the table. I looked at the disk 
which had been taken from the book. There was a number on it, but the Tau on 
it was identical to what on Boabissia's disk. Keeping the place where lay the 
apparently pertinent entry I looked at the cover of the book. On it was a year 
number, one dating back twenty-two years, and two sets of numbers, separated by 
a span sign. I examined Boabissia's disk. The number on it fell between the two 
numbers on the books cover. I then turned to the page to which the fellow had 
had the book opened earlier.
See? he asked.
Yes, I said. There, at the head of one of the entries, identifying it, and 
correlated with it, was the number which had been on Boabissia's disk.
The caravan in whose wreckage you were found, said the fellow to Boabissia, 
was a slave caravan.
Boabissia looked at him, regarding him with horror. She then looked at Hurtha.
When you were found I was only a small boy, said Hurtha. I did not know what 
sort of caravan it was. I do not think any of the Alars did. Apparently when 
found it was in much ruin.
It was not traveling publicly as a slave caravan, said the man. It was not, 
for example, flying its blue and yellow silk. In this manner it had been thought 
that we might keep secret its cargo, hundreds of beautiful females, a certain 
lure to the lust and greed of raiders. Our strategem, however, it seems, was 
ineffectual.
Hurtha nodded.
Was much left when the Alars came upon it? he asked.
No, said Hurtha. I do not think so.
I am not surprised, said the fellow. The women, of course, would have been 
stolen. Doubtless they entertained their captors well, before being sold in a 
hundred markets.
I was only an infant, whispered Boabissia.
That may be why you were left behind, said the man.
I could have starved, or perished of exposure, or have been eaten by animals, 
she said.
(pg. 301) Perhaps they did not find you, he said. Perhaps, on the other hand, 
it was not of concern to them.
Not of concern to them? she asked, in horror.
Of course not, he said. Do not forget you were only then, as you are now, a 
slave.
She shuddered, her eyes wide with horror.
Do not cover your breasts, he said. Keep your arms at your sides.
She sobbed.
It was my caravan, said the fellow. I lost much on it. It took me five years 
to recover my losses.
Your caravan? whispered Boabissia. What is your business?
I am a merchant of sorts, he said. I deal in slaves, wholesale and retail, 
mostly female slaves.
A lovely form of merchandise, I said.
Yes, he said.
But I was only an infant, whispered Boabissia.
You were sold to my house in your infancy, he said.
It is in the entry, I informed Boabissia. Too, your slave number is in his 
house was the number on your disk.
I was sold to you in my infancy? said Boabissia.
For three tarsk bits, he said.
So little? she said.
You were an infant, he said.
It is very little, she whispered.
Would you rather have been exposed in the Voltai, he asked, a wooden skewer 
through your heels?
She shook her head, frightened.
But why would I have been sold? she asked.
You were a female, he said. Why not?
The selling of infant daughters is not that unusual in large cities. Some women 
do it regularly. They make a practice of it, much as they might sell their hair 
to hair merchants or to the weavers of catapult ropes. Some women, it is 
rumored, hope for daughters, that they may sell to the slave trade. These women 
in effect, breed for slaves. Too, there is a common Gorean belief that females 
are natural slaves, a belief for which there is much evidence, incidentally, and 
in (pg. 302) the light of this belief some families would rather sell a daughter 
than raise her. Too, of course, daughters, unlike sons, are seldom economic 
assets to the family. Indeed they cannot even pass on the gens name. They can 
retain it in companionship, if they wish, if suitable contractual arrangements 
are secured, but they cannot pass it on. The survival of the name and the 
continuance of the patrilineal line are important to many Goreans.
Stand straight, he said to Boabissia.
Boabissia, frightened, straightened her body.
Hurtha made a noise of approval, pleased at seeing Boabissia under male command. 
I, too, I must admit, was pleased to see this, to see Boabissia obeying. How 
marvelous and rewarding it is to control a female, having total power over her.
Straighter, he said. Suck in your gut, put your shoulders back.
She complied.
If it is of interest to you, he said, I did not simply buy you. Although your 
mother was a free woman I had her strip, and then put her through slave paces. I 
would attempt to assess the possibilities of the daughter by seeing the mother, 
by seeing her naked and performing, attempting desperately to please. When she 
was reluctant, as a free woman, I used the whip on her. Thus I obtained a better 
idea of what I might be buying.
Tell me about my mother, please, she said.
She was a comely wench, as I determined, when I saw her naked, he said. She 
was curvaceous, and, when she realized I would not compromise with her, moved 
quite well. She herself, I am sure, under a suitable master, would have made 
excellent collar meat. She would also make, it seemed to me, an excellent 
breeder of slaves.
Was she of Ar? asked Boabissia.
Yes, he said. But she was of low-caste origins, of course.
Oh, said Boabissia.
But she had beauty beyond her caste, he said. Indeed, I would be surprised if 
she had not, sooner or later, been (pg. 303) caught and put in a collar. She may 
even now, somewhere, be serving a master.
He then looked upon Boabissia.
I was only going to offer two tarsk bits for you originally, he said, a 
standard price for a female infant, but after I had seen your mother, seen her 
fully, and performing, and under the lash, you understand, and considered how 
you might have something of her beauty, I raised my offer to three.
Boabissia nodded, tears in her eyes.
Lift your head, he said.
Excellent, he said. Had I realized how well you would turn out, I would have 
offered not three, but five, or even seven, tarsk bits for you.
Am I more beautiful than my mother? she asked.
Yes, he said, and, clearly, even more of a slave.
She sobbed.
He turned to face Hurtha and myself. Gentlemen, he said, I must thank you for 
returning this girl to me.
It was not really our intention to do so, I said. She is surely herself 
primarily responsible. She saw this place, and, eager to inquire as to her 
antecedents and connections, entered of her own accord.
He turned to Boabissia. And you have now satisfied your curiosity, haven't you, 
my dear? he asked. You have now learned what you wished to learn. You have now 
discovered your antecedents and connections, so to speak, and your exact place, 
or, perhaps better put, your exact lack of a place, in civil and social 
relationships.
Yes, she whispered.
But she has been with you, as I understand it, he said, turning to us, and 
surely it is in your company that she came to Ar.
Yes, I said.
I thought perhaps it had been a joke on your part, something to amuse you, that 
you had let her enter here alone, first, before your arrival.
No, I said.
Nonetheless, he said, surely some gratuity is in order, for abetting her 
return.
(pg. 304) None is necessary, I said.
We looked at her.
She was still maintaining a position of slave beauty.
What do you think she will bring? I asked.
The market is depressed, he said. Much of it has to do with the rumored 
affairs at Torcadino, the purported advances of Cosians, the crowding in Ar, the 
influx of refugees. But I would think, even so, she might bring two silver 
tarsks.
A fine price for a girl, I said.
I think she will bring that, even in the current markets, he said.
I had not realized Boabissia was so valuable, said Hurtha.
Boabissia glanced at Hurtha, startled.
It is not unusual, of course, for a fellow to take a woman lightly, or for 
granted, until he learns of her interest to others, for example, what they are 
willing to pay for her.
Boabissia looked away from Hurtha then, swiftly, not daring to meet his eyes. 
She reddened in a wave of heat and helplessness from the roots of her hair to 
the tips of her toes.
Similarly, it is not unusual for a fellow not to think of a given woman in a 
sexual manner, or as an object of extreme desire, but when he sees her stripped, 
and as a slave, that changes instantly and dramatically.
Please, she begged.
Be silent, I said.
She was beautiful, and her life had changed. She must learn to endure slave 
scrutiny. Later she would perhaps learn to revel in it, brazenly.
I had thought, said the fellow, viewing her, that the caravan had been a 
total loss. I see now that I was mistaken.
She stood before us, viewed.
I lost a mere infant, he said. I am returned a beautiful slave.
She choked back a sob.
Some gratuity, or reward, is surely in order, he said.
None is necessary. I said.
But consider the savings I have effected on feed alone, he said.
(pg. 305) Come now, I said. Table scraps and slave gruel are not that 
expensive.
I insist, he said.
As you will, I said.
Boabissia regarded me with horror.
You are more than generous, I said.
Indeed, said Hurtha, approvingly. In my palm lay a silver tarsk. I put it in 
my pouch. Boabissia moaned.
He then reached to the small bell on his desk, and shook it, twice.
I assume, I said, in the light of the special circumstances of her case, she 
is not to be treated as a runaway slave.
No, he said. Or, certainly not at present, at least. Then he looked at the 
girl. You do understand, however, do you not, my dear, the typical penalties 
for a runaway slave?
She nodded, numbly.
Excellent, he said.
If I may be so bold, I said, I would advocate a certain modest latitude, at 
least for a day or two, in her initial training. You must understand that she 
has, for many years, regarded herself as a free woman.
Interesting, he said.
Too, I said, not only has she regarded herself as a free woman, but she has 
behaved as one, and has affected the airs of one.
That is very serious, my dear, said the man.
At that moment a lithe, sinewy fellow entered, doubtless in response to the 
sound of the bell a few moments earlier. He whose office it was gestured toward 
Boabissia. Her hands were drawn behind her, and braceleted behind her back.
But she did not understand she was not free, really, I said.
Boabissia pulled against the bracelets, weakly.
She came here unveiled, said the man.
True, I said. But the Alar women do not veil themselves.
She thought she was an Alar? asked the man.
(pg. 306) She was accustomed to thinking of herself in that way, I said.
But she should have known from her body she was not of the Alars, he said. 
She is not a tall, strapping woman. Look at her. She is short, and luscious, 
and cuddly, and exquisitely feminine. That is the body of a woman of the cities 
or towns, and, if I may note the fact, it is a typical slaves body.
True, I said.
And what was her attitude toward female slaves? he asked.
She held herself immeasurably superior to them, I said. She despised them. 
She hated them, and held them in great contempt.
Quite appropriately, he said. And how did she behave toward them.
With arrogance, I said, and she enjoyed treating them with great cruelty.
I see, he said. You may kneel, my dear.
Boabissia knelt.
Did you never suspect, my dear, he asked, that you were a slave?
I did not dream I was imbonded, she whispered.
But you were, he said.
Yes, she said.
It is an interesting case, he said, a female who has been a legal slave 
unwittingly since infancy, and has only now, in the past Ehn, discovered her 
true condition.
Yes, I said.
But I fear, my dear, he said, that you have somewhat misinterpreted my 
question.
She raised her head, regarding him, puzzled.
I asked if you had never suspected that you were a slave.
She put down her head, reddening.
Answer, he said.
Are you speaking of legalities? she asked, angrily.
I am speaking of something far deeper and more profound than legalities, he 
said.
(pg. 307) I do not wish to answer that question, she said.
Speak, he said.
Yes, she said, I have suspected it.
You have been a slave from the moment of conception, he said.
She put down her head.
Split your knees, he said. More widely.
She complied. But then she looked up, half in defiance, half in tears.
Yes, he said, from the moment of conception.
She put down her head again, and sobbed.
Leash her, he said.
The fellow who had come in, responding to the summons of the small bell, snapped 
one end of a long slave leash on Boabissias throat. The leash is long to permit 
it being used in a variety of ways, for example, for binding the female or, 
looped, or loose, for giving her the encouragement of the whistling leather, or, 
if desired, the administration of more serious lash discipline. She looked up, 
frightened, knowing herself leashed, and on such a leash. Her eyes met those of 
the owner of the office.
You came here, he said, seeking to find out who you were. I trust you now 
know. Similarly, you came here to find riches, to seek your fortune. I trust you 
are now satisfied with the riches you have found, slave bracelets and a leash, 
though, to be sure, they are not yours, and with your fortune, that which so 
avidly sought, which proves to be total bondage.
Please, she wept, suddenly. I did not know!
How demanding, how preemptory, and arrogant, and suspicious, you were, he 
mused.
I am sorry, she said. Forgive me, I beg you!
How insistent you were, he said.
Forgive me, she said.
How fearful you were, he said, that you might not receive your dues, your 
just deserts.
Forgive me! she begged.
Lift your head, he said. Higher. Higher! She looked up at him, her head far 
back, the leash on her throat.
(pg. 308) I think I promised you that you would receive exactly what you 
deserved, exactly what you had coming.
Please, she said, trembling naked before a master.
You will receive exactly what you deserve, he said, and then even more. And 
you will get, my dear, not only exactly what you have coming, but that, I assure 
you, and then a thousand times more.
Mercy, please, she begged, in her helplessness.
And then, he said, you will be sold.
Please, no, she wept.
It is amusing, he said, that you held slaves in such great contempt, and 
treated them with such cruelty, for such is what you were all the time, and as 
such, revealed, in your full truth, you will now live.
She sobbed, helplessly.
It is interesting, said the fellow, looking down at the distraught beauty, 
kneeling before us, almost beside herself with confusion and fear. I have not 
seen this female since she was an infant. I remember tying the slave disk, with 
her number on it, about her tiny neck, opening her blankets that she might be 
exposed to me while doing so. Now, look at her, a beautifully developed, 
superbly desirable female slave.
She is indeed beautiful, and desirable, I said. I had never seen Boabissia 
look so lovely. To be sure, I had not before seen her truly was what she was, a 
slave. Slavery, putting a woman in her place in nature, returning her to where 
she belongs, considerably increases her beauty.
Who would of thought, he said, that that infant I bought for only three tarsk 
bits would have grown into something this marvelous. I am sure that I will be 
able to get at least two silver tarsks for her.
Doubtless, I said.
An excellent investment, he said.
I agree, I said.
You need not now keep your head in high-harness position, he said to the girl.
She moved her head. He stepped back a bit. She looked at him, frightened, his.
(pg. 309) It has been a long time, my dear, he said, but you are now home.
She put down her head, sobbing. She had been returned to her master.
Stand, he said to her.
She stood.
You know what to do with her, he said to the fellow who held her leash.
Yes, said the fellow.
Do it, he said. (pg. 310)
25    The Tunnels
Enter, said the woman.
It was now in the evening of the day in which Boabissia had hurried into the 
house marked with the Tau near the call rope. That Tau was the design, or 
trademark, of course, of Tenalion of Ar, one of the well-known slavers of the 
city. Tau is the first letter of the name Tenalion. I had recognized it 
immediately when I had seen it near the call rope. Indeed, it was identical with 
that on his place of business, which I had passed at various times when in Ar, a 
large, formidable structure located in the heart of Ars slaving district, which 
housed various facilities pertinent to his trade, ranging from beautifully 
appointed sales room to discipline pits. I had also seen it at different times 
at the Sardar Fairs, at his display spaces.
I had not met him personally, however, until today. He had entertained Hurtha 
and myself, sharing some fine paga with us, of the House of Temus, my favorite, 
after Boabissia had been removed from the room, presumably to be transported to 
his house of business. By now she was doubtless marked and collared, and chained 
somewhere there, presumably in the lower pens, as she was for most practical 
purposes a new girl. He seemed a very pleasant fellow. The Tau on Boabissia's 
disk had reminded me, I suppose, of his Tau. On the other hand, it had been 
different, and Taus, as other letters of the Gorean alphabet, are used in 
various designs and for various purposes. I had not realized, of course, that 
the current design of Tenalions Tau had been changed from an older one, that 
which had appeared on Boabissia's disk.
(pg. 311) Enter, said the woman. Enter the Tunnels, She was sitting on a 
stool outside.
I lowered my head and entered through the small iron door, and began to descend 
a dimly lighted ramp to the interior. At the foot of the ramp there was another 
woman.
It is a tarsk bit, she said.
I put a tarsk bit into the copper bowl on the small table near her. To the 
womans right was a barred gate. It was now open. Such gates are common in such 
establishments. They are generally open when the business is open, and closed 
when the business is closed. On the other side of the threshold hung a heavy 
curtain of red velvet.
The Tunnels was one of the slave brothels of Ludmilla, for whose establishments 
the street, the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, is named. She does not 
own all the brothels on the street, incidentally, nor the best of them, in my 
opinion, nor even the majority of them. It is only that several of them, five, 
to be exact, are owned by her, whereas no other entrepreneur owns more than two, 
this accounting apparently for the deprivation of the name. Her brothels, if it 
is of interest are the Chains of Gold, supposedly her best, costing at any rate 
a copper tarsk for admission, a common price for a paga tavern, and, all cheap 
tarsk-bit brothels, the Silken Cords, the Scarlet Whip, the Slave Racks and the 
Tunnels. On this street, too, of course, among many other sorts of 
establishments, such as shops and stalls, and smaller residences, are several 
insulae, among them the insula of Achiates.
I moved to the curtain and brushed it aside.
Welcome, said a woman. Welcome to the Tunnels.
I stepped within, permitting the curtain to fall back behind me.
Come this way, she said.
She was a large, strong woman, rather straight in body and coarse in feature. 
She was clad in brief leather. It was suggestive of that of a warrior. She wore 
armlets and bracelets. She carried a whip. Such is useful in keeping the slaves 
in line.
This way, she said.
I followed her, threading my way among the small tables, and the mats, and the 
slave rings and clutching, moving, (pg. 312) intertwined bodies, to a small 
table. I heard gasping, and a small cry of pain, and then a small cry of 
submission, and the movement of a chain on tiles. The room was crowded, but not 
too crowded. I heard conversation. Some musicians were playing in the half 
darkness. Some of these brothels are really not that much different from certain 
paga taverns. There, too, of course, girls go with the drinks, though dancers 
are commonly extra. The table was in the second row, or so, from the front of 
the room, where there was something of an open space. The musicians were on the 
right side of this, as I faced them. It was not easy to see at first. The room 
was illuminated, insofar as it was, with a soft, flickering, reddish light, the 
result of the flames of tiny tharlarion-oil lamps set in narrow red-glass 
enclosures on certain of the tables. In such a light, of course, interesting 
colorations, subtle, soft, constantly changing reddish hues, ranging, depending 
on the color of the glass and the mix of the lights, from dark, rose-colored 
pinks to creamy crimsons, are imparted to the flesh of white-skinned slaves. 
Too, there were many dark places and shadows. Some men are fond of privacy in 
such a place.
Is this satisfactory? she asked.
Yes, I said, sitting down, cross-legged, behind the small table.
Oh! said a woman, near me, half rearing up on a mat, and I saw her eyes, 
startled, for an instant, and that she was blond, and that her flesh appeared 
interesting in the light, and then she, the chain on her neck fastening her to 
the slave ring near the mat, was thrust back on the mat. Oh, yes! she cried. 
Yes, Master!
Are you he called Tarl, of Port Kar? said the woman who had conducted me to my 
place.
Why? I asked.
I was told to watch for such a person, she said.
Who told you? I asked. I had come to the Tunnels in response to a message, 
delivered to me by Achiates, the owner of the insula in which Hurtha and I were 
rooming. He had, it seemed, if he were telling the truth, and I had no 
particular reason to doubt it, found the message thrust under his door.
(pg. 313) She looked about. I do not see him here now, she said.
Are you this Tarl of Port Kar?
I am called Bosk, I said.
Oh, she said. This information did not seem to make much difference to her, 
one way or the other. I watched her. She did not, as far as I could tell, glance 
at any particular person, nor in any particular direction. I detected nothing 
unusual. I did not think, in any case, she would be more than the conveyor of a 
message.
I looked about. Various folks had entered after us. They, too, in their turns, 
were being seated. There were two or three hostesses, clad and accoutered 
similarly to mine.
One fellow was carrying a large sack over his shoulder. Even in the dim light 
certain curvatures seemed suggested within the sack. Too, there was a squirming 
within it which suggested that its occupant was bound. He was speaking to one of 
the hostesses.
What is that? I asked my hostess.
It is a joke, she said. He has captured a free female. We will put her 
stripped back in one of the tunnel alcoves. Her wrists will be braceleted behind 
her, chained to a slave ring. She will be unable to speak, being perfectly 
gagged. She will be left there in the darkness, helpless.
But she might be used, I said.
It is not impossible, she said. It is a matter of chance. Access to her will 
be as unrestricted as that to a slave.
Do you approve of such things? I asked.
If she is a feminine female, she said, of course. Such belong to men.
It is a splendid joke, I said.
Yes, she said.
What is done with them later? I asked.
Nothing, she said. We just put them out naked in the back, in the morning. If 
they have been used, however, we tie their hands behind their back and, on a 
cord about their waist, suspend a punched tarsk bit on their belly.
Why would someone do this sort of thing to a free woman? I asked.
Perhaps they found her displeasing in some way, she (pg. 314) said, and 
thought it might do her a bit of good, to discover something about what it is to 
be a female.
I see, I said.
There she goes, said the woman. She is being taken into one of the tunnel 
alcoves now, There are small exits from the larger room, on the other side of 
the open space, that lead to various tunnels, off of which may be found cells 
and alcoves. From such tunnels the establishment, of course, derives its name.
Yes, I said. We watched the fellow crouch down and enter one of the small 
openings, the sack now, with its helpless, squirming occupant, dragging behind 
him. One cannot, on the whole, stand upright in the tunnels. Sometimes one must 
actually crawl.
The musicians had now stopped playing.
Are you interested in free females? she asked.
Not particularly, I said.
Let us show you one, she said. Esne, she called. Bring Lady Labiena.
In a few moments one of the hostesses had emerged from a side door leading a 
lovely woman, barefoot, in a wrap-around tunic, on a neck chain. She was brought 
to my table where, unbidden, she knelt.
She is attractive, is she not? asked my hostess.
Yes, I said.
She is a captive free woman, said my hostess. We are keeping her for a 
friend.
I see, I said.
Open your tunic, said my hostess.
The woman parted her tunic, and held it to the sides.
She is pretty, isn't she? asked my hostess.
Yes, I said. Widen your knees, I told the woman. She did so, continuing to 
hold her tunic open.
Are you sure she is free? I asked.
Yes, said my hostess.
I regarded the woman. It seems she might as well be a slave, I said.
The woman threw me a look of gratitude.
No, she is free, said my hostess, though now, to be (pg 315) sure, she 
doubtless has some notion of what a slaves life might be like.
One can have no adequate notion of that, I said, Until one has been truly 
enslaved.
True, said my hostess.
What is your life like here? I asked the woman.
I wear a neck chain, she said.
I see, I said.
You may lower your hands, but do not close your tunic, said my hostess.
In what manner does she serve here, in this house? I asked. To be sure she was 
barefoot, and was naked but for a tunic, and had a chain on her neck. These 
things suggested some answers to my question.
Much as a slave, but with little of their skill, said my hostess.
They will not tell me their secrets, said the woman.
They have been ordered not to, said my hostess, our orders countermanding any 
which she might give them.
But they are pleased not to tell me! she wept.
Of course, said my hostess. They are slaves, and you are merely free. Too, 
often the secrets of slaves are perhaps best kept between themselves and their 
masters.
We will not even give her training, said the hostess who had brought her in.
That has cost me many beatings, said the free woman.
Why not train her? I asked.
Training would be inappropriate for her, as she is a free woman, said my 
hostess. Too, it might scandalize and horrify her. We would certainly not want 
that. Too, it is not likely that it would even be fully meaningful to her, as 
she is free, and would thus not be able to fully understand it as it is meant to 
be understood, in the helpless depths of an owned belly.
Is she being held for ransom? I asked.
No, said my hostess. But that was your hope, in the beginning, wasnt it, 
Lady Labiena?
No, said the woman, putting her head down.
But when it was learned that she had been captured, (pg. 316) said my hostess, 
she was cast off by her family, and sworn from the Home Stone.
My life as a free person was unsatisfactory to me, said the woman.
Watch your tongue, prisoner, said the female holding her neck chain.
It seems now, I said, that you are neither fully a free person nor a slave.
It amuses them, she said, to keep me as a free person in their power, for 
their customers.
Occasionally such women are available in these places, I said.
You do not know what I have done here, she said, looking up, what I have been 
made to do!
I can speculate, I assured her.
But much of what she has done here, said the woman holding her neck chain, 
has been simply servile. For example, we enjoy having her naked, on all fours, 
on a chain, scrubbing floors.
But surely she has been put upon occasion to the uses of your customers, I 
said.
Of course, said the woman holding the neck chain, havent you, Lady Labiena.
Yes, said the kneeling woman, her knees wide, her tunic parted.
I regarded her.
But I have learned things here, she said, that I never dreamed of as a free 
woman. I have been able to sense here the ecstasies of bondage, the ecstasies of 
a life obligatorily sensual, a life under strict discipline, a life where I must 
obey, a life where I will, and must, surrender myself totally and, subject to 
penalties, and even death, if I am displeasing, live thenceforth solely for 
service and love.
You sing the joys of a love slave, surely, I said, not the woes of a woman 
who must crawl beneath the whip of a hated master.
Do you not think a love slave crawls fearfully beneath the whip of her master? 
she asked.
(pg. 317) The love slave is still a slave, you see, I said, and perhaps more 
a slave than any other.
Yes, whispered the woman.
She is held in her bondage by the strongest of all bonds, I said, that of 
love.
Yes, she said.
It is stronger than the chain on your neck, I said.
I know, she said.
It must then be very strong, laughed the woman who held her chain. She gave it 
a tug, jerking it against the side of the womans neck.
It is, I said.
They give me to anyone here, said the woman. Some are hideous, some smell, in 
the fetid breath of some I almost choke and die, and yet I must serve them, 
unquestioningly, although a free woman, according to whatever their dictates and 
whims.
I regarded the woman.
I want a private master, she said. I want my own master.
It is a natural desire on the part of a female. I said.
Then she looked up, suddenly, piteously, at the woman who was holding her neck 
chain. I want a collar, she said to her. You know that. I have begged for it. 
Why will you not give me a collar? You have made me, in effect, a slave. Now I 
am good for nothing else. I have learned too much! Why deny me the mark, the 
collar? Why do you so shame me? Put me in a collar, that what I now know I am 
may be proclaimed to the world! I want to be sold! I want to find a master! I am 
ready to serve, and fully!
Be silent, said the woman who held her chain. That is no way for a free woman 
to speak. Put your head to the floor, pull your tunic up over your head!
Frightened, the woman did as she was told. The woman who had her in her keeping 
then called to another of the hostesses. Three strokes, she told her. That 
woman then, with her whip, struck Lady Labiena three times.
Replace your tunic and kneel straightly, said her keeper.
Lady Labiena, tears running down her cheeks, complied.
(pg. 318) We have told you, Lady Labiena, said my hostess. We are merely 
keeping you for a friend.
For whom are you keeping me? she begged.
That is for us to know, and for you to wonder, she said.
Tell him, if you would, she said, that his capture is now ready to be 
imbonded, that she is now ready to lick his feet and beg a collar, that she is 
ready to be used, or sold, whatever be his will.
That is Lady Labiena, said my hostess. See how feminine she is? See how right 
she is for a man?
Yes, I said.
Chain her at his mats slave ring, said my hostess.
No, I said.
What? asked my hostess.
No, I said.
Clearly she is fit for the collar, said my hostess.
True, I said. But she is not yet in a collar. She is a mere free woman. She 
does not yet know the collar. She does not yet feel it in every part of her. Its 
meaning has not yet soaked into her brain, her skin, her belly, even to the tips 
of her toes.
You are not interested in free females? she said.
Not particularly, I reminded her. This is not that unusual in one who has 
tasted of slaves. As women, there is no comparison between a free woman and her 
imbonded sister. Perhaps that is why free women so hate slaves. To be sure, 
there is something to be said for free women. It is enjoyable to capture, 
enslave and train them. That is interesting. But then, of course, in a matter of 
time, one is not then dealing any longer with a free woman, but only another 
slave.
Close your tunic, you brazen slut, said my hostess to the Lady Labiena, who 
hurriedly drew it together, obeying. Then she said to the woman who held her 
chain. Take her away.
The Lady Labiena was led from the floor, through the door from which she had 
earlier emerged. Presumably she would be fastened by her neck chain to a wall or 
floor ring within, until she was brought forth again on the floor.
My hostess then lifted her head and looked to the left of the (pg. 319) open 
space, where several females huddled. It was hard to tell in the light, but I 
thought they were naked. She cracked her whip, and they scurried swiftly to the 
table, where they knelt. They were naked.
Now these are slaves, I said. I examined them. How incredibly beautiful and 
sensuous they were, how soft and vulnerable, how owned. It was not merely that 
they were nude and that their necks were locked in steel collars. It was 
something else, almost indefinable, but very real, about them, which marked them 
as slaves, something which seemed to say, We are slaves, Masters. We are yours. 
Do with us as you will.
The woman cracked her whip again and the girls inadvertently cringed and shrank 
back. They were slaves, and knew well that sound. Two of them had even cried out 
in fear. The woman then went to the line. Straighten your bodies, she said. 
You are in the presence of a man. She touched more than one with the whip 
coils, adjusting her posture, and, with the coils, lifted up the chin of 
another. Then she turned to me. These are available, she said. Perhaps you 
find one or more of them pleasing?
I surveyed the women.
Such, she said, are fit for men.
Yes, I said.
They are pleasant, meaningless creatures, she said.
I did not respond to the woman. There was a sense, of course, in which the slave 
girl is meaningless, the sense in which she is nothing, the sense in which she 
is a mere property, a rightless object, fittingly to be scorned, to be treated 
as one pleases, to be made to serve, to be disciplined or whipped, to be kept or 
cast away, as one might choose, and yet, in another sense, what meaning could a 
free woman even begin to have, compared to that of a slave at ones feet?
Are they not pretty? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I regarded the slaves.
They knelt before me, in the half darkness, in a line. They had been well 
positioned. Their collars glinted, the steel reflecting the dim, reddish light 
of the tiny lamps. Their (pg. 320) flesh, too, that of offerings of the house, 
so cheaply available, revealed the effects of this same dim illumination. The 
free woman, Ludmilla proprietress of this establishment, and of several others 
on the street, had some concept, it seemed, as to at least one way in which 
female slaves might be presented before men. One does not, of course, buy a 
woman in such light. Preferably one considers them in strong light with great 
care. Indeed, preferably one does not put out any money until one has carefully 
examined every inch of her fair body. Even girls who are to be auctioned are 
commonly available, in exposition cages or display spaces, and sometimes for 
handling, for inspection before a sale, that one may determine whether or not he 
wishes to make a bid, and, also, of course, how high he might be willing to go 
to acquire her.
The woman turned about, and, lifting her whip, signaled to the musicians at the 
right side of the room. They began to play. She then cracked the whip again and 
the slaves sprang to their feet and began to dance before me, as only slaves can 
dance before men.
How meaningless they are, laughed the free woman.
How incredibly meaningful, how explosively and thunderingly meaningful, how 
devastatingly meaningful, how momentously significant they were, these females 
of my species, presenting themselves before me in the modalities incumbent upon 
them, modalities constituting civilized and delicious refinements of 
relationships instituted and determined eons ago by nature, modalities which 
will always, in one way or another, in one nomenclature or another, be required 
of beautiful women by strong men, modalities most simply and directly though of, 
and most honestly thought of, as those of slave and master. One of the glories 
of the Gorean culture is that it has a body of law, sanctioned by tradition and 
mercilessly enforced, pertaining, without evasion or subterfuge, to this 
relationship.
Yartel, said the woman, motioning to one of the girls who then, obediently, 
moved forward, writhing before me. She was a short-legged, creamy-skinned, 
voluptuous blonde. One difference between Gorean sexual tastes and those of 
earth, I might mention, is that Gorean sexual tastes, at least (pg. 321) in my 
opinion, are much broader and more tolerant than those of Earth, or at least of 
Western Civilization, and tend to run toward the statistical norms of the human 
female. For example, many women on Earth who are implicitly taught by their 
culture, for example, through pictures and accounts, that they do not fulfill 
culturally approved stereotypes of feminine desirability and beauty, might 
discover, presumably to their horror, that they would bring a high price in a 
Gorean slave market. If they should have any lingering doubts about the matter, 
and think perhaps to escape a discipline more appropriately applied to true 
beauties, because they do not regard themselves as such, their delusions are 
likely to be dispelled under their masters whip. Also, although I suppose the 
matter is neither here nor there, Goreans also tend to prize women for such 
things as their intelligence, emotional depth, charm and personality. It is a 
pleasure to own such a female.
The most fundamental property prized by Goreans in women, I suppose, though 
little is said about it, is her need for love, and her capacity for love. How 
much does she need love? And how deep and loving is she? That is the kind of 
woman a man wants, ultimately, one who is helplessly and totally loves captive, 
in his collar.
To be sure, it is also pleasurable, particularly in the beginning, to bend a 
woman, and to teach her her place. Few pleasures can compare, for example, with 
that of taking an unwilling female, preferably one who hates you, and, against 
her will, forcing her to yield to you the total and exquisite perfections of 
slave service. One may then, after she has learned herself a slave, after she 
has been brought to this self-understanding, do what one wishes with her, say, 
keeping her or selling her, doubtless now making a profit on her, and putting 
her into the markets, where, eventually, if she is fortunate, she might 
eventually become into the hands of an excellent master for her, one whose 
devoted love slave she will beg to be.
Louise, said the woman with the whip.
A short, slender, exquisite, very white-skinned, red-haired (pg. 322) girl moved 
forth immediately from the line, dancing before me.
Louise is an Earth-girl name. I wondered if she were from Earth. Often, of 
course, Earth-girl names are given to Gorean female slaves. They are almost 
uniformly regarded as suitable slave names. Similarly, girls who wear them are 
taken to be slaves. It is sometimes amusing to Goreans when an Earth girl shows 
up in a Gorean slave market, insisting that her name is such and such, a name 
taken on Gor to be a slave name. It is as though she were confessing her 
bondage. She may be given the name afresh, but now to be worn as a slave name 
chosen by her master, or, sometimes, presumably that she may better understand 
her dependence on mens will, and her subjection to male domination, she may be 
given another Earth-girl name. When more than one Earth girl is in the same lot, 
their names may be switched, the name Audrey, for example, being given to the 
former Karen, and the name Karen now being given to the former Audrey.
Most often, however, the Earth girls are given Gorean names, and usually Gorean 
slave names. Many masters discover that this procedure often smoothes and 
hastens the transition between the background of Earth freedoms, such as they 
are, and the new reality of absolute bondage. When the former Stacy Smith or 
Betty Lou Madison discover that they are now, say, Sabita, Dilek, Tuka, Cicek, 
or Lita, it helps to convince them that their old life is now behind them, and 
is gone forever. They then hurry, and are well advised to do so, to become the 
finest, the most superb, the most desirable Sabita, Dilek, Tuka, Cicek or Lita 
they can.
I regarded the slender girl dancing before me. Her breasts were small, and well 
formed. The reddish light was particularly lovely, in its shifting hues, 
reflecting from so fair-skinned a body. The steel collar looked well on her 
neck.
Are you from Earth? I asked her, in English.
Yes! she said, startled.
Do not stop dancing, I told her, in English.
Are you from Earth? she asked, wildly.
Once, I said.
(pg. 323) I am an Earth woman! she said. Behold me in bondage!
I do, I said. And you are very pretty in bondage.
Her fists clenched over her head, as she writhed before me. Right this wrong! 
she begged.
What wrong? I asked.
That I am in bondage! she cried.
Dance more superbly, I told her.
She writhed yet more lasciviously, more deliciously, before me.
You look well in a collar, I informed her.
Please, she protested.
Quite well, I said.
Rescue me from bondage! she cried.
No, I said.
What! she cried.
Dance, I told her.
She wept, and danced, and danced well.
I examined her movements. Clearly they were those of a slave.
The only wrong, my dear, I said, would have been if you had not been reduced 
to bondage.
Please! she wept.
How do you address me? I asked.
Master! she wept.
I motioned that she might return to the line, and, sobbing, dancing, she did so. 
The collar looked well on her neck. Clearly it belonged there. In time she would 
come to understand that and would then, fearfully, live in love, rejoicing.
Birsen, said the woman with the whip.
A tall thin girl, then, with brown hair about her shoulders, came forward. On 
Earth such a type, of such a structure, and with her beauty, I surmised, might 
have become a high fashion model. I indicated that she might return to the line.
Demet, said the woman.
A short, dark-skinned girl, plump and meaty, one about whose femaleness there 
could be no doubt, with long, swirling black hair, spun forward and writhed 
before me. She had soft, full, pouting lips, of the sort that seem made for the 
(pg. 324) raping of the masters kiss. If she had ever been a free woman, 
doubtless she had been warned to keep those lips veiled, lest they attract the 
attention of slavers. I forced myself to remember that I had come here in 
response to a message, that I was expected to be partner to some sort of 
rendezvous. I had left Hurtha at the insula, with Feiqa, though by now, a lusty 
fellow, he was doubtless somewhere else on the street, Feiqa left behind, 
chained to her ring in the room. I did not know if there would be any danger, or 
not. At any rate, if there were to be any danger, it did not seem to me 
appropriate that I should enter my hearty companion of the road into it. Such 
perils, if they existed, were properly mine.
I see that Demet interests you, said my hostess. She was once a high lady in 
the Tahari, but you can see, her lips made it inevitable that she would be sold 
into slavery.
I considered the movements of her sweetly broad love cradle.
Have you learned submission, Demet? I asked.
Can you not read it in my eyes, Master? she asked.
Speak, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. I have learned submission.
You are one of our best girls, aren't you, Demet? asked the woman with the 
whip, moving it on her belly as she danced.
I hope so Mistress, said Demet, frightened.
Are you happy as a slave? I asked.
I beg to be sold, she wept suddenly, that I may have a private master. Then 
she cried out in pain, lashed by the womans whip.
Forgive me, Mistress, she begged. She did not stop dancing. The other girls, 
too, frightened, still dancing, shrank back a bit. I saw that the hostess kept 
these feminine women under good discipline.
Let us have her chained to your mat ring, said the woman with the whip.
Return her to the line, I said.
Lale, said the woman with the whip, summoning forward, with a gesture of the 
whip, the last of the slaves before me.
I am Lale, said the girl, dancing meaningfully before (pg. 325) me. Examine 
me. I can give great pleasure, I regarded her. She was a medium-sized, full 
bodied, stunning brunet. I had no doubt that she could indeed give great 
pleasure. I observed her with care. How beautiful women are in slave dance. And 
what a prelude it is to their subjugation and ravishment.
Master likes Lale, she said.
Perhaps, I said.
She then, suddenly, danced very close to me. Have Lale chained to your ring, 
she said.
Is the belly of Lale needful? I asked.
Yes, she whispered.
I regarded her.
Please, she said. Lale has not been chosen in two nights.
You would have yourself chosen not for my pleasure, but for your desperate 
need? I asked.
For both, please, Master, she said. For both!
Perhaps, I said. She was quite beautiful. Until one has seen needful slaves, 
one has not seen women.
Too, she whispered, if Lale is not chosen tonight, she will be whipped. Do 
not let Lale be whipped. Master does not want Lale whipped.
I see now why you have not been used in two nights, I said. Apparently you 
are not satisfactory.
No, she said. No, Master!
Return to the line, I said.
Master, please! she protested.
What is going on? asked the woman with the whip.
She is trying to influence my choice by extraneous considerations, I said. I 
choose not to accept this attempt at manipulation.
The woman suddenly cracked her whip. The girls stopped dancing. Kneel, she 
said to them. You, Lale, remain where you are.
What did she say? asked the woman with the whip.
Lale trembled, and moaned.
Nothing, really, I said. It was merely that she (pg. 326) attempted to elicit 
my pity, to win my choice, telling me that if she was not chosen tonight she 
would be whipped.
Head to the floor! cried the hostess.
Lale put her head down to the floor. The lash fell once, fiercely, across her 
back. Lale cried out in misery.
It is not worth whipping her about, I said. It is not her fault if she is not 
popular.
Not popular? laughed the hostess. Oh, she is a sly one, the little she-sleen! 
She is one of the most popular girls in the house,
Oh? I said.
Lale cried out as the whip fell on her again.
Look up, little fool, said the hostess, and see the man you tried to 
manipulate.
Lale looked up in misery, the tears streaming down her face.
Does he look like the kind of man you could play your silly little games with, 
does he look like the kind of man you could manipulate with pity? Can you not 
see he knows what slaves are, and knows how to handle them. Head down!
Again the lash fell upon Lale.
I have told you about that trick! said the free woman, angrily. You have used 
it before! Perhaps that is the secret of your popularity! Perhaps that is why 
you are so often chosen, and are thrown sweets in the chaining bin as rewards! 
Is that how you compete with the other girls?
Please, Mistress! begged Lale. But the lash fell twice more upon her.
I noted that the other girls, kneeling in the background, did not seem at all 
dismayed with the punishment of the errant Lale. If she were popular in the 
house, I gathered it was with the customers, and not with her chain sisters.
And now you have lied again, and to a free man! snarled the hostess. Three 
more times then the lash fell upon the hapless Lale, and then she lay on her 
belly, sobbing on the tiles.
Kneel! commanded the free woman. Lale struggled to her knees.
Get on all fours, said the woman.
(pg. 327) Lale was then on all fours.
You are now in the modality of the she-quadruped, said my hostess.
Lale moaned.
Esne, called my hostess. That woman, she who had earlier taken the Lady 
Labiena from the floor, came over. She, too, carried a whip, and was dressed in 
brief leather, rather like that of a warrior. At her belt was a chain leash.
My hostess made a sign and Lale was leashed.
Can you understand me, my little she-quadruped? asked my hostess. Whimper 
once for Yes, whimper twice for No. 
Lale whimpered once.
Good, said my hostess. You are a bright little she-quadruped.
The chain shook, as Lale trembled.
Have you ever served as a she-quadruped before? asked my hostess.
Lale whimpered twice.
But you understand something of what is involved, do you not? asked my 
hostess.
One whimper.
For two weeks, said my hostess, or more, if I choose, you will be chained in 
the darkness, in one of the back alcoves, serving there as a speechless animal 
any who may come upon you or desire you.
Lale groaned in pain.
Do you understand? asked my hostess.
Lale whimpered once.
Take her way, said my hostess. Delta Tunnel, Alcove Twenty-One.
That would be the left side of the tunnel, as one entered. The even numbers are 
on the right.
I watched Lale being conducted from the floor. Her head was down. Once or twice 
her head was jerked up, as the leash was tautened, Esne hurrying her along. 
Esne, like my hostess, was a sturdy woman. It interested me that the hostesses 
here were dressed in rather mannish garb. That was, I supposed, primarily to 
impress upon the slaves that it was a (pg. 328) masculine type discipline to 
which they were being subjected. Too, of course, it is easier to move swiftly, 
and to kick, and use a whip, in such garb. On the other hand, it did seem a bit 
of an empty mockery. The hostesses, when all was said and done, were not really 
men; they were, ultimately, like their charges, only females. To be sure, they 
were free females, and this well qualified them for their posts. There are few 
things a female slave fears more than a free female. Female slaves, so helpless 
in their collars, so much at the mercy of any free person whatsoever, live in 
terror of such females, for they know that they despise and hate them.
Return to your places, said my hostess to the other girls.
Yes, Mistress, they said, and, leaping up, hurried back into the shadows, at 
the left, from whence they had been summoned, there to crouch and kneel once 
more, awaiting their next call forward.
I am sorry, said my hostess.
Perhaps you have others? I asked. I looked about. As yet, as nearly as I could 
tell, no one had attempted to contact me. I assumed that they would attempt to 
make the first contact, either having seen me, presumably near the Central 
Cylinder, or having some sort of description. I would prefer, of course, to get 
a look at them first, and, if necessary, to count them.
If you care to wait, she said, some of these other wenches, on their backs 
and bellies on the mats, will be relinquished.
Have you any others, available now? I asked.
Not really, she said. We do have some new girls, in cages, recently brought 
in. They are not yet fully trained for the floor, however. Indeed, some are only 
recently marked and collared. We do have the girls in the alcoves, of course.
Who is that woman? I asked. I indicated a nicely bodied woman, barefoot, in a 
calf-length, sleeveless white gown, with a low dcolletage, moving among the 
tables. The neckline left no doubt s to certain of her excitements. They were 
such as men might pay for in a slave market. I found it interesting that she, in 
this place, though apparently not a (pg. 329) hostess, was clothed. The slaves I 
had seen here were stripped. Golden bangles encircled her ankles, and golden 
bracelets encircled her wrists. Too, she had golden armlets.
She is a free woman, said my hostess.
Here? I asked.
She has paid her tarsk bit, said my hostess. Beware of her.
I saw the woman approaching a fellow at a table. She knelt near the table, in 
the position of the free woman. She smiled at him.
Where are the cages? I asked.
I will show you, she said.
I rose to my feet.
My hostess paused for a moment beside one of the girls serving on a nearby 
fellows mat. The chain on her neck ran to the mat ring. Becoming suddenly aware 
of the presence of the hostess, the girl, who was kneeling, swiftly put her head 
to the floor.
Leitel, said the hostess, kindly.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl, her voice quavering.
You can lick and kiss more salaciously than that, she chided.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl.
Our customers do not come here, said the hostess, for attentions which they 
could receive at home from their free companions. They come here for the kisses 
of slaves, and the pleasures of slaves.
Yes, Mistress, whispered the girl.
Are you a slave? asked the hostess.
Yes, Mistress, said the girl.
Wholly?
Yes, Mistress, said the girl.
And this is a customer? she asked, indicating the houses client in question.
Yes, Mistress, she wept.
See, then, she said, that you give him the pleasures of a slave.
Yes, Mistress! she wept.
The total pleasures of a slave, said my hostess.
(pg. 330) Yes, Mistress! she cried.
My hostess then continued on her way, and I followed her. We went past the girls 
at the left, Yartel, and the rest. They shrank back in fear as the hostess 
passed them.
You keep these females under excellent discipline, I observed.
Yes, she said.
You seem to enjoy making them serve men, I said.
Yes, she said, it is enjoyable to make such women serve men. That is what 
they are for.
Such women? I asked.
Feminine women, slaves, she said. It is what they should be doing. It is 
their nature and destiny. Every truly feminine woman desires to belong to some 
man. No such woman will ever be truly happy until she is helplessly in the 
collar of her master, and subject to his lash.
I continued to follow her.
Through here, she said.
I see, I said.
Within this room there were some fifteen or twenty slave cages, some four to 
four and a half feet square, such confines dictated by the consideration that 
their contents are not to be permitted to stand upright within them, or stretch 
out, completely, within them. They may be comfortably knelt within, and curled 
up within, of course, postures suitable for slaves. Seven of these cages were 
occupied, the occupants stripped and collared.
One of the girls, seeing the hostess, scrambled, frightened, to the back of her 
small cage. She cowered there, not daring to look at the hostess. Her back was 
marked.
Little Ila first learned discipline today, explained my hostess. The name 
Ila was on a small card inserted into a frame on the front of the cage, at the 
upper right-hand corner. Do not disturb these two, said my hostess. They have 
had a hard day, We saw two slaves curled up in their cages, asleep. They had 
tiny bits of blankets clutched about them. These did not, however, much cover 
them, or leave much doubt as to their beauty. Bits of blanket, too, floored some 
of the other cages. On these some of the other girls knelt or lay.
(pg. 331) From the cards in the frames I noted that the two slaves, so tempting 
to awaken suddenly with a masters rape, were Sucha and Takita.
Food, whispered a woman, extending her hand piteously through the bars, toward 
the hostess. Please, I am hungry!
Learn your lesson better in the training periods, said my hostess to her, and 
you may be fed.
The name of that one, I read, was Chelto.
Perhaps, I said, she might do better if she had a more suitable name.
What is wrong with Chelto? asked the woman.
It is a rather masculine name, I said. It is the sort of name which might be 
used as the nickname for a male sleen, or something.
Perhaps you are right, said the woman, looking at the cages occupant, a 
shapely, wide-hipped brunet. What would you suggest?
I shrugged. I do not know, I said. Perhaps Tula or Tuka.
Please, no! begged the woman in the cage, shrinking back. They are such slave 
names! Mock me, if you will, with a name such as Chelto. Better that a 
thousand times than names such as Tula and Tuka, the names of slaves, of 
soft, perfumed girls who must helplessly serve in all things!
The hostess removed a marking stick from her pouch and removed the card from the 
cage frame. She leaned on the top of the cage. She crossed out the name Chelto 
and replaced it with another name. She then replaced the card in the frame.
Mistress? asked the kneeling slave within.
You are now Tula,  said the hostess. I saw that that was the new name 
written on the card.
No, please! begged the woman.
What is your name? asked the hostess.
 Tula,  said the woman in the cage, shuddering.
Who are you? asked the hostess.
I am Tula, said the kneeling, stripped woman. She was pretty in her collar.
(pg. 332) And tomorrow you will learn your lessons well, will you not? asked 
my hostess.
Yes, Mistress, said the woman, trembling.
And who is going to learn her lessons well from now on? asked my hostess.
Tula is going to learn her lessons well from now on, said the woman.
And who is going to be a superb slave?
Tula is going to be a superb slave, said the woman.
We then left her cage. I glanced back, briefly. The woman was kneeling there, 
shaken, wide-eyed. It was almost as though some sort of explosion had taken 
place within her. She knelt there, as though trying to come to grips with what 
had been done to her, with what had occurred within her. She was now, by the 
will of masters, a new person. She shuddered. Then she widened her knees, 
trembling. She was now Tula.
We went to the next cage. In this one there was a blond girl sitting with her 
left side to the back of the cage, her knees drawn up, her head down, her arms 
about her knees, her left hand clasped about her right wrist. She looked up, 
dully, and then lowered her head again. Beneath her hair I could see the steel 
of the collar on her neck.
My hostess tapped on the bars with the whip. The girl then came forward and 
knelt before us, in the center of the cage.
The hostess tapped on the bars with the whip. The girl widened her knees.
This one, said my hostess, was to have been trained with gentleness, but she 
made the mistake of expressing a concern for her privacy. We then stripped her 
and put her in a slave cage.
I see, I said. There was not much privacy for a naked woman in a slave cage.
It was a mistake to have begun gently with her, said the hostess.
It probably depends on the girl, I said. Some women, whose hunger for bondage 
is just under the surface, if not manifest, are probably prepared to be superb 
slaves almost instantly, with no pain, or perhaps no more than a modicum of 
pain, perhaps only enough to assure them of the reality of (pg. 333) their 
condition, that they are truly slaves, and subject to the strict discipline of 
an uncompromising master. Such women, eager to serve, rejoicing in the 
achievement at long last of this profound fulfillment, hitherto only dreamed of, 
ask little more than what to do, and how to do it.
True, she said.
Did this one cause difficulty? I asked.
Not really, she said.
The girl in the cage looked up, angrily.
Are you still determined to resist slavery, pretty Lupita? asked the woman. 
That was the name on the cage card.
Yes, Mistress! said the girl.
But you will not be successful, will you? asked my hostess.
No, said the girl, putting her head down, sobbing suddenly, I will not be 
successful.
I looked at my hostess.
She has had time to think in the slave cage, explained the woman.
The girl in the cage kept her head down. Tears fell from her cheeks to the bit 
of a blanket on which she knelt. The shadows of the cage bars made an 
interesting pattern on her flesh.
For several days, I suppose as a matter of pride, she was pretending to resist 
slavery, said the woman, though, clearly, to a trained eye, she wanted it, 
more than anything.
The girl looked up in agony.
That is true, is it not, pretty Lupita? asked the hostess.
Yes, Mistress, she sobbed.
Give me your hands, I said to the girl. She extended them through the bars. I 
then drew her toward me, and moved my hands up her arms, until I held her near, 
high on her arms, until her right cheek was pulled against the bars. I held her 
there. Your resistance, or pretended resistance, is now is nearly at an end, is 
it not? I asked her.
Yes, Master, she said. I then let her loose, and she fell back, twisting, on 
her shoulder, to the floor of the cage. She pounded on the floor of the cage 
with her small fists. She tore at the blanket on the floor with her fingernails, 
sobbing. Then (pg. 334) she lay quietly. Put me out on the floor, she said. 
Chain me to a ring.
Why? asked the hostess.
Because I am a slave, she said.
You are not yet sufficiently skilled, slave, said my hostess.
The slave wept.
We then went to the next occupied cage.
Here a brunet, well-curved, with sweet, full thighs, knelt close to the bars, 
grasping them with her small hands, her face pressed between two of them. The 
bars in these cages are set about four inches apart, and are about an inch in 
thickness. They are heavy, sturdy cages. Here the card read Mina.
This is the former Lady Mina, a huntress, from the luxurious Noviminae villas 
in the vicinity of Lydius. But she is a huntress no more.
I regarded her.
Speak, said my hostess to the woman.
I went hunting, she said, but it was I who was caught and put in a cage.
How were you taken? I asked.
Please, she said.
Speak, I said, or will it be necessary to draw you forth from the cage and 
whip you?
I was the Lady Mina, she said, of the villas of Noviminae, near Lydius. I set 
out in my hunting leather with crossbow, upon a pacing tharlarion, after tabuk.
You were alone? I asked.
Yes, she said.
A fool, fit for the collar, commented my hostess.
I was after tabuk, she said, but others, too, were abroad that day, who 
sought a slower, softer game.
My hostess laughed, and the slave clasped the bars yet more tightly.
I did not suspect they were in the vicinity, said the slave.
That is not unusual, I said. Such men, of course, commonly know their 
business.
(pg. 335) I spotted a tabuk, and set off in hot pursuit, across the fields, 
she said. It was an agile, wily beast, and led me a splendid chase. Intent upon 
it I did not note the other riders, closing in upon me. The tabuk harried to 
exhaustion, helpless, lying gasping on the grass, I rode to it, my crossbow 
ready. It would not be a difficult shot. I would enter my bolt into its heart. I 
took aim. But the bow was lifted from me. Greetings, said a man. How dare you 
interfere! I cried. The tabuk is mine! No, he said, it is you who are 
ours. What? I cried. Greetings, said he then, slave. What! I cried. But 
I felt then two ropes, from opposite sides, encircle my neck. I was dragged back 
off the tharlarion into the grass. I sprang to my feet. I reached for my dagger, 
but it had been removed from my sheath! I stood there, wild, on the grass, 
between them, the two ropes on my neck. Then in short order I was stripped and 
bound, my ankles together and my hands before me. I saw the exhausted tabuk 
recover and rise unsteadily to its feet, and trot away. I, on the other hand, 
was thrown on my back before the saddle of the leader of these men. Both my 
bound ankles and wrists were thonged to rings. I was in the place in which I 
would have brought home the tabuk, save I would have had him on his belly, so 
bound. My captor had put me on my back, I suppose, so that I might see him. We 
then began to move slowly toward a distant wood, that of Nina. It was in that 
place that they had their camp. Oh! I cried. I had never felt the hands of a 
man on my body. You cannot do this to me! I cried. I am a free woman! Be 
silent, said he, slave. I struggled wildly. Then he leaned down and seized me 
by the hair with his left hand, and pulled my head up, and then, then with the 
flat of his right hand, cuffed me, and then flung me back where I had been, as 
though I might have been a mere object. I could not believe it. He had cuffed 
me! Me! A woman from the villas of Noviminae! I lay there before him. We rode 
slowly. I could not believe what he was doing to me. I was a free woman! I dared 
not protest. I had learned my captor was not a weakling, and that he was quite 
capable of punishing me. Soon I began to squirm before the saddle. I could not 
even begin to understand such feelings. Some of (pg. 336) the men laughed. At 
last, as we entered among the trees of the woods of Nina, he gave me respite. 
Thank you, I said pridefully, in haughty irony. But in a moment I jerked 
helplessly, writhing, looking up at him, in frustration against the rings. The 
men laughed. Yes? he asked. Nothing! I said. I dared not confess to him how 
distressed I was at the stoppage of his touch, at the cessation of those 
intriguing, unfamiliar, troubling sensations which seemed to radiate through my 
entire body, seeming to change everything within me and my whole concept of 
myself. I dared not beg for more. We were then at his camp, and I was put bound 
on the leaves of the woods floor. They had brought my tharlarion along. I 
supposed they would sell it. I wondered what my own fate would be.
My hostess laughed.
Go on, I said.
There were other girls, too, in this camp, she said, but they appeared to be 
mere peasant lasses. They were on a common neck chain, stripped, fastened 
between two trees. They seemed, unlike myself, suitable candidates for slavery.
My hostess smiled.
Continue, I told the slave.
 You will now beg to wear shackles and cook, said the leader. Never, I 
said. They then untied me, but only to string me up by the ankles to a tree 
branch. In moments I begged to wear shackles, and cook. They took me down, and, 
in horror, I saw the metal put on my ankles. They were close shackles, and gave 
me a play of no more than three horts. They need not fear I would run away. I 
then, though I was of the villas of Noviminae, cooked. It was the first time I 
had ever served men.
How did you feel about this? I asked.
She looked down.
Speak, said my hostess, sternly.
I was unutterably thrilled, so to serve men, she whispered.
Of course, said my hostess, for you were not truly a huntress. You were only 
a slave pretending to be a huntress.
Yes, Mistress, said the woman in the collar.
The pretense is now over, said my hostess.
(pg. 337) Yes, Mistress, she said.
What occurred then? I asked the slave.
There is little more to tell, she said. After the meal I lay at the feet of 
my captors. I was docile. I hoped that they would touch me. After they had drunk 
they removed the shackles from me and I was passed about, among them. I could 
not believe the things I did, nor the feelings I experienced. There were cries 
of rage, and denunciation, from the other girls, who could see everything. But I 
did not care. I could not help myself. They had a wagon there, with a cage on 
it. They would leave the camp after darkness. When they left, I, and the others, 
were bound hand and foot, and put in gag hoods, so that we could neither see nor 
speak. We were then put in the wagon cage. It was locked. We then were taken 
from the woods of Nina. Eventually, when our solicitations for aid would be 
meaningless, for who cares about the lamentations of unknown females, our gag 
hoods and bonds were removed. Then, still sturdily encaged, but mercifully now 
only stripped, we were brought south. It was a long trip. In the beginning I was 
much at the mercy of the other girls, and was much beaten by them. They resented 
my behavior in the woods. Then, at a night camp, another girl was taken from the 
wagon, for the pleasure of the captors. She learned, too, she was a woman. There 
were then two to abuse, and beat. Then there were three. And, soon, there were 
more in the cage who now knew themselves than did not. The beatings then must 
stop, save for those administered, and often harshly by the captors. Then, in 
time, there were none in the cage who has still to learn the meaning of their 
sex, none who had not now learned that they were slaves, and fully.
Excellent, I said.
We even began to beg for the attentions of our captors,
Of course, I said.
What had begun in the vicinity of Lydius, as, with the possible exception of 
myself, a cage of free women had become, by the time we had reached Venna, on 
the Viktel Aria, a cage of competitive, amorous slaves.
Was it at Venna that you were legally imbonded? I asked.
(pg. 338) Yes, she said, it was there that the legal details were attended 
to. Our captors, quite rightly, adjudged us now ready for our brands and 
collars. The technicalities were attended to. We were legal slaves.
I see, I said.
It was only a short trip then, she said, to the sales rooms of Ar.
I understand, I said.
She, kneeling there in the cage, her hands on the bars, looked up at me. I had 
been a rich woman of the villas of Noviminae, she said. I think my captor 
enjoyed selling me to a brothel.
Doubtless, I said.
She moved back a bit from the bars. She put down her head.
What did you pay for her? I asked.
Three silver tarsks, said my hostess.
That is a high price, I said.
You had better be worth it on the floor, Mina, said my hostess.
I will try, Mistress, said Mina.
Perhaps you will come into the keeping of a private master someday, I said.
She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. Such men, she said, seldom buy girls 
out of brothels.
Some might, I said. I looked at my hostess. If someone were interested in 
her, I asked, would she be for sale?
She is the only wench we have from the villas of Noviminae, said my hostess. 
That is a rather special background. It is almost like once having been of high 
caste. That background is likely to be of interest to many of our customers. We 
expect her to be in frequent demand. She looked down upon the slave. Perhaps 
you can tell them of the beauty of the villas, and of how spoiled and rich you 
were, she said, while you squirm in their arms.
Yes, Mistress, whispered the girl.
But if an offer were made? I asked.
It would depend, of course, she said, on the offer.
(pg. 339) She is then for sale? I asked.
All our slaves are for sale, said my hostess.
You could sell any of them to anyone then? I asked.
Of course, said my hostess. To anyone who has the price.
We then proceeded to the next cage. It was the last one which was currently 
occupied.
This girl, like Mina, was a sweetly bodied slut, with luscious swelling breasts, 
a stocky, but considerably narrower waist, and wide hips, nursing a marvelous 
love cradle in which a man might lose himself with pleasure. She, too, like 
Mina, was nicely thighed. She, too, like Mina, was a brunet. She, too, like 
Mina, wore a close-fitting steel collar. She, kneeling in her cage, had not been 
unaware, of course, of our progress. When we appeared before her cage, she put 
her head down to the blanket, the palms of her hands on the floor of the cage, 
beside her head. It is a lovely gesture of obeisance, and required by many 
masters of their women.
Her name is Candice, I said, reading the cage card. That is an Earth-girl 
name. Is she an Earth-girl?
No, said my hostess. She is from Tabor. We thought it a lovely name. We put 
it on her.
I nodded. It was a lovely name. If any girl were to appear on Gor with such a 
name, of course, she would be immediately taken to be a slave, and would be 
treated as such. She would soon be in a collar. Her fate would be bondage.
A very attractive slut, I said.
Yes, said my hostess.
How much did she cost? I asked.
Two silver tarsks, said my hostess.
Interesting, I said. Her beauty seems quite comparable to that of her chain 
sister, Mina, and yet Mina brought a full tarsk more.
It is the Noviminae background, said the hostess.
Interesting, I said. It seems that sometimes what is being paid for is not 
the mere female herself.
Of course not, said my hostess. Suppose she was a Ubars daughter.
I see, I said.
(pg. 340) The daughter of a Ubar may bring ten thousand pieces of gold in a 
private sale, said the hostess, but, as a woman, as a mere female on a chain, 
she may be worth far less than thousands of wenches one might lead home for a 
few copper tarsks.
That is true, I said. And it is not unoften the case that such a common wench, 
of which little is expected, bought originally perhaps with the mere object of 
keeping her for week or so and then reselling her, will be discovered to be an 
astounding value. Fortunate is the master who gets so much for so little. 
Fortunate is he who discovers that for his pittance he has purchased a treasure. 
He does not take her back in a week. She tugs at her chain; it is fastened 
securely to his ring. What counts ultimately, in my opinion, is not the cost of 
the merchandise, but its value, its quality; it is not what one pays that is 
ultimately important, but what gets for ones money. One day he considers 
himself, looking down at the slave at his feet; it is he whom she struggles so 
hard to please, as a slave must; it is he who is he in whose complete power she 
finds herself; it is he whom she must serve so humbly, and who is so strict with 
her, it is he who is her master; he looks down into her eyes; he sees that she, 
looking up at him, unable to help herself, has become his love slave. He smiles. 
He fingers his whip. He wonders if perhaps he is her love master. She bends 
down, kissing his feet. He knows he must guard against weakness. He must never 
forget the whip. She understands the whip. All slaves do. He watches her, her 
hair about his feet, and feels her lips and tongue. The sensations are not 
unpleasant. If he does not find the relationship satisfactory, of course, he may 
always sell her.
I think I will return to the table, I said. Thank you for showing me these 
wenches. They seem superb merchandise. I think, in time, with training, they 
will all prove excellent upon the floor.
That is our hope, said my hostess. We want the Tunnels to be one of the best 
brothels on the entire Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla.
Who is Ludmilla? I asked.
I have never met her, said my hostess.
(pg. 341) We then returned to the floor. In our return we paused briefly by the 
girls at the side of the open space. Yartel and Demet are now serving, said my 
hostess. These two others are now open, ready for new rings, She indicated a 
blond and a brunet. Ita and Tia, she said.
Lovely, I said.
Louise, the Earth girl there, looked at me, aghast. Then she looked away. I 
gather she had not known that men from Earth, or once from Earth, could look in 
such a way upon women.
But you will return to the table? asked my hostess.
Yes, I said.
I shall have one of the slaves fetch you a drink, she said.
That one, I said, indicating Louise.
Certainly, she said. She snapped her fingers and Louise sprang up, and came to 
where we stood. Then she knelt.
I looked to one of the tables near my own. There was the free woman, in the 
sleeveless dress, with the low dcolletage. She looked about. The fellow she had 
earlier approached was now slumped on the table. On the table was a bottle of 
ka-la-na. There were two glasses there. I saw her cut the strings of his purse 
and slip it inside her dress. On her left hand, as she did this, I saw a ring. I 
did not think she had had it on her hand before. I had seen such rings before.
What would you like? asked my hostess.
I had been considering a glass of paga, perhaps, if it were available in a place 
such as this, of the brewery of Temus. I now, considering the rather revealingly 
clad free female, changed my mind.
I think, upon reflection, I said, that I shall order later.
Very well, she said. Then she turned to Louise, kneeling in attendance. When 
you are dismissed, if you are dismissed, return to your post, she said. Do not 
neglect, however, to observe this table. When he wishes to order, and lifts his 
finger, hurry to him. Then obtain what he wishes from the bar.
Yes, Mistress, said Louise.
(pg. 342) I may be ordering a bottle, I said to the hostess.
The admission price was only a tarsk bit, she reminded me.
Forgive me, I said. I then counted her out five copper tarsks. I did this a 
bit obtrusively. The free woman, she with the low dcolletage, as I had 
expected, did not fail to note this. She glanced back at the fellow slumped over 
the table. He would not awaken, doubtless, for some time, perhaps an Ahn or 
more.
Ah! said my hostess. You are generous! For so much whatever you might like in 
the house, and as much of it as you like, is yours.
Thank you, I said.
My hostess then took her leave.
I regarded Louise.
She looked up at me.
Master? she asked.
You are dismissed, I said.
Yes, Master, she said. She rose to her feet, her head down, backed away a step 
or tow, and then turned and hurried back to her place with the other girls. The 
female, I saw, was kept under good discipline. This pleased me. It is good for 
them.
I see that you have dismissed a slave, said the free woman, she with the low 
dcolletage.
Yes, I said.
Are you from out of town? she asked.
Yes, I said. The ring was not on her finger now.
Are you enjoying Ar? she asked.
I shrugged.
It can be lonely for a stranger, she said.
Would you care to join me? I asked.
Im sorry, she said. It would not be proper, I do not even know you.
Forgive me, I said. I did not mean to be forward.
She moved her left foot a little, causing the bangles on her left ankle to move 
slightly. Most free women, of course, would never wear such things. They are 
regarded as suitable and appropriate only for slaves. She moved the bracelets on 
(pg. 343) her left wrist up her forearm an inch or two. The tiny noise this made 
was exciting, slave exciting. With one hand she threw her hair back. It was 
loose. Slaves commonly wear their hair loose. She moved subtly, charmingly, 
seemingly inadvertently, within the dress. Then she seemed, suddenly, concerned 
with it. Could there be something wrong with it? She then, almost 
apologetically, adjusted one of the shoulder straps of the dress, pulling it up 
tighter and more to the side. She did this as though not giving it much though, 
and as though modestly, but in such a way, with such a movement of her body, and 
with such an effect, that she called dramatic and inevitable attention to the 
marvelousness of her breasts. Such breasts, I thought, would probably increase 
her value as a slave.
That is all right, she said. No offense was taken.
I am really very sorry, I said.
It is my fault, she smiled. I should not have been so forward. I should not 
have spoken first.
Please join me, I said.
She knelt at the table, in the position of the free woman.
I spoke, she said, for I was pleased to see that you had dismissed the 
slave.
She is only an Earth girl, I said.
So low? she inquired.
Yes, I said.
I do wish they would put them in clothing, she said.
They do have their collars, I said.
True, she laughed.
Are you sure you could not accept a drink? I asked.
She seemed to consider the matter, and then, after giving it some thought, 
smiled. All right, she said.
What would you like? I asked.
Perhaps a tiny glass of ka-la-na, she said, among friends.
I looked to the left, Louise, as she had been bidden, was watching. I lifted my 
finger. The Earth girl then leapt up and hurried to the table. At the table she 
knelt.
A small bottle, I said, of the Slave Gardens of Anesidemus.
(pg. 344) I have heard that is a marvelous ka-la-na, said the free woman, her 
eyes alight.
So, too, have I, I said.
It is very expensive, said the woman.
Are you familiar with it? I asked.
Oh, she said, lightly, I have had it a few times.
Do you like it? I asked.
Yes, she said. Yes!
Fetch it, I said to Louise.
Yes, Master, she said, rising to her feet, and hurrying to the bar.
That is the slave whom you earlier dismissed, is it not? she asked.
I think so, I said.
You hardly noticed, she said, pleased.
I shrugged.
I am so pleased to meet a man such as you, she said.
Oh? I asked.
One who understands the value of a free woman, she said.
I supposed free women did have value. Slavers, for example, will pay for them.
So many men, she said, are interested only in slaves.
Really, I asked.
Yes, she said. There is no understanding it. I find it unaccountable.
I can see you are astounded, I said.
What can a man see in any of those sluts? she asked.
A slave, I said.
Precisely, she said. Disgusting!
Some men like them, I said.
Is that what men really want? she asked. A woman who is totally theirs, one 
who is fully in their power, one who must strive desperately to serve them 
perfectly in all things, one who is absolutely and helplessly at their mercy, 
one who must lick and kiss at their least word?
I am afraid there are some men who do not object to that, I admitted.
(pg. 345) I am sure you find free women of some interest, she said.
Certainly I find them of interest, I said. The most interesting thing about 
them, of course, was that they could be seized and enslaved. After that they 
might become of real interest to a man. The female slave, of course, yours in 
her servitude, is ten thousand times more interesting than a free woman could 
ever dream of being. In any contest of desirability the free woman must always 
lose out to the slave, and if she does not seem to do so, then let her be 
enslaved, and see how she then, suddenly, in a moment, competing then with her 
former self, becomes ten thousand times more desirable than she ever was as a 
mere free female.
Master, said Louise, the nude, slender, red-haired Earth-girl slave, 
returning. She knelt near the table. She placed the small bottle of ka-la-na on 
the table, and two tiny cups.
She is a pretty little thing, said the free woman.
I flicked my finger, dismissing the slave, not bothering to look at her. This 
pleased the free woman. I wondered how one of the usual, close-fitting Gorean 
slave collars would look on her own throat. Well, I thought. Such collars set 
off the beauty of a woman, the encircling steel, significatory of bondage, 
contrasting nicely with the softness of her throat, shoulders and breasts.
Yes, please, said the woman.
I poured.
To you, she said, lifting her glass.
No, I said, to you.
Thank you, she said. I saw that she was flattered by this. She glowed. Her 
breasts were very nice.
We touched glasses. We drank.
Oh, it is marvelous ka-la-na, she purred. I gathered that she had never before 
had such ka-la-na. True, it might run the buyer as much as three copper tarsks, 
a price for which some women can be purchased.
I am pleased that you like it, I said.
I am Tutina, Lady of Ar, she said, warmly, intimately, leaning forward.
That is a lovely name, I said. To be sure, if I owned (pg. 346) her, I thought 
I would shorten it to Tina. That is an excellent slave name. Indeed, I had owned 
slaves with that name.
She basked in my praise.
I am called Tarl, I said.
Oh, she said, reprovingly, that is such a fierce name.
I shrugged.
It is a northern name, is it not?
It is common in the north, I said, particularly in Torvaldsland.
Men from Torvaldsland frighten me, she said. They are so strong with women. 
You are not from Torvaldsland, are you?
No, I said. To be sure, I had been in Torvaldsland, and I felt that I knew as 
much as any fellow there about what to do with a woman at his feet. But then any 
true master anywhere knows as much. Indeed, although the men of Torvaldsland are 
find and strong masters, they are generally rather direct and straightforward 
about what they are doing. In the south, in the cities, in my opinion, because 
of the richness in history and tradition, and the much greater cultural 
sophistication and complexity, a female is likely to find herself placed under a 
much stricter and more exacting bondage than in the north. To be sure, much 
depends on the girl and the master. Some girls thrive best with uncompromising 
barbarian masters who will put them on the oar or under the whip at the least 
sign of their being displeasing and others find that they did not truly 
understand helplessness and submission until they found their chain fastened to 
the couch ring of a gentleman.
That is reassuring,  she smiled. Where are you from?
From the northwest, near Thassa, I said. I saw no reason to tell her I was 
from Port Kar. She might then have become not feignedly, but actually, alarmed. 
Most of the fellows of Port Kar have something of the ruthless lust of pirates 
in their view of females, coupled with some knowledge, because of a popular form 
of commerce in the city, of sophisticated techniques of slave handling and 
management.
Where did you just come from? she asked.
Torcadino, I said.
(pg. 347) Oh, she said, disappointed.
What is wrong? I asked.
You are not a refugee, are you? she asked.
Why? I asked.
Then you might have had a difficult trip, she said.
I see, I said.
I do not believe things are as bad in Torcadino as they say, she said.
Oh? I asked.
No, she said. They are just trying to frighten us, I saw her eye on my 
purse.
I came in by fee cart, I said.
I see, she said. I saw she liked that information. I had thought she would. It 
suggested I had money.
Are you of the Merchants? she asked.
I have sometimes bought and sold things, I told her. I saw that this pleased 
her. I did not tell her that many of the things I had bought and sold were much 
like herself.
May I call you Tarl? she asked.
Of course, I said. She was after all, a free woman. If she were to become a 
slave, of course, there would be no such liberty in such matters.
I poured her more ka-la-na.
She drank. She leaned forward, her elbows on the small table. Her breasts seemed 
to invite my touch. Her lips were warm and soft. There was another reason, she 
said, other than the splendid dismissal of a slut slave from your presence, why 
I came to your table.
Oh I said.
I feel drawn to you, she said.
I understand, I said. I glanced at the fellow still slumped on the other 
table.
Tarl, she whispered.
Yes, I said. She knew her business, this woman. The sooner she was in a collar 
the better.
Yes, I said, softly, encouragingly.
(pg. 348) Oh, no, she said, drawing back, suddenly, seeming to wipe a tear 
from her eye, I must not say such things to you.
What? I asked, kindly.
I must leave, she said. I must hurry away now. She put her hands out, that I 
might gently take them in mine, holding her at the table, restraining her 
sweetly, in earnest, gentle persuasion, from departing. But I, curious to see 
what would happen, apparently did not notice this opportunity.
She did not leave.
I just do not know what to do, she said, turning her head from side to side.
What is wrong? I asked, seemingly concerned.
How terrible you must think me, she said, wiping away another tear, it seemed, 
from the corner of her eye.
Not at all, I said. I certainly did not think her terrible at all. Indeed, I 
thought she was luscious.
I have been too bold, she said. I approached your table. I have spoken to you 
first. I have permitted you, a man I scarcely know, to buy me ka-la-na. I am so 
ashamed.
There is no need to be ashamed, I said.
But far worse, she said, I revealed to you my feelings, I told you of my 
unspeakable loneliness. Are you lonely?
Not particularly, I said. It is normally only free folks among free folks who 
are lonely, each so separate from the other. It is not easy for men to be lonely 
who have access to slaves. Similarly the slaves, so occupied, and of necessity 
so concerned to please the master, are seldom given the time for the indulgence 
of loneliness. Too, of course the incredible intimacy of the relationship, 
intellectual and emotional, as well as sexual, for the master to inquire into, 
and command forth, and is normally inclined to do so, her deepest thoughts and 
feelings, which must be bared to him, as much as her body, as well as command, 
even casually, her most intimate and delicious sexual performances, militates 
against loneliness.
In slavery total intimacy is not only customary, but it can be made obligatory, 
under discipline. Masters like to know their girls. They want to know them with 
a depth, detail and intimacy that it would be quite inappropriate to expect of, 
or (pg. 349) desire from, a prideful free companion, whose autonomy and privacy 
is protected by her lofty status. In a sense, the free woman is always, to one 
extent or another veiled. The slave, on the other hand, is not permitted veils. 
She is, so to speak, naked to the master, and fully.
There is no doubt that slaves without private masters, or slaves in 
multiple-slave chains, arrangements, households, institutions, and such, may 
experience terrible loneliness. There is doubtless great loneliness, for 
example, in a rich mans pleasure gardens. Indeed, the presence of a lovely 
slave there might not even be known to the master, but only to her immediate 
keepers, and the masters agents, who may have purchased her, or accountants, 
who keep records of the masters properties and assets. Perhaps she must beg 
piteously to be called to the attention of the master. Some women in such a 
place, even those whose existence is known, or remembered, at least vaguely, 
might wait for months for a summons to the couch of the master, he perhaps 
selecting a ribbon with her name on it, from a rack of slave ribbons, and 
tossing it to an attendant, that she be brought in chains to this quarters that 
night, the ribbon on her collar. Too, it can doubtless be lonely in the house of 
a slaver, especially when the guards do not choose to amuse themselves with you, 
or have you perform for them, or, say, when you find yourself alone at night, 
perhaps a work slave, in the basement of a cylinder, chained in a cement kennel.
Oh, she said.
With you here, I said, how could I be lonely?
What a lovely thing to say, she said.
I thought it has been pretty good myself. To be sure, it had required quick 
thinking.
But mostly, she said, as though tearfully, I am distressed at the boldness 
with which I spoke before.
Boldness? I asked.
When I admitted, as I should never have done, she said, that I was drawn to 
you.
 Drawn to me? I inquired.
Yes, she said, lowering her eyes.
I understand, I said. You were drawn to me because (pg. 350) something within 
you seemed to sense, and delicately, that I might prove to be a sympathetic 
interlocutor, an understanding fellow with whom you might, assuaging therein to 
some extent your loneliness and pain, hold gentle and kindly converse.
It was more than that, she whispered, not looking up, as though she dared not 
raise her eyes.
Oh? I asked.
She looked up, as though distressed. I felt drawn to you, she said, and then 
she lowered her head, as though in shame, as a female to a male.
I said nothing.
Free women have needs, too, she whispered.
I do not doubt it, I said. At the moment, of course she had no real idea of 
what female needs could be. As with most free females they were doubtless far 
below the surface and seldom directly sensed. Their effect upon conscious life, 
because of her conditioning, would normally be felt in such transformed and 
eccentric modalities as anxiety, uneasiness, misery, discomfort, ill temper, 
imaginary complaints, frustration and loneliness. These things would be 
connected with her lack of feminine fulfillment, she not finding herself in her 
place, in her natural biological relationship, that of submissive to dominant, 
to the male of her species. These things, the result of her loss of sexual 
identity and fulfillment, too, often produced a sense of emptiness and 
meaninglessness. Too, they sometimes produced an envy and resentment of men, 
whom she, perhaps with some justice, would blame for this lack of fulfillment. 
When one sex needs the other to fulfill it, and the other refuses, what is to be 
done? One way of striving for vengeance, of course, is to attempt, socially and 
politically, to bring about the debilitation and ruination of anatomical males, 
whether they be men or not. This, of course, might prove dangerous, for it might 
provoke an upsurge of nature, like a natural phenomenon, in which her order, 
artificialities then scorned and abolished, would be harshly restored.
Another danger, and perhaps one more serious, is that a misdirected response 
would be provoked in which, say, angry (pg. 351) males, perhaps unable to take 
direct action because of the numerous, carefully wrought political traps and 
snares trammeling them, would think themselves, consciously or subconsciously, 
to have no recourse but to engage in the undeniably masculine games of war, 
games which might destroy worlds, but, with them, perhaps, the walls within 
which they have permitted themselves to be imprisoned. It would be unfortunate, 
indeed, if the female, returned at last to her rightful chains, were to find 
herself kneeling in ashes.
You are kind not to scorn me for my needs, she said. She looks up at me. 
Sometimes they are very strong.
I am sure of it, I said. She had as yet, of course, as a free woman, as I have 
mentioned, no real idea of what female needs could be. They were in her, as in 
all free women, muchly suppressed. She had no idea as to what they could be. 
Never had she confronted them wholly and directly. She was as yet alienated from 
the depth and richness of the extensive sexual tissues in her body; she did not 
understand how her entire skin, from her scalp to her toes, could awaken into 
life, startled and rejoicing, stimulated by the hot, surgent, wave-like 
irradiations emanating not only from her helpless, lovely exploited 
centralities, but as well from all the other sensitive curvatures and beauties 
of her, curvatures and beauties so much at a masters mercy; too, she could not 
even now begin to suspect the momentous emotional dimensions of bondage for the 
female, its entire, totalistic matrix, of what it was to be a slave, the nature 
of the slaves feelings, how she is affected by what she is, and what can be 
done to her, of what it is to be owned, absolutely, to be under uncompromising 
discipline, of what it is to know that you must, and will, under strict and 
uncompromising enforcements, give yourself up wholly to service and love, no 
alternatives permitted.
You are very kind to take pity on a woman, she said.
It is nothing, I said. I speculated that her needs might be rather strong, as 
a matter of fact, for a free woman. Certainly her body suggested the influence 
of a rich abundance of female hormones. One does not get curves like that by 
being hormonally deficient. It might be interesting, I (pg. 352) thought, to see 
what those needs might be like if permitted to develop fully under bondage.
When I spoke your name before, she said, I hesitated.
I remember, I said.
It was so hard to speak, she said.
Yes? I said.
May I speak? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I was thinking that I might perhaps let you see my body, she said, that I 
might even permit you to touch it.
Yes, I said.
That I might tonight, she said, as you have been so kind to me, and I am 
drawn to you, give you my body.
I am overwhelmingly impressed, I said. This seemed to me a suitable response, 
as she was a free woman. It is really difficult to know what to say when one 
hears something so stupid. If she were a slave, I would have enjoyed hearing her 
try to speak in that fashion, speaking of giving her body and for 
such-and-such a period. That would earn her a swift whipping. If one could speak 
in that fashion, of mere bodies, so to speak, and it was not typically Gorean 
to do so, she would not in bondage be considering whether or not to bestow her 
body, and for how long, but rather she would discover that it was his for the 
master to take, whenever he wished, however he wished, and for as long as he 
wished, for it would then belong not to her but to him, or he could order her to 
bring it to him, his property, in whatever attitude or posture he might please. 
The slave, for example, does not ask if the master now wants the body of Gloria 
but, rather, does he want Gloria. In Gorean thought, and, indeed, Gorean law is 
explicit on this, what is owned is the whole slave. It is she who is owned, the 
whole woman, and uncompromisingly and totally.
How kind you are, she said, to a woman met in such a place, one so poor she 
cannot afford sandals, a suitable gown, and proper veiling. Do you object that I 
am so revealingly clad, and am not properly veiled? Does it scandalize you?
(pg. 353) No, I said. Doubtless it is an inevitable concession to the 
cruelties of poverty.
Yes, she lamented. Perhaps you could try to think of me veiled, she 
suggested.
That is a thought, I said. That much, surely at least, could be said for it. I 
conjectured what she might look like, stark naked, save for chains, perhaps, 
holding her as a tight love bundle, for a masters pleasure, at a ring, and the 
locked, steel slave collar that belonged on her neck.
She looked at me, gratefully. In my imagination I tightened her chains a notch 
or two.
Is it true that you are drawn to me? I asked.
Yes! she whispered, daring to touch my hand.
Then shall we leave this place, I asked, and to venture to your domicile?
She drew back. As I had anticipated, she would not find a suggestion of this 
sort acceptable. She would not want her address known. That might put her at the 
mercy of furious, outraged victims. Too, it could make it simple for guardsmen, 
acting on complaints, to bring her in for identification and questioning, these 
details doubtless, in her case, to be followed by a hearing and sentencing, an 
almost inevitable reduction to bondage and then perhaps, initially, while her 
disposition is being more carefully considered, a placement in the public slave 
gardens.
Perhaps then my room? I suggested. It is nearby.
Sir! she said, reproachfully. As I had thought, this would not be satisfactory 
either. She would prefer to complete her work here, where apparently it was 
tolerated, with the stealth of a drug, rather than go to the expense of 
employing confederates outside or take the risk of being recognized by others 
who might be in the vicinity of the victims environs. What sort of girl do you 
think I am?
Forgive me, I said, earnestly. I did not mean to offend you. She was 
skillful at this type of game, it seemed, to provoke a male response, and then 
to claim she had been misunderstood, and was offended, thus confusing the male, 
keeping him off balance, and, in general, thusly guaranteeing, with a glance or 
tear, that she would have things her own (pg. 354) way. She was, at least, 
manipulative in a feminine fashion. That I granted her. It said something for 
her femaleness. It is pleasant later, of course, to manipulate such women in a 
masculine fashion, by command and the whip.
I knew I should not have come here, she sobbed, wiping away a tear, one at 
least in theory, from the corner of her eye. She made as though to rise but, as 
I did not restrain her, she remained where she was.
I have been clumsy, I said.
I do not really blame you, she sobbed. What else could you think, meeting me 
here? Surely you must think me the same as these other, lower women.
No, certainly not, I said. You are quite different, obviously, from them.
Thank you, she whispered.
I nodded. Of course she was quite different from them. That was obvious. She was 
not yet nude. She did not yet have a slave collar on her neck. She had not 
probably never yet, in her life, felt a slave whip.
Perhaps you are wondering, she said, wiping away yet another supposed tear, 
what I, a gentlewoman, of breeding and refinement, am doing in this place?
Perhaps, I said, encouragingly. I tried to look puzzled. Actually I had a 
rather clear idea what she was doing in this place.
She looked down. I think the real reason, she said, under everything, as you 
may have suspected, is that I was driven here, almost helplessly, a woman in 
desperate need of love, daring to enter this terrible place, but one where I 
knew men were, by my desire to meet a kindly man, by my loneliness.
Yes, I said.
But I should never have come.
But then we would never have met. I said.
Yes, she whispered, again touching my hand. That is true.
You spoke of a real reason, I said, that having to do with your need of love, 
and such. That suggests, then, I take (pg. 355) it, that there was some other 
reason, or pretended reason, for coming.
She smiled, ruefully. Yes, she said. I am a proud free woman. I could not 
permit myself to recognize such things as my loneliness, or need for love. I 
must tell myself there was another reason for coming.
And what was that? I asked.
I am in need of money, she said. I have a ring. I told myself that I would 
try to sell it, that I would try to find a buyer in this place.
I see, I said.
But I have never been able to bring myself to part with it, she said. It is 
one of the few things left to me from the time when I was proud and wealthy. It 
is so laden with memories. I could never really bring myself to part with it.
I understand, I said.
Would you like to see it? she asked.
It is not necessary, I said.
Please, let me show it to you, she said.
Very well, I said.
From the tiny pouch, hung on strings at her belt, she produced the ring. She 
slipped it on her finger.
Lovely, I said. Its oval stone was of white porcelain, mounted in a red-metal 
bezel. On the porcelain, very delicately done, in red, was the representation of 
a Tur tree. The band was gold.
It was wrought in Turia, she said. I found that easy to believe. It had the 
Tur tree, emblem of Turia, in the southern hemisphere, on the porcelain stone. 
Too, I knew such rings were manufactured in Turia. Indeed, I had even seen them 
there. Rings of this design, however, though perhaps not of this purpose, were 
rare in Ar, in the northern hemisphere. Most fellows of Ar would not recognize 
the ring, or suspect its purpose. She had probably purchased it in an import 
shop on the Avenue of Turia, which was nearby. To be sure, perhaps the setting 
was solid, and not hollow. Many rings of this appearance are totally innocent.
Would you let me buy it? I asked. Surely you could use the money.
(pg. 356) Do not tempt me, she smiled. I could never bring myself to part 
with it.
I am sorry, I said.
How fortunate I am to meet a man such as you, she said. How understanding you 
are.
I shrugged.
I am becoming excited, she whispered.
Oh? I said.
I want to go to your room, she whispered.
Let us go, I said.
Oh, the wine is gone, she pouted.
That was true.
May we have more wine? she wheedled. It would help me to get even more into 
the mood. With a little more wine I do not know if I could control myself. I 
might find myself hurrying after you, going to your room, heeling you through 
the streets like an amorous slave!
I will get some more wine, I said. I glanced over to the left. In a moment or 
two, I had managed to catch the eye of Louise. She had not, of course, after her 
initial command, been concentrating on our table. I was pleased that she was not 
in use. I enjoyed having her serve me. Had she been, of course, I would have 
made do with another girl, say, Ita or Tia. They were both very nice slaves. 
Louise was now looking at me, aware that I was looking at her. I lifted my hand. 
She leaped up, hurrying toward me. I noticed the fellow nearby, slumped over the 
table. He had not yet stirred. He might be out for another Ahn or so. I leaned 
over to where Louise now knelt and gave her the wine order. The collar, such 
fine, strong steel, looked nice under her right ear.
Lady Tutina smiled at me.
I, too, smiled at her.
Do you like me? she asked.
Yes, I said. I thought, properly trained and disciplined, she would make an 
excellent slave.
I wish that slave would hurry, she said.
Im sure she will be back in a moment, I said.
Perhaps you should beat her, she said.
(pg. 357) An excellent suggestion, I said, but let us give her a few more 
Ihn.
I think I shall soon be in the mood, she whispered, confidingly, intimately.
Excellent, I said. It amused me to hear her speak of moods, and such. I 
wondered if she might think, perhaps for the first few Ihn of bondage, until the 
hand, the whip or boot taught her differently, that she might make a master wait 
upon her pleasure, until, say, she might be in the mood, or something like 
that.
I suspect, she said, looking into my eyes, intimately, that this meeting may 
change my life.
It is not impossible, I said.
Master, said Louise, arriving at the table, kneeling, another small bottle of 
wine on her tray. I removed it from the tray and set it near me. I then 
dismissed her.
I poured two small glasses of wine. I did not know how skilled the Lady Tutina 
was. I had known at least one fellow, Boots Tarsk-Bit, who was marvelously 
skilled at such things as misdirection and sleight of hand.
She is rather pretty, isnt she? asked the Lady Tutina, looking after Louise. 
She, the Earth-girl slave, nude and collared, hard to see in the flickering 
reddish light, carrying the tray over her head, was making her way back among 
the tables and mats to the bar. In a trivial, servile way, suitable for a 
slave, of course, added the Lady Tutina.
Perhaps, I said. I looked after Louise.
That fellow seems to think so, said the Lady Tutina. A fellow had reached out 
to touch Louises branded flank as she moved past his table. She withdrew, 
frightened, hurrying on, from the touch. Then the fellow sprawled to the side, 
drunk.
Yes, I said.
Louise was lovely, indeed. She had not yet, however, I suspected, fully learned 
her collar. I did not think she, as yet, realized fully, in the depths of her, 
that she was a slave girl, and only that, and what that meant. She could, of 
course, be taught.
She is bit skinny, said the woman.
I shrugged. She was not skinny. She was slight, and (pg. 358) slender. But such 
often make superb slaves. Certainly for her size and weight, she was well 
curved.
Let us drink, said the Lady Tutina. I decided that she was not particularly 
skilled after all. It is no great trick to put something in someones drink when 
they are not looking. Boots, I was sure, could have managed it while engaged in 
face-to-face conversation. He, of course, was unusually good at that sort of 
thing.
To you, breathed the Lady Tutina, smiling.
No, I smiled, to you.
She then sipped the wine. I, on the other hand, after lifting it toward my lips, 
merely returned it to the table.
This is not the same wine, she said, lowering the glass. It is different.
Yes, I said. Do you like it?
Yes, she said, smiling. Of course. It is wonderful.
Perhaps you will come to like it, I said. In the beginning perhaps it would be 
down her throat, her head held back by the hair, by masters. Later, she might 
find herself wheedling and groveling for it, grateful to have anything that 
good.
You havent touched your wine, she said, reproachfully.
Come here, I said.
She came about the table, kneeling near me. It was the first time she had obeyed 
me. It pleased me to have her obeying me.
Close, I said.
She then became quite close to me.
Cuddle, I said.
She snuggled up close to me. Her nearness made me master hot. Her breasts were 
exciting. I put my arm about her, that I might hold her to me. She looked up 
into my eyes. You havent touched your wine, she pouted.
Oh? I said.
Drink, drink, she wheedled, picking up the glass, lifting it toward my lips. 
Drink, she said, and then we may hurry to your room, where I may serve you, 
even as a slave.
You are luscious, and tempting, I said.
(pg. 359) Drink, she said.
I forced myself to remember that she was for the other fellow, the one slumped 
across the nearby table.
Drink, she whispered.
I took the glass from her. I set it down on the table.
What is wrong? she asked.
Encourage me, I said.
She then began to kiss me, and lick me, about the face and neck. She did it 
quite well. With training she would do it much better.
Do you know the wine? I asked.
No, she said.
I turned the bottle so that she might read the label. It was a small bottle of 
Boletos Nectar of the Public Slave Gardens. Boleto is a well-known winegrower 
from the vicinity of Ar. He is famous for the production of a large number of 
reasonably good, medium-grade ka-la-nas. This was one of the major wines, and 
perhaps the best, served in Ars public slave gardens; indeed, it had originally 
been commissioned for that market; hence the name.
Oh, she said.
I hope you like it, I said.
Its very nice, she said.
Im glad you like it, I said.
Here, she said, picking up the glass, hurry, drink. I wish to hurry to your 
room.
Let us go to the room now, I said. I considered giving her this option, this 
chance to save herself. Did she accept it I would release her from the ring in 
the morning, with perhaps no more than an admonitory bruise or two.
Hurry, she whispered. She lifted the glass to my lips. Drink, she whispered, 
invitingly, seductively.
I smiled to myself. She had had her chance. To be sure, I had offered it to her 
only as an irony and amusement. That would doubtless sometime become quite clear 
to her. I had known she would not accept it.
Drink, she whispered. I took the glass from her hand. Drink, she whispered.
But it is for you, I said.
(pg. 360) What? she said.
I bought the wine for you, I said.
But I have had some, she said.
Have some more, I said.
You may pour me some, she said, uneasily.
Take mine, I said.
I could not do that, she said.
Of course you could, I said.
I do not want any more, she said.
You were willing, a moment ago, to have me pour you more, I reminded her.
I have really had enough, she said. She squirmed a bit. She was locked, 
kneeling, in my arm.
No, I said, you have not.
She looked at me, frightened. I do not want it, she said.
Of course you do, I said.
No, she said.
Is there anything wrong with it? I asked.
No, she said. Of course not.
Then drink, I told her. I lifted the glass toward her lips. She tried to pull 
back. What is wrong? I asked.
Nothing, she said.
Drink, I said.
No, she said.
You are going to drink this, I told her.
No! she said.
Shall I call for a slave tube? I asked.
No, she begged. My grip on her was merciless. The slave tube is a device for 
force-feeding a slave. It is not a pleasant device. A round, cylindrical, 
truncated cushion, usually of cork or leather, with a circular hole in its 
center, is forced into the slaves mouth. This prevents her from closing her 
teeth on the tube. The tube is then introduced through the circular opening in 
the bite cushion into her mouth and run down to her stomach. There is a funnel 
at the mouth-end of the tube. It may be used for such purposes as feeding a 
recalcitrant slave liquids, such as juices or broths. Some tubes come, too, 
however, with plungers, so that semisolid food, such as slave gruel, or hash, or 
even damp bread and (pg. 361) tiny pieces of meat, indeed, about anything the 
master may please, may be forced into her stomach. The girl is usually on her 
knees when this is done, with her head back and her hands tied or braceleted 
behind her. Afterwards her hands are usually left confined for an Ahn or so in 
this fashion, so that she cannot rid herself of the nourishment.
Drink, I said.
Please, no, she wept.
Then you desire the slave tube? I inquired.
No, she said. Mercy!
I pulled her head back, by the hair, with my left hand. Open your mouth, I 
said. Do not spill a drop.
She squirmed, helplessly. Her teeth were gritted.
I see that it is your intention to be difficult, I said.
She struggled but then, by the hair, I held her precisely; where I wanted her. 
Her mouth remained tightly closed. I gathered she did not wish for so much as a 
drop of that liquid to cross her lips. It must be rather strong, I surmised. To 
be sure, the dosage had been intended for a male.
I looked up, and noted Louise, who had been returning to her place to the left 
of the open space, coming back from the bar. She was standing there, observing 
me with horror.
We are going to give her a little drink, I said to Louise.
Master? asked Louise, frightened.
The slave tube is not going to be necessary after all, I told the Lady Tutina. 
She looked at me wildly, her mouth tightly shut.
A simpler, more primitive method, quite suitable for small amounts, is at our 
disposal, I told her.
No! she said.
I put the tiny glass of wine to the side, on the floor.
Slave, I said to Louise.
Master? she said.
Take the Lady Tutinas belt, I said, and tie her hands behind her back.
Master! protested Louise.
No! cried the Lady Tutina.
She is free, said Louise.
Must a command be repeated? I asked Louise.
(pg. 362) No, Master! she said.
She took the Lady Tutinas belt off and pulled her hands behind her back, and 
tied them there.
Good, I said. The Lady Tutina squirmed, on her knees, her hands tied behind 
her.
Master, moaned Louise, frightened.
Here, I said, handing her the tiny glass of wine. Obey me, unquestioningly, 
when I speak.
Yes, Master, whispered Louise.
No! said the Lady Tutina. Oh! I had then, reaching about her head with my 
left hand, pinched her nostrils tightly together between my fingers. She could 
now not breathe through her nose. With this same grip, and its afforded 
leverage, I pulled her head back. Perhaps I was not as gentle as I might have 
been, considering she was free. Still it might do her some good, like the 
binding of her hands behind her, to accustom her to being handled in this 
fashion. She gasped for air. I then wedged my right hand in her mouth and, with 
my thumb and fingers, my thumb on her upper teeth, my fingers on her lower 
teeth, forced it open, very widely. Held so, she could not bite.
Now, I said to Louise. Now.
The Lady Tutina whimpered. She squirmed. She tried to shake her head, but I held 
it in position, exactly as I wanted it. Louise carefully poured the wine into 
that lovely, widely opened orifice, that lovely, widely opened vessel that was 
the mouth of the Lady Tutina.
Good, I said to Louise.
Louise looked at me, gratefully. She would not be immediately beaten, at least. 
She was pretty, naked.
I continued to hold the head of the Lady Tutina in place. As I had timed the 
matter she had not had a breath left at that point to exhale or blow the fluid 
from her mouth. She looked at me, wildly.
I would suppose, sooner or later, I said, that you would like to breathe. No 
breath, however, can enter your lungs until you have first cleared your mouth of 
the fluid in it. There is only one way for you to do that, in your present (pg. 
363) predicament. That is to swallow it. Perhaps your body will make the 
decision for you.
She whimpered piteously in protest.
There is not really much point in holding your breath, I said. The matter is 
one of inevitability.
Another whimper.
You are very pretty, I informed her.
Then wildly, tears plunging down her cheeks, she swallowed the liquid and, 
choking, gasping wildly for breath.
You may now unbelt the hands of the Lady Tutina, I said to Louise.
Yes, Master! she said, hastening to do so.
Oh, no, Lady Tutina, I said, holding her hands now. You would not want to do 
that.
She jerked her hands, but could not remove them from my grasp. I hate you! she 
said. I hate you!
There is nothing to fear, I said, unless there might have been something in 
the wine.
I hate you, she sobbed. She threw a wild look at the fellow slumped over the 
nearby table. He was still unconscious. She was clearly frightened. The dosage 
she had imbibed, assuming there might have been one in the drink, would 
doubtless have been one fit for a male. Accordingly, her own period of 
unconsciousness, given this possibility, might possibly last several Ahn, more 
than enough time to be carried to a cell in a praetors holding area. She jerked 
her hands again, wildly, but I held them tightly.
I hate you! she hissed.
Do not forget your loneliness, and your need for love, I said.
Sleen! Sleen! she hissed. She again tried to free her hands, and again, of 
course, could not. How could she expect to do so, with her strength, only that 
of a female? But this time, even so, it seemed to me she had pulled less 
strongly than before. Even her small womans strength seemed now less than it 
had been. Apparently there had indeed been something in the wine. It was 
beginning, it seemed, to take effect. She seemed suddenly unsteady.
What are you going to do with me? she asked.
(pg. 364) When you awaken, I said, you will discover what has been done with 
you.
I love you, she said, suddenly. Take me to your room. It was not necessary to 
drug me. I would have gone happily.
It is nice to hear that, I said.
I love you, she said. You are going to take me to your room, arent you?
I regarded her, not speaking.
I will serve you thereeven as a slave! she whispered. Then you will let me 
go in the morning.
I did not answer her.
What are you going to do with me? she asked.
I did not answer her.
You are going to take me to your room, arent you? she pleaded.
No, I said.
Then what are you going to do with me? she asked.
I do not think I am going to do much of anything with you, I said.
She looked at me, puzzled. She wavered.
I glanced at the fellow slumped over the nearby table.
No! she said. No!
It is a pretty ring, I said. I then removed it from her hand. I put the ring 
on the floor. She leaned back. I did not think she could get up. She watched as 
I crushed it beneath my heel.
I glanced at Louise, who was kneeling to the side, frightened.
I looked again to the Lady Tutina. She was now slipped to the floor, beside the 
table, on the tiles, unconscious.
I took the unconscious Lady Tutina by the wrist and pulled her over a bit, onto 
a nearby met, to the left of a nearby table. It was the table, of course, across 
which the unconscious fellow lay slumped. There was a heavy slave ring there, 
too, fixed in the floor. It was near the head of the mat. The mat and ring, 
both, of course, were those appropriate to the fellows table. There, she lying 
on the mat, I pulled down her now-beltless dress until it was about her knees. 
In doing this I retrieved his purse. I tied it about her neck. I then, with some 
(pg. 365) binding fiber, cored with wire, from my wallet, bound her wrists 
tightly together and then tied them tightly to the ring.
In tying the hands tightly to the ring it makes it harder for the female to get 
her teeth on the binding fiber. But of course, even if she should manage this, 
trying desperately, determinedly and elatedly, with wild hopes, to free herself, 
she would discover shortly, at least in this case, this discovery dashing these 
wild, absurd hopes, mocking all her efforts, and plunging her into despair, the 
fibers stern wire coring. She was not tied there, in such a fashion, by a man, 
she would then learn, that she might escape. It seemed to me extremely unlikely 
that she would recover consciousness before the fellow. If that should however, 
somehow occur, she would still be found at his ring, awaiting his pleasure.
I looked down upon her. She lay there then, on her belly, mostly stripped, her 
arms extended over her head, her head turned to the side, her wrists crossed and 
bound tightly together, lashed to the slave ring, his purse about her neck. I 
considered matters. I then pulled the mat from beneath her, and with my foot, 
thrust it to the side. She would lie naked on the tiles, I had decided. Such a 
woman was not worthy of a mat. I also kicked her belt over beside her. It was a 
small detail, but it, like herself, like all she was and all she would be, now 
lay at the disposal of the fellow slumped across the table.
I then returned to my own table. Louise was still there, kneeling. I had not yet 
dismissed her.
Am I dismissed, Master? she asked.
No, I said.
She gasped.
Are you any good on a mat? I asked.
But you are Earth, she said. And I am of Earth! I am from Earth! You are from 
Earth! We are both from Earth! You could not for a moment be thinking!
Fetch a slave whip, I said.
She uttered a cry of misery and regarded me in disbelief. Then she leaped to her 
feet and hurried away. In a moment she had returned and knelt before me. She put 
down her head, as she had doubtless been taught, in submission. She then, (pg. 
366) lifting and extending her arms, her head still humbly down between them, 
lifted her hands to me. The backs of the wrists faced me. This was rather as in 
several common submission ceremonies. With the backs of the hands in this 
position it is easier to pull them together and tie them. Indeed, in most of 
these submission ceremonies the wrists are presented already crossed to the 
male, sot that he may the more conveniently lash them together. Every Gorean 
woman, incidentally, a slave or free, is taught by the age of puberty how to 
render submission. Her life may depend on it. Now however, held in these small, 
lovely hands, her hands about ten inches apart on it, lifted to me, there was an 
object.
Yes, I said.
I bring you a slave whip, Master, she said.
Yes, I said.
Use it on me, she said, if I do not please you.
Who are you? I asked.
Louise, she said.
Again, I said.
Louise brings you a slave whip, Master, she said. Use it on Louise, if she 
does not please you.
I will, I said.
She shuddered.
And I might use it on you anyway, I said.
Of course, Master, she said. One owns slaves and commands them. One does what 
one likes with them. One does not bargain with them.
Go to the mat, I said.
I am of Earth! she said.
I shook out the blades of the whip.
She hurried to the mat, to kneel upon it.
I regarded her.
She looked lovely, nude, deliciously curved, frightened, in the glinting collar, 
in the flickering reddish darkness.
I folded back the blades of the whip and inserted them in their clip, near the 
butt end of the staff. By means of the hook at the end of the butt, I attached 
the whip to my belt. This action seemed to be greeted with relief on her part. 
Perhaps she thought, being of Earth, she would get off easily. Did she (pg. 367) 
not know that she was now on Gor, and that a whip so easily placed on a belt may 
be as easily, and indeed, even more easily, removed from it?
A girl cried out, nearby, moaning, sobbing, being well mastered.
I looked about, for a loose chain. In a moment or two I had found one, near 
another slave ring. I looped it in my hand, and carried it to the ring near my 
mat. The key, the same key fitting both the padlock-type terminations of the 
chain, was in one of the locks. I crouched down beside Louise and looped one end 
of the chain about her neck, where I locked it snugly into place with one of the 
padlock-type terminations. The chain depended from her neck, between her 
breasts. I then looped the other end of the chain about the slave ring and, with 
the termination at that end, locked it there. She had about five feet of play 
between her neck and the slave ring. That is more than sufficient to allow a 
female to perform. Many men give her even less chain, some only six inches or 
so, such adjustments being made with different length chains, and also, often 
with the same chain, by loopings, doublings and such, secured by fastening the 
padlocklike terminations through various links. She put her fingers on the 
chain. She surreptitiously pulled it a little. It was on her.
Master? she asked. I walked over to the wall and hung the key on a nail there, 
with other keys. That is where the key should have been in the first place. 
There it is out of the reach of all the slave rings. Too, in this way, it is 
easier to keep track of them, and a customer is less likely to inadvertently 
walk off with one. No chains hung there, incidentally. They were apparently, at 
least those usually there, in use, or like the one I had found, loose on the 
floor. I glanced around. The place seemed crowded. Ita and Tia were dancing, 
summoned forth by a hostess, before a customer. I recalled Louise dancing. She 
had done at least that very well, surely. I wondered if she, and Earth girl, 
going about her business on Earth, had ever suspected that she would one day be 
so dancing on Gor, as a nude, collared slave. I supposed not. I wondered what 
she would have thought if someone had suggested this to her. Doubtless she would 
of thought it absurd, or amusing.
(pg. 368) But then, a moment later, she might have felt the thick layers of the 
chemically treated cloth held firmly over her nose and mouth. Business seemed 
good this evening. Indeed, it seemed to be thriving. This Ludmilla, whoever she 
was, I conjectured, had something of a gold mine in this little establishment. 
Tonights receipts, at any rate, would probably prove quite gratifying.
I returned to the slave mat.
Master? asked Louise.
She looked up at me, the chain on her neck.
I removed the whip from my belt, freeing the blades. I shook them loose.
I am from Earth! she said.
Spread your knees, I said.
Swiftly did the Earth girl comply.
I looked down at her. She was incredibly lovely.
Surely you will treat me gently, and with respect, she said.
How do you lie on a mat, Earth girl? I asked.
However a master pleases, she whispered.
I gestured to the mat with the whip. Immediately she lay upon it.
Perhaps you can interest me, I said.
Please! she said.
Move, I told her.
She moved then, and turned, upon the mat, sometimes on her belly, sometimes on 
her back, sometimes on her side, sometimes kneeling, sometimes sitting, 
sometimes curled up, sometimes bending backwards, pausing every moment or so, 
for a moment or so, stock-still, posing, that I might feast my eyes upon her 
loveliness, revealing thusly for me her imbonded beauty in numerous and various 
attitudes. There were tears in her eyes. I saw that she had had some training.
She was then breathing heavily.
I let the loose whip blades brush her back. Master? she asked.
Is that all you show Gorean men? I asked. If so, I am surprised you have not 
yet been fed to sleen.
You are from Earth, she wept.
(pg. 369) And so you, a slave, think to cheat me, and give me less? I asked.
No, she said.
Do you dare, slave, I asked, to think that you can behave toward me as a 
typical Earth female behaves toward a man of Earth?
No, she said. No!
Do you think you can treat me as the typical females of Earth treat the men of 
Earth? I asked.
No, she wept. No!
Have you ever felt the slave whip? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said, terrified.
Do you want to feel it again, now? I asked.
No! Master! she said.
Perform, I said.
Yes, Master! she said.
Better, I said, better. Remember you are no longer a woman of Earth now. More 
leg extension. That is behind you. You are now only a Gorean slave. Good. You 
are not even a person any longer. You are now only a lascivious animal that 
exists only for the pleasure of men. Only an animal. Do not forget it. But an 
incredibly desirable animal. Lift your hand more piteously. Good. The most 
desirable form of animal in existence, the female slave. That expression, 
improve it. Let it show that you beg a man for his touch. Do you beg a man for 
his touch?
Yes, she cried, suddenly, I do!
Use the chain, I said. It is on your neck. Use it! Use it in this mat dance.
Dance? she wept.
Yes, I said, You can consider it a dance. You can treat it as a dance. You 
are writhing for a master, pausing now and then to startle him with your beauty, 
on your chain. There is even music here. Feel it in your belly. Deep in your 
belly! Deeper! Yes! Yes!
Take me! she cried in English! I beg you to take me!
I took her in my arms, and kissed her. She was helplessly hot and open.
(pg. 370) Oh, yes, she cried. Now! Now! I beg it! I beg it!
As a woman of Earth? I asked.
No, she sobbed, as what I am now, as a Gorean slave of her master!
Later I used her once more, this time on her belly, that she might not forget 
she was a slave, nor grow too proud. I then turned her to her back. She looked 
up at me with tears in her eyes. I am yours, she wept. I want to live for 
you, and to serve you in all ways.
I kissed her.
Buy me! she begged. Buy me!
I think you will one day, now that you have learned how to serve, find a fine, 
strong Gorean master, I said.
Then, I, an Earth woman, will belong to a Gorean, she said.
Yes, I said, as do may others. And I think you will make him a splendid 
slave.
Yes, she whispered softly, a slave.
You are a female of Earth, I said. Such as you are fit only to wear the 
collars of such men.
I know, she said.
Aspire to nothing higher here, I said.
I do not, she said.
He would have you in no other way, of course, I said.
I know, she said.
Are you discontent? I asked.
No, she said. It is a thousand times better to be the slave of such a man 
than to be an Empress on Earth.
I kissed her.
Nor would I wish to be had in any other way, she said.
Oh? I asked.
Because, she said, it is what I have now learned I am, a slave.
I considered her softness and beauty, and her helpless, loving responsiveness in 
my arms. Yes, I said. You are a mans slave.
I do not dispute it, she said. I learned it indubitably while finding myself 
helpless in your power. You have taught it to me, and the lesson can never be 
unlearned.
(pg. 371) I did not speak.
Master, she said.
Yes, I said.
I think there are many slaves on Earth, only they have not yet found their 
masters. They do not yet wear their collars.
Perhaps, I said.
I think there are few men on Earth who can, or will, answer the cry of the 
slave in a woman.
Perhaps, I said. I do not know.
Why will they not do so? she asked.
Perhaps it is too late for them to reclaim their manhood, I said. Perhaps it 
is easier for them now, at this late date, their opportunities slipped away, 
surrendered to the enemies of manhood, to pretend to find it disgusting, or 
amusing.
She sighed.
But here on Gor, I said, have no such fears. Here, even for all their 
harshness, the cultures have not taken so unnatural, demeaning and debilitating 
a turn.
True, she said.
Here you will men such as you have only dreamed of on Earth, I said.
Yes, she said, softly.
Here you do not have to fear even initially that men will not answer the cry of 
the slave in you, I said. You will probably not even have time for that. You 
will be too busy kneeling, and obeying.
True, she laughed, and kissed me. Master, she said.
Yes, I said.
May I say something? she asked.
Of course, I said. But if I am not pleased with it I may beat you.
Of course, she laughed.
Do you recall that I expressed a wish that I be treated gently and with 
respect? she asked.
Vaguely, I said.
I do not think you treated me too gently, she said.
Perhaps not, I said. She had been manhandled a bit, put (pg. 372) where I 
wanted her, and so on, allowed to understand that she was an instrument of my 
pleasure.
And surely you did not treat me with respect, she said.
No, I said. But then you are not the sort of woman who is to be treated with 
respect. You are a collared slave.
I wait for my master, she whispered.
I do not think, now, given the recent confirmation of these insights in you, 
you will have to wait long for your rightful chains, but, in the meantime, you 
will serve the customers in the Tunnels.
The customers! she wept.
Yes, I said, and then I turned her over, putting her again on her belly on the 
mat.
Oh! she said.
Yes, the customers, I said, of whom I am one.
Yes, Master! she said. Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!
Excellent, I said.
I saw that her fingernails had scratched at the mat. I put my hand on the mat, 
near her face. The mat was damp there, from tears.
Master well knows how to use a slave, she said.
You yielded well, I said.
I cannot help myself, she said. I am a slave.
And only that? I asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
I gently parted her hair, putting it delicately on either side of her neck. In 
this way I could see the collar on her neck, and the small, sturdy lock at the 
back of the neck.
I wonder who truly loves himself, and women, she whispered, he who is so true 
to himself and his nature, refusing to deny it or pretend it doesnt exist, and 
who fulfills women, as what they really are, or he who betrays himself, who lies 
to himself and who denies the true needs of women?
It is true, I said. There are two sexes, and they are quite different.
Is that not heresy, for a man of Earth, to say that? she asked.
This is Gor, I said. I pulled at her collar a little. Are you not aware of 
that, slave?
(pg. 373) Yes, Master, she said. I am aware of it.
In a world where nature is free, a world not subjected to ideological 
poisonings, a world where she is not crippled, and hobbled, I said, what is 
the place of women?
At the feet of men, Master, she said.
And where are you, Louise? I asked.
At the feet of men, she said.
Such does not prove, of course, I said, that Gor is the ideal world, but it 
does indicate that Gor possesses at least one feature of the ideal world.
Yes, Master, she said.
To be sure, I said, it is not unknown for females, free women, of course, to 
seek power.
Such pursuits, to me, she said, seem disgusting and unnatural in a woman.
They are, I said. But perhaps they are to be forgiven when men abdicate their 
responsibilities. Perhaps it is fit then that they be destroyed as males.
No, Master! she said.
Why not? I asked.
For then we cannot be truly women, Master. The equations of nature would be 
disrupted. It would be madness and sickness. It could mean the end of a world.
What do you think would happen if you were to seek power, Louise? I asked.
Doubtless I would be whipped and used, she said, and then thrown naked, 
chained, into a tiny cage or slave box, and kept there until I learned my 
lesson, and begged to be suitably subservient. I might even be killed.
Yes, I said, but then you, of course, are a slave.
Yes, Master, she said.
You are not a free woman,
No, Master, she said.
That makes a great difference, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
They do much what they please, I said, even if its ultimate objective is 
clearly the subversion of nature, involving the reduction and debilitation of an 
entire sex, a sex crime than which, it seems, none could be more heinous.
(pg. 374) How filled with hate they must be, she said.
Perhaps, I said.
Unable to be men, she said, they try to destroy them. In this they fail also 
to be women.
Perhaps, I said. I do not know.
They will attempt to use law, she said, using men against men, using them as 
their dupes and tools, until the last man can be destroyed.
That seems the intent, I said. It is not even well concealed.
No, Master, she said.
It is an interesting concept, I said, that legislation could be passed 
against manhood, that nature can be dismissed with a statute, that her reality 
and aristocracy can be declared illegal. Surely there is some sort of category 
confusion here. Laws cannot validly be passed against facts. Any such law is 
automatically null and void. It is like the English king who in the legend sat 
upon the beach and forbade the incoming waves to touch his robes.
What happened? she asked.
He got wet, I said. To be sure, he may have ordered the waves beaten, but, as 
far as we know, the ocean failed to take note of this.
At least he moved before he was drowned, she said.
Let us hope that all kings, however stupid they may be, would have that much 
sense at least.
Surely they would, she said.
Not necessarily, I said. If they are sufficiently stupid, and sufficiently 
strongly conditioned, closing their minds to options, and such, they might 
remain right where they were, proceeding righteously to a watery grave. Such 
things are not unknown. Many people have given their lives for absurdities. Some 
are called heroes.
Surely at least some of them were idiots, she said.
That might seem a juster appraisal, scientifically, I admitted. Still one 
might regret the tragedy involved, even in the case of the idiot.
Yes, Master, she said.
I stood up.
(pg. 375) Master is leaving? she asked.
I brushed her waist and flank with my foot. She shrank back a bit, on her belly, 
to the side. Women are so inutterably beautiful. I then put my foot on her, and 
let her feel a little of my weight, but not much. I then thrust down a bit, and 
stepped away from her. It had been an admiring, spurning caress. She lay there, 
the chain on her neck, on the mat. I am through with you now, I said. The 
hostess will soon come to unchain you, and send you back to your waiting 
station. The key is on its nail.
And thus you leave me? she asked.
Yes, I said. I glanced over at the nearby table. The fellow who had been 
unconscious there, the free woman, the Lady Tutina, now chained half naked at 
his slave ring, she still unconscious, was showing some signs of reviving.
Master! said the girl.
Remain on your stomach until unchained. I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
I then stepped away from her, looking about myself. I had received a note to 
come to this place. I had waited, but no one, it seemed, had attempted to make 
contact. There could, of course, be various reasons for this. I did not think, 
however, that among these reasons would have been the inability to recognize me. 
Presumably the individual, or individuals, would be familiar with my appearance, 
either from the plaza near the Central Cylinder or from a description. This made 
it seem plausible, then, as they had not yet contacted me, that their business 
with me might be of a clandestine nature. One might think then in terms of the 
possible transmission of secret information, or, perhaps more likely, of the 
enterprise of the assassin, the covert business of unsheathed daggers.
I looked about. I did not think there would be more than two of them. I 
considered the openings to the Tunnels. The main egress, which served also as 
the entryway, would surely be under observation. The hostess, in earlier 
speaking to me of the free women brought in for a joke, had spoken of putting 
her out back in the morning, naked, and, if she had been used, with her hands 
tied behind her, with a punched tarsk bit tied on her belly. That suggested a 
rear exit. If they (pg. 376) thought I were making for the that they might move 
swiftly, hastily, too hastily. It would be dark in the tunnel. I glanced back at 
the Earth redhead on the mat. She was still on her belly, as she had been 
commanded. She looked back and up at me, pleadingly. I then left her. She was 
only a slave.
I walked past the waiting station. The only girl there now, the only one not now 
on a chain, this testifying to the traffic of the house, was Birsen, the 
brown-haired girl who seemed as though she could have been a fashion model on 
Earth, head down, I said. Immediately, kneeling, she put her head to the 
floor, the palms of her hands, too, resting on it. It is pleasant to own and 
master women. Too, it is correct to do so. Bondage is merely an institutional 
recognition and formalization of the proper and natural relationship between the 
sexes. In a moment I had come to the low opening of the Al-Ka Tunnel, the first 
tunnel. I glanced back. In the light I could not detect whether or not anyone 
was noting my entrance into the tunnel. Somehow I felt, however, that my entry 
therein would not go unnoticed. (pg. 377)
26    I Take my Leave of the Tunnels
In a moment I was into the tunnel. Behind me there was a bit of light coming 
from under the door.
In a bit, however, I was beyond it. Soon I had to crawl. The ceiling of the 
tunnel, in this part, I now on all fours, was about a foot over my head. In 
parts the tunnel was carpeted, in other parts not, and one must move on the tile 
or stones. There were leather-curtained alcoves here and there along the tunnel, 
the openings of which were circular, and about two feet in width. Occasionally 
there was a small lamp within, its light detectable through the cracks in the 
leather curtain, and about it and under it, feebly illuminating the tunnel 
outside. For the most part, however, the tunnel was quite dark. In two or three 
of the alcoves, where there was a lamp, and the curtain was not fully drawn, I 
saw a master and a slave. One girl was kneeling naked with her back to the wall 
and her hands chained up and behind her, at the sides of her head, over her 
shoulders. She looked at me, wildly. Then she jerked back, the master caressing 
her with the whip. In another alcove a girl was chained on her back, her harms 
and legs widely apart, spread-eagled. She was lifting her body piteously to a 
man who now, apparently having aroused her to a point where she was in an agony 
of need, was merely toying with her. I supposed he might later concede to her 
pleas, if only because she was quite beautiful. In another alcove there was a 
girl on her stomach, her wrists tied to a slave ring. I did not know if she had 
been put in that position for love, or for punishment, or for both.
Most of the alcoves, however, like the major lengths of the tunnel, were quite 
dark. Some were doubtless empty. I hoped (pg. 378) so, for I might have need of 
them. On the other hand many of the alcoves which were in total darkness were 
not empty. From within many I could hear, as I moved past, the small sounds of 
chains, sometimes pathetic sounds, responding doubtless to the restricted, 
helpless movements of small, fair limbs on which they were locked, and the soft 
love moans of used slaves. Many of these women were doubtless forbidden to 
speak. They found themselves responding in the darkness to unseen masters merely 
as helpless, anonymous love objects. In some of the other alcoves, of course, 
those not empty, there were presumably slaves, girls waiting alone in the 
darkness, in their chains, knowing that they would be at the mercy of whoever 
might enter the alcove. In the Delta Tunnel, in Alcove Twenty-One, the girl, 
Lale, I supposed, she now reduced to the modality of the she-quadruped, might be 
so waiting. Too, in at least one of these alcoves, I recalled, though I did not 
know which one, in this very tunnel, there was a chained, gagged free woman. I 
was suddenly very quiet. I could hear something approaching me down the tunnel. 
I expected of course, that anyone interested in me would be behind me. I 
unsheathed my quiva. I smelled paga. Then a fellow crawled past me in the 
tunnel.
I continued on my way.
More! More! I beg more! I beg more! I heard a girls voice coming from one of 
the alcoves to my right. Please, Master, do not stop! No! Do not stop! Please! 
I beg more! I beg more! I heard the movement of chains, jerking helplessly 
against rings. Please, Master! she wept. Please! Please! I am helpless! I am 
at your mercy! Please, Master, I beg it of you! Oh, yes, Master! Yes, Master! 
Yes! Yes! Yes! Aiiiiii! Oh, thank you, Master, kind master! Ohhhh. Ohhhh. Oh. I 
am yours! You have made me yours! Buy me, I beg you. I want to love and serve 
you! Buy me, take me home with you! Own me! You have made me yours! I then 
heard her breathing, and gasping, and a small movement of chains. Master? she 
asked, with a small movement of the chain. Master? Oh, Master! You are going 
to do it to me again? No, sweet Master, I cannot prevent you. I must endure 
whatever you choose to impose upon me. You choose to (pg. 379) make me again 
such a helpless, squirming, screaming thing, so much outside of myself, so 
helplessly at your pleasure? Do so, then, for I am a slave! I sense it! I sense 
it! Do so, then. I cannot stop you. Nor do I wish to do so. I am a slave. I am 
yours. Do with me as you will. Begin, I beg you. Oh, yes, yes, Master!
I then continued again on my way.
The tunnel became more winding. It did not, however, become roomier. One can 
tell the alcove numbers by feel, if one does not have a lamp. I now felt the 
number to my right. It was Twenty-Six. The next alcove would be Twenty-Seven. It 
would be ahead and to the left. The alcoves are staggered. I suppose this is 
primarily for the sake of privacy. This arrangement also, of course, tends to 
reduce the number of unexpected face-to-face encounters in the hall. Goreans are 
sometimes nervous about such things. I conjectured I must be quite deep in the 
tunnel. The rear entrance, or the entrance into a rear corridor, I did not 
think, should be too far beyond this point. Perhaps I could simply leave by the 
rear exit, without difficulty. That might be very nice. I stopped. I listened. I 
was patient. Then I heard it. It was not a loud sound at all, but it was 
unmistakable, the sound of the movement of a piece of metal on the stones. For 
such a sound I supposed there might be many explanations. One of them, of 
course, which I found especially fascinating, would be that of a knife carried 
in the hand of a fellow crawling in the tunnel.
I continued crawling down the tunnel. Cicek, I she said. Where are you? Where 
are you, little Cicek?
Hold, said a voice.
Tal, said I. Did Cicek come this way? Did you see a slave come this way?
One sees nothing down here, growled the fellow.
Perhaps you felt her then? I said. That might have been pleasant,
You are drunk, he said.
Not at all, I said.
What are you doing here? he asked.
(pg. 380) What does anyone do in the tunnels? I asked. What are you doing 
here?
Speak, he said, menacingly.
To be honest, not much, I said. Are you sure that Cicek did not pass you?
No one has passed me, he said, a bit grimly, I thought.
Perhaps she went the other way? I said.
Hold, who are you? he asked.
I am called Bosk, I said.
Is there anyone else in the tunnel? he asked.
I think so, I said.
Not in an alcove?
No, I said.
Where is he? he asked.
He is ahead of you, I said. That was certainly true. I was ahead of him.
Thank you, Citizen, said he.
You are welcome, I said. I then turned about and began to crawl back down the 
tunnel. Cicek, I called. Where are you? Fortunately none of the girls in the 
alcoves were named Cicek. Otherwise it might have been rather embarrassing.
If there was no one at the other end of the tunnel, I supposed I might just as 
well go out through the front door.
Cicek, I called.
Hold, said another voice. This fellow sounded fully as grim as the last 
fellow. The voices were not those of fellows that one, or most folks, at any 
rate, would be likely to look forward to meeting in a dark alley, or, as the 
case might be, tunnel. I couldnt see him any better than the other one, nor, I 
assume, could he see me.
Did a slave pass you in the tunnel? I asked. Cicek? She is not very big, but 
she is very nicely curved.
No, he said, Who are you?
Bosk, I said.
Have you seen anyone else in the tunnel? he asked.
It is pretty hard to see anything in the tunnel, I said.
Is there someone in the tunnel who is not in an alcove? he asked.
(pg. 381) Yes, I said.
Where is he? he asked.
He is ahead of you, I said. That is exactly where I was.
What is he doing? asked the man.
He is just staying in one place, I said. That is what I was doing at the time, 
of course, just staying in one place.
I thought so, said the fellow, decisively. Thank you, Citizen.
That is all right, I said. You are sure you have not seen Cicek?
No, he said.
Maybe she is in the other direction, I said. I turned about and started down 
the tunnel.
Enter an alcove, said the man. Keep the tunnel clear.
Do you know a good one? I asked.
Move, he said.
Very well, I said. I saw no point in being disagreeable. They were all 
probably nice enough.
I moved back down the tunnel. I was reasonably well pleased. As far as I could 
tell there were only two of them, one at each end of the tunnel. They were two 
in number doubtless to spring a trap in a tunnel. The invitation had been to the 
Tunnels. They might have assumed, thus, that I, sooner or later, from curiosity, 
or, perhaps growing wary, and attempting to escape, would enter one of them. 
Too, surely they would not wish to wait until morning to locate their quarry. I 
no longer found it judicious to speculate that their intent was merely to make 
polite contact and transmit information. I suspected somewhat more serious 
things were on their minds. As I had not emerged from the tunnel, or tried to 
emerge from it, they would assume that I was waiting within it. They would also 
assume, presumably, and I had encouraged them in this belief, that their quarry 
might be in the tunnel and not in an alcove. In a tunnel he might swiftly move 
in whatever direction seemed opposite danger. In an alcove, it might seem he 
could be too easily trapped. Actually, of course, given the structure of the 
alcoves, as I had determined it, it could be extremely dangerous to attempt to 
enter it if it were defended. Indeed, one would only have to stay (pg. 382) 
there until morning, at which time, presumably, they would feel obliged to make 
away. The fellow I had left behind me was probably the leader. Presumably he 
would wish to signal his fellow down the corridor in some way.
I heard, in a few Ehn, a soft whistle behind me. It carried well in the tunnel. 
It was answered, momentarily, by another soft whistle, ahead of me. I moved 
ahead. I felt the alcove numbers. There was another whistle behind me, closer 
now. The answering whistle, however, was still rather toward the end of the 
tunnel. The fellow there, not the leader, it seemed, was less eager to move 
forward into the darkness. I, for one, did not blame him.
I had then come again to the area of Alcove Twenty-Six. It was well down the 
tunnel. I had felt it before. I thrust back the curtain. Master? I heard, 
within, and a sound of chain. I then again closed the curtain. I moved to the 
next alcove. That was Twenty-Seven, on the left. I moved back the curtain. I 
heard nothing within. This one, I thought, would do nicely. I then entered the 
alcove. I then listened to the whistles approaching more closely.
It is normal practice, in a situation of this sort, to separate the enemies, 
meeting first one, and then the other, substituting two one-to-one conflicts, so 
to speak, for one two-to-one conflict. This works best, of course, when one can 
see what one is doing. Too often, darkness neutralizes skill; too often chance 
thrives in darkness. There are, of course, tactics for fighting in the darkness, 
such as misdirection, the casting of pebbles to encourage an opponent to make a 
move, the use of back kicks, giving extension to ones striking capacity while 
providing a minimum exposure of vital areas, the attempt to lure a blow from a 
distance, with full-arm knife probes, to encourage an opponent to lunge and 
overextend himself, and so on, but, in the true darkness, very different from 
what commonly passes as night fighting, there is probably no really 
satisfactory way to reduce risk levels to tolerable limits. I prefer to avoid 
it. Accordingly, in entering the tunnel I had determined, from the beginning, in 
the event it was unlighted, that I would prefer to arrange matters in such a way 
that the (pg. 383) considerable risks involved be taken by the other fellows. I 
myself did not care for the odds.
I stuck my head out of the alcove. Who is there? I called, as though alarmed. 
Is there anyone there? Who is it?
I then heard another whistle, from my right, toward the entrance to the tunnel. 
This was answered by one from my left, toward the end of the tunnel. There was 
then another insistent whistle from my right. It was no closer. The whistle from 
my left, then, was a bit closer. This was what I had hoped for. They would hope 
to coordinate their efforts, to take me between them, at the same time.
Who is there? I called again, once more as though alarmed.
Do not fear, called a voice, from the right. We mean you no harm. Are you 
Tarl, of Port Kar?
Yes, I said. I am he!
We have a message for you, said the voice.
Yes, I said.
Remain where you are, said the voice. We will bring you the message.
You are certain that you mean well? I inquired.
Yes, yes, said the fellow to the right, soothingly. I could now hear the small 
sound of the metal, presumably a knife, on the stones, coming from my left. Did 
they really think I would believe that two fellows were needed to deliver a 
message?
I am not certain of that, I said.
Do not be alarmed, said the fellow to the right.
You have a message for me? I asked.
Yes, said the fellow to the right.
I am drawing my sword, I said. I then withdrew the blade from the sheath a 
good deal more noisily than was necessary. I did not want them to mistake the 
sound. I thought that that would give them something to think about. I wanted 
them to be somewhat alarmed. Then, when I sheathed it, they might be inclined to 
act more swiftly, more precipitately.
(pg. 384) We are friends, said the fellow to the right, in the darkness.
In there intentness, in their hunt, in the darkness, I did not think they would 
be keeping track of the alcoves. They would, in any case, have had to feel 
carefully for them. They would be thinking, I expected, only in terms of the 
tunnel and the walls. I had, further, led them to believe that I was in the 
tunnel itself. Too, surely this would seem reasonable to them. I had further 
confirmed this suspicion by the drawing of the blade. Presumably such a draw 
would not take place in the close quarters of an alcove, were there was little 
room for its wielding. To be sure, there was not much room in the tunnel either, 
though thrusting could surely be dangerous. With the sword drawn I did not think 
either would care to be the first to make contact with me. With it sheathed 
both, for all I knew, and particularly the fellow on the right, might be eager 
to make the first strike.
Sheath your sword, said the fellow on the right.
No, I said.
We will then not deliver the message, he said.
Very well, I said.
But we must deliver it, he said. It is a matter of life and death.
That sounds serious, I granted him.
It is, he assured me.
From whom does this message come? I asked.
From the regent himself, said the fellow.
I see, I said.
I doubted, personally, that the regent would be sending me messages, and, if so, 
that he would be doing it in this fashion. I was prepared to believe, however, 
that the business to which these fellows were about might have its origins in 
individuals close to the regent. Their mention of the regent, of course, 
convinced me that they were not common assailants, after a purse. 
Run-of-the-mill brigands would surely refrain from allusions so dubious and 
exalted, allusions so incredible that they would be sure to put a normal fellow 
on his guard.
How may we convince you of our good intentions? he asked. I heard him come a 
foot or so closer.
(pg. 385) I would consider that to be your problem, I said. Not mine.
I heard the fellow on the left come a little closer.
Are you armed? I asked.
We will slide our knives, sheathed, along the tunnel floor, said the fellow at 
the right. That way you will know we come in peace.
Excellent, I said.
In a moment two objects, presumably sheaths, though I doubted from the sound 
they contained knives, with some buckles and straps, came sliding along the 
tunnel floor, one from the right, the other from the left. I judged the two 
fellows to be about equidistant, each about ten feet away. They had a good idea 
of my approximate location, it seemed, from my voice.
I am convinced, I announced. Actually I was not quite candid in this 
announcement.
Sheath your sword, said the fellow on the right. I heard them both coming a 
little closer.
There, I said, thrusting the blade back in the sheath. I then drew my head 
back. Where is the message? I asked.
Here! I heard, from the right, this cry coupled with the rush forward of a 
body in the darkness.
Die! I heard, from the left, with the sound of another rapidly moving body.
I then heard some very ugly noises in the tunnel outside the entrance to the 
alcove. I was within the alcove, my quiva in hand. If anyone tried to enter 
these limited quarters, it would be quite easy in the darkness, he in such an 
exposed position, to cut fiercely at his head and neck.
I listened.
There was not much noise outside. I could hear some gasping, and also some 
coughing, and spitting. Someones lungs seemed to be clutching at breath. Not 
very successfully, it seemed. From the sound of the coughing, that of the other 
fellow I think, I conjectured that the mouth might be filling with welled-up 
blood. I think both of them were there. I think they were both just outside the 
alcove, perhaps locked in one anothers arms, or now, leaning against one 
another, supporting (pg. 386) one another. I wondered if they realized what had 
happened, or if each, puzzled, thought he had closed with this fellow Tarl, of 
Port Kar. Then I heard one of the bodies take another thrust. Then they seemed, 
both, to fall to the side, and then, it seemed, one was trying to move away, 
crawling. That might have been the fellow who had been on the left. I could hear 
the movement of the knife on the stones. Then whoever it was, coughing, and with 
a grunt, sank to the stones. The knife was then quiet. It had been a short trip. 
Doubtless the stones would be sticky. They would have to be cleaned in the 
morning. Slaves could do that, or, perhaps, the free woman I had been offered 
earlier in the evening, she who had been in the wrap-around tunic, the Lady 
Labiena, who was being kept for a friend. I supposed the hostesses might enjoy 
having her do such things, perhaps monitoring her work with a whip or pointed 
stick.
I continued to listen. I now heard nothing.
I think both of these fellows had probably been reasonably skillful. They 
probably knew their business. I did not think this task would have been assigned 
novices. They had just mistaken their victim.
I continued to listen patiently for a few Ehn. It was now quiet outside the 
alcove. I heard nothing. Then I heard a tiny sound behind me. I had not realized 
I was not alone in the alcove. I spun about, quiva ready. It was now again 
quiet. I put the quiva in my left hand, extending my left arm. I then silently 
drew my sword. The quiva presumably could act as a probe and defense. The sword, 
the quick, short double-edged Gorean gladius, was drawn back for a thrust.
Who is there? I asked. It was absolutely quiet. Speak, I said, or I 
strike. I then heard a tiny, almost inaudible desperate, protesting, whimpering 
sound. I heard, too, the desperate movement of bare feet, moving back and forth, 
and pounding on the stones. I heard, too, the jerk of chain against a ring.
With the sword and quiva, protecting myself first with one and then the other, 
and probing about, using them alternately, and generally keeping away from the 
source of the sound, I determined to my satisfaction that the alcove was empty 
save (pg. 387) for myself and the source of the sound. Then, using the side of 
the sword, moving it twice laterally in the darkness, touching the object in the 
darkness on either side, as it hastily and fearfully, scrambling, pulled its 
legs back, and up, and whimpered. I specifically located the source of this 
sound. I sheathed the sword.
I then silently approached the object on its right side. Reaching forth I took 
it by its hair that I might locate it and hold it in place and moved the point 
of the quiva, the blade held sideways, that it might slip between the ribs, a 
tiny bit into its side, about half the width of a drop of blood. There was a 
protesting whimper. The object did not move, held in place. I let it feel the 
point a little more. It was then absolutely quiet, and immobile. I drew the 
point back a bit, but kept it mostly where it was. The object could feel it in 
contact with its skin. I then moved my left hand downward from its hair to check 
the wrists. They were shackled behind its back, chained to a ring. I tested the 
shackles. They were light shackles. But they would be quite effective, if 
locked, for such an object. They were locked. It was sitting then in the alcove, 
its hands back-shackled, its back to the alcove wall, close against it, its 
knees drawn up. I sheathed the quiva.
I then felt round the objects mouth. It was well gagged, with Gorean 
efficiency, with packing and binding. It made tiny whimpers. These whimpers, of 
course, had been female noises. They are unmistakable, even with the gagging, 
that stern impediment to expression which her captor, or captors, had chosen to 
impose on her, that device, inflicted upon her, by means of which it had been 
decided that she would not be able to speak. I lowered my hands. She whimpered, 
perhaps trying to call attention to her desire to speak.
Be silent, I said. I crouched beside her in the darkness. I wondered if she 
were a slave. I moved my hands up her body, to determine whether or not she was 
collared. She whimpered, in desperate protest. Be silent, I said, or you will 
be cuffed. She was silent. I felt her throat. It was innocent of any metallic 
circlet of bondage. She had been nicely breasted.
Are you a free woman? I asked, interested.
(pg. 388) She made some noises, which I took to be affirmative whimpers.
I recalled the device that my hostess had used in communicating with the slave 
Lale, a not uncommon one, or, at least, one of not uncommon type, for females 
put in the modality of the she-quadruped. You will whimper once for Yes,  I 
said, and twice for No, Do you understand?
She whimpered once.
Would you like to have your gag removed? I asked.
She whimpered once, eagerly.
Are you a free woman? I asked.
She whimpered once.
Then she scrambled back against the wall, pushing back against it, uttering 
urgent, protesting whimpers.
I do not detect any brands on your body, I said, at least in the normal brand 
sites. Perhaps you are telling the truth, The most common branding sites for a 
Gorean slave are on the left or right thigh, high, near the hip. Others may wear 
their brands variously, for example, low on the left abdomen, on the inside of 
the left forearm, on the left breast, or, very tiny, behind the left ear. I 
myself do not approve of brands on the breast. A womans breasts, in my opinion, 
are too beautiful for a brand. On the other hand I do not object to temporarily 
marking them in such a place, say, with a grease pencil, lipstick, or paint, as 
many slavers do. The ideal, of course, given the necessity of marking women, the 
importance of which anyone recognizes, is to do it in such a fashion that it 
does not detract from a womans beauty, but rather enhances it, and 
considerably. The thigh brand, for one, has this effect. It also, put in her 
flank, below her waist, helps her to understand what her slavery is all about.
Her breasts of course, in which so much of her luscious femaleness is naturally 
manifested, do not escape notice in her bondage. They are as open and available 
to the master as any other part of her. After all, he owns the whole slave. 
Accordingly she knows that they, so sweet and soft, so delicious and marvelous, 
so wonderful and exciting, will, like the rest of her, without a second thought, 
be submitted to attentions appropriate to her status. For example, they may be 
(pg. 389) lovingly handled, and kissed and caressed by the master however and as 
long as he pleases. Too, they might be emphasized and accentuated by various 
forms of garments and bindings. The tying of slave girdles, for example, and the 
arrangement of binding fiber, often has this subtle, delicious feature in mind. 
Too, of course, they may be confined, if one wishes, in open brassieres of cord, 
or netting.
She whimpered once, angrily.
Surely you cannot criticize my curiosity, I said. One does not usually expect 
to find a free woman chained naked in a slave alcove in a brothel. My 
investigations concerning brand sites had, as a side effect, of course, informed 
me that she was unclothed, except for her shackles.
She made a number of angry noises.
Are you displeased? I asked.
She whimpered, once, angrily.
Are you angry? I asked.
She whimpered again, once, even more angrily. Then she made a number of other 
angry noises.
Do you wish to speak? I asked.
She whimpered once, angrily.
You would like me to remove your gag? I asked.
She made a single, short noise, very insistently. I waited. She repeated it.
Oh, I said. You do not wish me to remove your gag.
She then whimpered twice, insistently.
You do want me to remove your gag? I asked.
She whimpered once, very definitely, very clearly, just once.
But I have not done so, have I? I asked. Perhaps you think I have forgotten 
to do so, that it has somehow slipped my mind. That is not it at all, however. I 
was merely inquiring, before and now, if you would like to have it removed. That 
is what I was interested in. That is all. I have never had any intention of 
removing it. I am not interested, for example, in hearing from you.
There was a startled noise, and some puzzled ones.
No, I said.
(pg. 390) I then put my right hand on her neck under her chin and forced her 
head up and back.
She made a frightened noise.
You are in no position, I said, to be displeased, or angry, or impatient, or 
peremptory, in any way.
She was silent.
I then put my hand on her, and she whimpered, and drew back, pushing back, 
frightened against the wall of the alcove. I then took her ankles in my hands. I 
let her try for a moment to resist me. Then I spread her ankles widely. Do you 
understand? I asked.
She whimpered once, frightened.
Good, I said. I then released her ankles and she drew them hastily back and 
together, pulling her knees up, and close together, and, as she could, turned 
her right side to me.
Were you the female who was brought in a sack, earlier this evening? I asked.
She whimpered once.
Are you beautiful? I asked.
She whimpered twice.
Then there would be no point in my having my way with you, would there? I 
asked.
She whimpered twice.
I think that I shall strike a light, I said.
She whimpered twice, piteously.
And if I find that you have lied, and that you are beautiful, I shall use 
youand as a slave.
Two whimpers.
Very well, I said. I shall give you another chance. Are you beautiful?
She whimpered once, in defeat.
Or at least you think you are beautiful, I said.
She whimpered once.
Then perhaps I should use you, I said.
She whimpered twice, piteously.
If you are a free woman, I said, then, from what I have heard, there may be 
something around here. I felt about the alcove. Yes, I said, here it is. I 
had located some binding fiber at the side, and a leather thong, with a (pg. 
391) coin, presumably a tarsk bit, threaded on it. That was to be used, I 
recalled having heard from my hostess, if she was used in her stay in the 
brothel. There is some binding fiber here, I said. Do you know what it is 
for?
She whimpered twice, frightened.
For binding you, I said. If you are used tonight you are to be put out naked 
in the morning, in the alley, your hands tied behind your back with this binding 
fiber.
She whimpered twice, in protest.
There is also a coin here, a tarsk bit, I think, threaded on a leather thong. 
Do you know what that is for?
She whimpered twice.
I took the thong and coin and, putting my arms about her, tied the thong about 
her waist, fastening it behind her back. The coin then was at her belly. With my 
thumb I pushed it back into her belly, that she might clearly feel its shape and 
know its location. Then I let it dangle there, resting on her belly. This 
coin, I said, when you were put out in the morning, if you were used tonight, 
was to be tied there. It signifies to all who see it that you have served a man. 
You are given the coin because you are a free woman. That is your payment. To be 
sure it is the smallest-denomination coin in common circulation. It is, thus, a 
comment on your value.
She moaned in protest. I removed the thong and coin from her waist. I laid it, 
with the binding fiber, to the side.
She whimpered gratefully.
I know you are a free woman, I said, but are you prepared now, in the light 
of your recent experiences, to reform your behavior, to be at least minimally 
polite, to observe certain basic amenities, and to conduct your life and 
business at least generally in accordance with simple canons of common civility 
and courtesy?
She was silent.
I put my hand on her.
She whimpered once, quickly.
Good, I said. Since someone put you here, presumably as a punishment, I 
gather you have been something of a she-sleen.
(pg. 392) She whimpered once.
But that is going to change now, isnt it? I asked.
One whimper.
You see, I said, putting my hand on her thigh, she trying to pull back, this 
is not really much of a punishment. Many other things would have been done to 
you. For example, from a place such as this, it would be no great trick for you 
to be delivered to a slaver. Indeed, perhaps a slaver has an appointment with 
you in this alcove before morning. I do not know.
She whimpered in fear.
You could be branded and collared before morning, I said, and shipped out of 
the city, then a slave, hooded, gagged and helpless, for your first sale.
Two whimpers.
Indeed, I said, perhaps I am that slaver.
She whimpered twice, wildly.
But I am not, I said. Oh yes, I have done slaving, and doubtless will again. 
There are few occupations so pleasant and rewarding.
She was silent, trembling.
Would you look well at a mans feet? I asked. I put my hand on her throat. 
Answer truthfully, I warned her.
She whimpered once, in agony.
Or you think you would? I asked.
One whimper, a fearful whimper, in misery.
But do not be afraid, I said. I have no intention, at least at present, of 
carrying you into bondage. Are you grateful?
She whimpered once.
Besides, I said, I have not even seen you.
She whimpered in fear.
Accordingly I reserve the right of carrying you into bondage later, if I wish, 
I said. Perhaps you are too beautiful to be free. I do not know.
She whimpered twice, fearfully, protestingly.
Be quiet, I whispered. Someone is coming. Down the tunnel I could see a 
flicker of light, doubtless from a tharlarion oil lamp. Although it was a very 
small light, it seemed very bright in the darkness.
(pg. 393) I heard a woman gasp, seeing, I suppose, at least the first body in 
the tunnel. Ai she cried in a moment, the wash of the light moving, lifting, 
in the darkness outside. I saw it reflecting on the other side of the tunnel, 
and a bit into the alcove. She had then seen, a bit further down the tunnel, I 
suppose, the second body. I moved back, to the side of the alcove entrance. I 
saw the light approaching more closely.
What has gone on here? she asked, under her breath, not really speaking to 
anyone. I gathered she was alone. Her surprise seemed genuine. She made no 
attempt to call back to anyone. She was now close to the alcove entrance.
Are you all right in there, little slut? she cooed. Are your chains too 
tight? Would you like to be let loose from the nasty old slave ring? Have you 
learned now what it is to serve men? Have you squirmed well? Is your pretty 
little body tired of being chained? Is it sore? Does it ache? It is getting 
late, my beauty. Would you like some clothing? Of course you would! I have some 
pretty binding fiber in there for you to wear and, if you have given pleasure to 
a man, as seems likely by now, a pretty coin to tie on your belly. It is cold 
out in the alley this morning, and gray. The binding fiber will help keep your 
wrists nice and warm. She lifted the lamp outside the alcove. There you are, 
she said.
The girl, whom I now saw was blond, slender and lovely, with sweet breasts and 
beautiful thighs and calves, shrank back against the alcove wall. I told myself 
I could have had her in the darkness, but had not done so! Had I realized how 
attractive she was I might have done so. She did have the look of a wench that 
belonged in a collar. She had nice slave curves. I thought that she, objectively 
considered, would make a very nice slab of slave meat. I would not have minded, 
for example, seeing her naked on a block, in chains, being put through her 
paces, under slave discipline, dancing, writhing, squirming lasciviously for the 
interest of men, being auctioned to the highest bidder. I myself might have made 
a bid. I forced myself to remember that she was free.
The woman outside held the lamp inside the alcove entrance. I then seized her 
wrist and drew her forcibly, swiftly, she crying out, on her belly, through the 
narrow opening. The (pg. 394) lamp, spilling oil, briefly flaming in a rivulet 
on the alcove floor, went to the side of the alcove, and went out. I knelt 
across her body. She was carrying only her whip and some keys. I removed these 
from her. She struggled fiercely, silently. She was strong for a woman. She 
would have been much stronger than the chained girl. Still, when all was said 
and done, her strength was only that of a female. It amused me. I let her 
struggle for a time, until she realized the futility of her efforts. With a sob 
she ceased struggling. I then removed her leather from her. I thought perhaps 
the free woman might be able to use it. Be silent, I warned my captive. She 
was silent. I then felt on the floor for the binding fiber. I had it in a moment 
and tied my captives hands behind her, and then took her ankles and, crossing 
them and pulling them up tightly behind her, bound them to her wrists. She would 
not be going anywhere.
Who are you? she hissed, on her side in the darkness, pulling at her bonds.
Tarl, I said, of Port Kar.
They were looking for you, she said.
They found one another, I said. I then thrust my captive to the side. I then 
felt about for the lamp. I located it almost immediately, and swirled it a bit. 
There was a tiny bit of oil left in it. I relit the lamp with the lighter, or as 
the Goreans say fire-maker, from my pouch. It is a standard flint-and-wheel 
device, with its tiny wick and reservoir. Goreans do not smoke, of course, but, 
as they commonly use natural flame for cooking and light, they find such a 
device, and others like it, utilizing springs and pyrites, with cartridges of 
oil-saturated tinder moss, and such, of great utility. The common sulfur match, 
on the other hand, so common on Earth, I have never met with on Gor. The 
chemistry involved in such a device, interestingly enough, is forbidden on Gor. 
It is regarded as constituting a violation of the Weapons Laws imposed on 
Goreans by Priest-Kings. This is not as farfetched as it might sound at first. 
Sulfur, for example, is one of the primary ingredients in the composition of 
gunpowder.
You! exclaimed the captive. You told me you were called Bosk!
(pg. 395) I am called Bosk, I said. You appear to be well bound.
She struggled briefly.
Yes, I said, quite well bound.
Release me, she said.
One of these keys, I said, has a 27 on it. That, I take it, is the key to the 
chains in this alcove.
Yes, said the captive, sullenly.
I took this key and assured myself that it opened the manacles of the blond 
prisoner.
She threw me a grateful look.
Then I reclosed the manacles, leaving her chained precisely as she had been 
before. She regarded me wildly, puzzled, in consternation. She jerked at her 
hands. They were still manacled to the ring behind her. The captive on the floor 
laughed.
I crouched in the alcove, looking at the blond girl. She is a pretty thing, 
isnt she? I said. She drew her knees up, and shrank back against the alcove 
wall.
Yes, said my captive. Look at her. She is that kind of woman.
She looks like the kind of woman whom you manage, then slaves, of course, in 
the brothel.
Yes, said my captive. She is exactly that sort of woman. She belongs in a 
collar. Doubtless one day she will find her neck in one. Who knows? Perhaps one 
day she will even be here, subject to me, as one of our girls.
Would you like that? I asked.
Of course, said my captive.
You would make her serve men well? I asked.
Yes, she said.
You enjoy making women such as she serve men? I asked.
Yes, she said, with relish, I do. And I would see to it that she served men 
superbly.
Why? I asked.
I despise such women, she said.
(pg. 396) Why? I asked.
They belong to men, she said.
I picked up her whip. Doubtless she would look well kissing the whip, I said.
Yes, laughed my captive.
Kiss it, I said to my captive, holding it before her.
What? she cried.
All women belong to men, I said.
She tried to pull back from the whip, frenziedly. She struggled.
Be careful, I said. You may cause your bonds to cut into your limbs.
She looked at me in helpless fury.
I loosened the blades of the whip. You will kiss it now, I said, or after you 
have felt it. To me it is a matter of indifference. The choice is yours.
Do not whip me, she said.
You are a free woman, I said. You have doubtless never even felt a slave 
whip.
I will kiss it, she said.
I held it before her. Many free women, before they have felt it, are skeptical 
of the efficacy of the slave lash. Their skepticism vanishes, of course, as soon 
as they feel it. On the other hand, I did not think this one would be. She was 
quite familiar with it. She doubtless used it regularly in her work. It was one 
of her tools, a useful device for the instruction, correction, discipline and 
punishment of slaves. She would be quite aware of its power, from its effect on 
her helpless charges.
You can do better than that, I said. Better. Very good. Now, with your 
tongue. Come now. Thats better, much better. Excellent. Now, again, kiss it. 
More lingeringly, more lovingly. Splendid. I then drew the whip back.
She looked up at me. I have kissed your whip, she said.
I then turned her to her belly and freed her ankles.
No! she cried.
In a few Ehn I turned to the blond captive and ungagged her, carefully removing 
the gag binding and drawing the wet packing from her mouth. I am not looking 
forward to (pg. 397) hearing a great deal of noise from you in the immediate 
future, I said. Is that clear?
She nodded, not speaking.
Aargh, said the captive on the floor as I pushed the wadding into her mouth 
and bound it in place. Nor from you, I informed her.
I then took my quiva and addressed myself to the rather mannish leather I had 
removed from the captive. I shortened it, considerably. I cut away the sleeves, 
deeply. I find the arms and shoulders of a woman attractive. I cut down the 
neckline, opening it considerably, and then slashed it almost to the belly. This 
would be pretty, I thought. I then slashed the tunic on both sides, up to the 
waist. A flash of thigh is nice on a woman, even if the thigh is not branded.
The blond prisoner, her hands chained behind her, watched. I then freed her 
hands from the manacles and pulled her hands up and over her head. I then 
slipped the improvised tunic, cut now in a more feminine fashion from the 
mannish leather, on her body. Swiftly she pulled it down about her thighs, as 
far as it would go. Swiftly, too, then, did she kneel, her knees now tightly 
together, in the fashion of the free woman. She looked at me, frightened.
I glanced back to the captive, her wrists still tightly bound behind her. She 
was on one elbow, and her hip now, on the alcove floor. Her hair was down about 
her face. Her eyes seemed filled with disbelief, as though she might be trying 
to understand what had been done to her.
Look, I said to the captive, indicating the blonde.
The blonde tried to pull the tunic further down her thighs. She clenched her 
knees more closely together.
She does look as though she belonged in a collar, doesnt she? I asked the 
captive.
The captive looked up at me.
Doesnt she? I asked.
The captive uttered muffled noises.
I seized the captives head, pulling it up. Doesnt she? I asked. You may 
whimper once for Yes, and twice for No. I am sure you are familiar with the 
procedure.
She looked at me with fury. I shook her head. She (pg. 398) whimpered once. 
What? I asked. She then whimpered again, once, clearly. Do you wish to be 
beaten? I asked. She whimpered twice, clearly. I see that you are familiar 
with the procedure, I said, I then thrust her back to the floor of the alcove.
I again regarded the blonde. What are you going to do with me? she whispered. 
I put my hands on her upper arms.
What? she asked.
I forced myself to remove my hands from her arms.
What? she asked.
We are going to get out of here, I said. I then looked back at the bound 
captive, and then located the leather thong with the tarsk bit threaded on it. 
She looked at me wildly over the gag. She shook her head. She whimpered twice, 
again and again, desperately. Then the thong was tied about her waist, knotted 
in the back and the tiny coin, threaded on the thong, dangled at her belly. I 
pushed it into her belly so that she could feel its impression, and then 
released it. I then took her by the hair with my right hand.
Come along, I said to her. I picked up the tiny lamp with my other hand. 
Follow us, I said to the blonde. I then left the alcove, holding the lamp, 
drawing the bound captive by the hair after me. The blonde followed. The one 
body in the tunnel was to the right. In a moment or so we had crawled around the 
other one, that which had been to the left. Their message, according to the 
fellow who had been on the right, had been a matter of life and death. I 
supposed that had been intended to be a witticism on his part. Doubtless he 
would have enjoyed reporting on the manner and the words with which he had 
delivered the message. He had spoken truly, it seems. But it had turned out to 
be a matter of my life and their death.
In a moment or two, as we were near the end of the tunnel, we came to the back 
corridor. We could stand up there. We came to the rear entrance. There was a 
small lamp there, in a niche, and I extinguished the lamp I carried and put it 
down. In a moment I had left the building, pulling the captive behind me, her 
head held down at my waist, in leading (pg. 399) position. We were followed by 
the blonde in the brief leather garment I had fashioned for her. The door 
latched behind us.
We emerged into a yard, where the slaves presumably could get fresh air and be 
exercised. There were some treadmills there, and some wooden platforms, with 
chain holes in the planks, where, in good weather, girls might be secured for 
tanning. Beyond this yard was the narrow alley behind the buildings. The gate to 
this yard also latched behind us. We could not re-enter from the outside. It was 
still very early, and half dark. It was also quite chilly. I recalled that my 
captive had told the blonde that her wrists might be kept warm by the binding 
fiber. She herself now, of course, though I do not think she had counted on it, 
had the benefit of that narrow, encircling garmenture.
I pulled my captive around and between buildings, and emerged onto the street 
called the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, and then I went between more 
buildings and emerged on the Avenue of Turia. This is a splendid avenue, and 
there are many shops on it. There I put my captive on her knees, her back to a 
slave ring, fixed in a wall a foot or so above the level of the pavement. I then 
slipped the extra binding fiber dangling from her wrists, that with which I had 
earlier tied her ankles up behind her, to her wrists, through the ring and then 
crossed her ankles and knotted it securely about them. Once again then were her 
wrists fastened to her ankles, though she was this time secured as well to a 
slave ring.
This is a very busy street, I said, though it does not seem so at this hour. 
Doubtless you will soon attract your share of attention. Doubtless some of the 
customers of the Tunnels will recognize you. You may consider what you will say 
to guardsmen, to explain your presence here. You might consider in particular 
how to explain to them the meaning of the tarsk bit on your belly. But then they 
may be familiar with such things, and their meanings.
She looked up at me.
Farewell, Free Woman, I said.
She extended her head toward me, whimpering, tears in her eyes.
Do you beg for mercy, for release? I asked.
(pg. 400) She shook her head, negatively.
Surely you know I would not give it to you, I said.
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
I am not that sort of man, I said.
She nodded.
What then? I asked.
She reached toward me with her head. I crouched down beside her. I touched her 
gently on the left side of her face. She pressed her cheek, the gag binding 
drawn back tight between her teeth, against mine. I felt her tears.
You are not unattractive, I said. And in you somewhere there is a female. Do 
not despise any longer other women, for you, too, are a woman. Let your female 
emerge and become one with you, until there is only you, who is the female.
She whimpered softly, piteously, gratefully.
I do not think you will long be much good for working at the Tunnels, at least 
in your former capacity, I said.
She put her head down.
For you have now discovered how inordinately precious and glorious it is to be 
a woman, I said. It is its own thing, and it is different from being a man. 
Too, it is not even to be a pseudo-man or facsimile male. It is quite different. 
Such things are unnatural and despicable. It is its own place, in its own 
country, and a whole marvelous life and being.
She kept her head down.
I stood up, and looked down at her. Have no fear, I said. You look well 
kneeling at the feet of a man.
She raised her head, tears running from her eyes.
A rag, or a bit of silk, would become you more than the masculine leather, so 
amusingly outlandish, so silly and absurd on your female body, which you seemed 
so fond of affecting, I said. She shrank back. And your neck is rather bare, 
I said. It could use an ornamentperhaps a steel collar. I stepped back. 
Yes, I said, considering her, you are not unattractive. You would make an 
acceptable possession. You yourself, like the girls you so terrorized and (pg. 
401) dominated, like all women, as you have perhaps guessed by now, are 
ultimately and appropriately the property of men.
She nodded, and lowered her head. Tears fell from her eyes to the pavement.
Come along, I said to the blonde.
You will leave her here, like this? she asked.
Of course, I said. And it is much what would have happened to you except that 
you would have been free, naked and bound, the tarsk bit at your belly, to try 
and make your way home.
I then, leaving my former hostess behind me on her knees, naked, her hands and 
ankles tied behind her to the slave ring, the tarsk bit on her belly, conducted 
the blonde back between the buildings to the Alley of the Slave Brothels of 
Ludmilla. It was on that street that there was to be found the insula of 
Achiates.
There is the Tunnels, I said, crossing the street. It is there that you were 
taken last night.
Free women scarcely speak of it except in whispers, she said, shuddering. It 
is one of the lowest of the slave brothels in Ar.
It is there that you were taken, I said.
What a grim and terrible place it seems, she said.
It does look a bit grim now, I admitted. But then you are not seeing it at 
its best. It is closed now, and it is early morning. It is hard to look ones 
best this early in the morning. Im sure you will agree. In the evening now, 
when it opens, it looks much better, warmer, cheerful, lit up, even perhaps a 
bit gaudy. You would have known that last night if you could have gotten your 
head out of the sack.
Im sure of it, she said.
Perhaps you could drop by some evening, and get a better idea of it, I said.
Perhaps, she said.
But I would not come unescorted, I said.
No, she said. I do not think so.
It is not really a terrible place at all, I said. I think it is rather nice.
You were not chained naked in a slave alcove, she said.
(pg. 402) Look at it this way, I said. Consider it an interesting experience. 
After all, how many free women have ever been chained in a slave alcove.
I am one of the lucky ones, she said.
Certainly, I said.
I must thank you, she said.
What for? I asked.
In the alcove, she said, I was much at your mercy.
You were totally at my mercy, I said, correcting her.
Yes, she said, thoughtfully. I was. And so I want to thank you for not using 
me.
That is all right, I said.
But you were thinking about it, werent you? she asked.
Yes, I admitted.
But you did not do so, she said.
No, I said.
Why not? she asked.
What? I asked.
Why not? she asked.
I do not know, I said. I suppose because you were free, and so helpless.
My helplessness would not have made a difference if I were a slave, would it? 
she asked.
No, I said. One often makes a slave absolutely helpless, and then does what 
one wants with her. One commands and uses a slave totally. That is what they are 
for. They must serve completely. They must deliver, at so little as a word or 
gesture, immediately and unquestioningly, whatever the master desires. One gets 
from a slave all that a man could possibly want from a woman, and more, simply 
taking it from her, or ordering her to provide it.
She is so helpless, she said.
Of course, I said. She is a slave.
But you did not use me, she said.
No, I said.
Because I was free? she asked.
I suppose so, I said. I did not know how attractive you were, of course.
(pg. 403) Had you known, she asked, would you have used me?
I do not know, I said. Perhaps I am only human.
Is that why you have dressed me as you have? she asked. She looked down, 
demurely, pulling down at the short hem of the leather she wore.
Yes, I said.
This is very revealing, she said. She pulled together the sides of the 
neckline, closing the garment there to some extent.
Yes, I admitted.
It bares my arms and shoulders, she said. That would generally be done only 
with a slave.
True, I admitted. She did not mention it, but it was not merely her arms and 
shoulders which were bared. Once could see a good bit of her legs, a sweet 
suggestion of her shapely breasts and, at the sides, going to the waist, a high 
slash of thigh.
She looked at me.
It is a bit large, I said. The hostess had been a larger woman than she.
She pulled it more closely about herself. This more accentuated her figure.
You put me in this garment, she said. And it is the sort of garment a slave 
might be put in.
Probably not in leather, however, I said.
She nodded. Leather is generally not permitted to slaves. Softer and more 
feminine fabrics, silk, rep-cloth, and such, often brief and clinging, not only 
stunningly attractive and aesthetically pleasing, but also indictive of, and 
reflective of, their subjection to masculine domination, are generally required 
of them.
But I see what you mean, I said.
Do you think I am a slave? she asked.
Of course not, I said.
Oh, I do not mean legally, she said. I mean really.
Oh, I said, then of course.
Of course, she said.
Yes, I said.
(pg. 404) Beware! she said. I am a free woman!
Not really, I said.
Not really? she asked.
No, I said. You are really a slave. All you lack are some minor legal 
technicalities, such as a collar.
This garment, she said, looking down, quickly. It is so brief, so revealing. 
It makes me feel so strange.
I shrugged.
How dare you have put me n such a garment? she asked.
It pleased me, I said.
It calls attention to my sexuality, she said.
It calls attention, at least, I said, to the potentiality of your sexuality.
Am I beautiful? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Am I sexually desirable? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Am I beautiful enough and sexually desirable enough, she asked, to be a 
slave?
That is a strange question for a free woman to ask, I said.
Am I? she asked.
Yes, I said.
Thank you for rescuing me, she said.
You are welcome, I said.
Could you really have carried me into slavery, she asked, as you intimated in 
the alcove?
I could still do so, I said. We are not far from the Street of Brands. Within 
the Ahn I could deliver you into the clutches and metal of a slaver. He would 
take one look at you, as you are now, and there would be no questions asked.
You would then get money for me? she said.
Yes, I said.
But it is not your intention to do so? she asked.
No, I said.
Why not? she asked.
I do not need the money, I said.
Please, she said.
(pg. 405) You are free, I shrugged.
It is cold, she said, shivering.
It will grow warmer later in the day, I said.
What time do you think it is? she asked.
Somewhere between the fourth and the fifth Ahn, I said.
It is so cold, she said, and so dark and gray.
I turned away.
Wait! she called.
I turned back. What? I asked.
I do not live in that direction, she said.
So? I said.
Where then are you going? she asked.
To my room, I said. It is late.
No! she said.
No? I asked.
No, she said. Arent you going to take me home?
Can you find your way home from here? I asked.
Yes, she said.
Then do so, I said.
Wait! she called.
Yes? I said.
See how I am clad! she said.
I do see, I said.
I cannot go through the streets like this, she said.
Many women, I said, in collars, go through the streets with much less, and in 
full daylight, among crowds.
They are slaves! she said.
And so, too, really, I said, are you.
She looked at me, angrily.
Would you rather do it naked? I asked. That can be arranged. I took a step 
towards her.
No! she said, putting out her hand, stepping back.
Very well, I said. It did amuse me to think of her trying to make her way back 
to wherever she lived, probably a good way from here, as she seemed an educated, 
refined, perhaps affluent woman.
What if I am surprised? she said. What if I am caught? What if slavers pick 
me up?
(pg. 406) I really do not think there is much chance of that, I said, not at 
the present hour, with it getting light. This is not an ideal hour, too, as you 
are probably aware, for the practice of activities such as slaving, raping, 
capturing and such. It is just too miserably early. Dont you really think so? 
What self-respecting rapist or slaver would be abroad at this hour? What would 
he expect to find? A miniature domestic sleen among the garbage cans? A brawny 
teamster bringing in produce from the country? Similarly I assume you live in a 
frequently patrolled, well-to-do district. I really do not believe you will be 
in any danger whatsoever. Run along.
Run along? she said.
Yes, I said.
Just because I am dressed like this, do you think you can dismiss me like a 
slave?
I would go while I can, I said.
She looked at me, suddenly. This is the Alley of the Slave Brothels of 
Ludmilla, she said. Escort me at least back to the Avenue of Turia.
Very well, I said.
She then led the way back across the street, to the opening between the 
buildings, one of several which joined the Avenue of Turia, in this section, 
with the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla. She walked well before me. A 
few yards into the passageway, which was winding, and about a hundred yards 
long, with some side passages, she stopped, and turned, and faced me.
I am cold, she said.
Oh? I said.
Put your arms about me, she said.
I did so. She fitted well within them.
Is that better? I asked.
Yes, she said. She looked up at me. You have saved me from an unspeakable 
fate, she said, one worse than death, that of a man having his way with me, 
against my will.
Do not be absurd, I said. How seriously some free women took themselves! Such 
ridiculous vanity! A week in a (pg. 407) collar would straighten her out on such 
matters. She would then know what women were for, and all about.
However that may be, she smiled, it is to you that I owe my rescue from the 
shackles of a slave alcove.
I began to think I had probably made a mistake. I should of left here there.
I owe you much, she said. I am grateful. I would show my gratitude.
No thanks are necessary, I said. I wondered if she knew what she was doing.
She lifted her lips. I felt her in my arms rising up on her toes. There, she 
said, kissing me.
Beware of what you do, I said, dressed as you are. Her body was luscious, 
rounded and slave soft. I forced myself not to seize it to me, and crush it in 
my arms.
There, she said, kissing me again, can a slave kiss like that? This second 
kiss, with its remark, was a mistake on her part, an irrevocable one.
You know nothing of kissing, I said. If a slave could not do better than 
that, she would be whipped.
Sleen! she cried, and tried to strike me. I caught her wrist with my right 
hand and twisted her suddenly and forcibly about, startling her. I took her left 
upper arm in my left hand, holding her, making her helpless, and with my right 
hand forced her right arm up suddenly and angrily behind her back. She cried out 
in sharp pain. I held her in this position for a moment, letting her know how 
helpless she was, keeping her in pain. She was high on her toes to relieve the 
pressure on her arm. She did not so much as move. Then I released her. She spun 
about, looking at me, wildly. She rubbed her arm. She had been in a mans power. 
She looked small then. You hurt me! she said.
Was it not your intention to hurt me? I inquired.
She looked down. She seemed small, and beautiful. She continued to rub her arm.
What you attempted to do would earn a slave a beating at least, I said, if 
her hands were not cut off, or if she were not fed to sleen.
I wouldnt have done it, if I were a slave, she pouted.
(pg. 408) No, I said, I do not think you would have, Free Woman.
Must I throw myself to you? she asked.
After that second kiss, I said, that would not be necessary.
What do you mean? she asked.
I am going to give you what you want, I said.
No! she said. Not that! I meanI mean! But I had swept her into my arms and 
carried her a few yards down the passageway and then into one of the side 
passages, where, sticking out from a rear area, I had seen the corner, in the 
mist of other garbage, refuse and trash, of a discarded, ragged, thick, roughly 
woven reed slave mat. No! she said. Not now! Not this way!
Be silent, I said. What was she complaining about? I had even carried her to 
this place in honor, in my arms, as a free woman. I had not thrown her over my 
shoulder, her ass to the front, her head scornfully to the rear, as properties 
are commonly carried, such as sacks of grain and female slaves.
With my foot, not yet putting her down, I dragged the mat free of the garbage 
and trash, and kicked it back to where I wanted it, back further in the rear 
area, between the high walls. I then threw her down upon it Get your clothes 
off, I told her. Be quick!
Sobbing, she stripped herself.
Please! she begged. No! Please!
Perform obeisance, I said.
I am a free woman! she said.
Out of your own mouth you have said it, I said. You are a woman.
I do not know how to do so! she said.
There are many ways to perform obeisance, I said.
I am a free woman, she said. I know none of them.
I shall instruct you briefly in three, I said. First, kneel before me, back 
on your heels, yes, with your knees wide, wider, your hands on your thighs, your 
back straight, your breasts out, good, your belly in, good, and now lower your 
head in deference, in submission.
Like a slave! she said.
(pg. 409) Do it, I said. She looked well, now that, I said, may not be 
exactly a performance of obeisance, for authorities do not all agree, but for 
our purposes we shall count it as one. It is, at any rate, a beautiful position, 
and it is, certainly, a common position of slave submission.
Slave submission! she cried.
Yes, I said, and you do it well. It looks natural on you.
Now, I said, and this is clearly a form of obeisance, bend forward and put 
your head to the mat, the palms of your hands on the mat. Good. Now lift your 
head a little and come forward, substantially keeping the position. Forward a 
little more.
But then my face will be at your feet, she said. My lips will be over them!
Yes, I said. Good. Now put your head down and lick and kiss my feet.
I am a free woman! she said.
You are a woman, I said. Now, softly, lingeringly and lovingly. Good.
I am not a slave, she said.
All women are slaves, I said. Imagine what this would be like if you were 
truly a collared slave.
She gasped.
Good, I said. Continue.
Frightened, she did so.
Now, I said, for a third form of obeisance. You may belly to me.
I do not understand, she whispered.
There are various forms of bellying, I said, and bellying may be suitably and 
pleasingly combined with other forms of floor movements, approaching the master 
on all fours, turning to your sides and back, writhing before him, and so on. We 
shall take a very simple version, suitable for an ignorant free female who has 
not yet even begun to discover the depths of her sexuality.
She looked up at me.
On your belly, I said. She backed off a bit, and went to (pg. 410) her belly. 
Her hair was before her face, as she, now on her belly before me, looked up at 
me.
Now, inch forward, I said, remaining low on your belly, and when you reach my 
feet, once again, as before, lifting your head a little, tenderly and humbly, 
and beautifully, as though you were a slave, lick and kiss them. Good. Good. Now 
take my foot and place it gently on your head. Very good. Now place it again on 
the mat, and kiss it again. Good. You may now belly back a little, humbly. I 
have not yet given you permission to rise, of course.
She looked up at me, through her blond hair. There was a sort of disbelief and 
awe in her eyes. I think she could not understand the emotions that had gone 
through her, as she had performed these overt actions, understanding and 
internalizing their meanings.
You may now kneel, I said.
She did so, obediently.
I then crouched down before her, and took her by the upper arms.
Our eyes met. I did not know it could be like that, she whispered.
I said nothing.
I performed obeisance, she said, shaken, wonderingly.
Yes, I said.
I have never felt so female, she said.
You have not yet even begun to get in touch with your femaleness, I said. You 
will discover that it is a wonderful thing, that it is deep and marvelous, and, 
I think, fathomless. A voyage of discovery lies before you, through lands of 
love and untold sensuous wonders. A great adventure lies before you, filled with 
life and meaning. In this adventure you will find your fulfillment, as what you 
truly are, a female, not as something else, not as something different.
I understand, she whispered.
I touched her.
Ohh, she said, softly.
Interesting, I said. Though you are a free woman, you are rather vital, even 
at this stage.
Please do not embarrass me. She said.
(pg. 411) In time, I said, it is my hope that you would grow proud of your 
body and its responses. I do not think you will find them embarrassing then, 
unless perhaps, say, strapped in a slave rack, you are forced to exhibit them 
publicly before scornful men or contemptuous free women. I think rather then 
that you would come to welcome them, and to exult in them, and rejoice in them.
Please, she protested.
Slaves, I said, are generally quite open, and loving about their bodies. They 
tend to understand themselves, and their nature, and they love it.
I am not a slave, she reminded me.
That is true, I said.
What are you going to do with me? she asked.
What do you think? I asked her.
Will you be kind to me? she asked.
Not particularly, I said.
She looked at me, startled. Then I pressed her back, down, on her back, onto the 
mat.
I am a virgin, she whispered.
I kissed her.
You will be kind to me, wont you? she asked.
Not particularly, I said.
This mat is hard, she said. It is rough, She squirmed a little, moving her 
back upon it, on its rough fibers.
It was designed for the instruction of a slave, I said, not for her comfort.
I am not a slave, she smiled.
The mat does not know that, I said.
It is my hope that you know it, she smiled. Oh!
I have forgotten it, I told her.
Be kind! she said. I am not a slave.
You will be treated as I please, I said, and exactly so. Now be silent.
I have strange feelings, she whispered. I feel that I should call you 
Master.
Do not do so, I said. That is only for slaves.
Yes, she whispered, Master.
Very well, I said.
(pg. 412)Oh, yes! she cried, softly.
Never let me go, she wept, clinging to me.
I thrust her back, gently, to the mat, disentangling her from me.
Let me hold you, she begged.
Not now, I said. Keep your arms at your sides.
In your arms she said, in your arms!
It is not I, I said. It could have been any man. It is rather that you were 
ready.
I am prepared to be a love slave! she said.
Keep your hands at your sides, I said.
Her small hands and arms writhed at her sides. I want to touch you. I want to 
hold you! she said.
Keep them at your sides, I said.
Be my love master, she begged.
You are a free woman, I reminded her.
Please, please be my love master, she begged.
Doubtless he somewhere exists, I said. But I am not he.
She moaned.
Do not be so overwhelmed, I said. This is only a simple initiation into the 
world of the senses.
Simple? she asked. Initiation?
Yes, I said.
I did not know there was anything in all of life like this, she said.
And you are not yet even a slave, I said.
I want my love master, she moaned.
Search for him, I whispered. Perhaps you will find himafter a thousand 
collars.
Let me hold you, she begged.
You may do so, I said.
She put her arms about me, pulling me toward her, that I be pressed against her 
softness.
Ohh, she said. You are strong again.
You are very beautiful, I explained.
(pg. 413) You are calm now? I said.
Yes, she said, you have calmed me.
A woman sometimes finds her first experience, of the sort you had before, I 
said, before the last one, that is, one of unusual emotional impact, at least 
compared to what she has hitherto experienced.
I understand, she said.
So then, I said, now that you are in a calm frame of mind, and are fully 
rational, and the experience is at some distance, what are your feelings? I 
asked.
They are quite simple, she said.
Yes, I said.
I want to be collared. I want to be branded. I want to be a slave.
I see, I said.
Do you think a woman can forget such an experience? she asked. That she is 
stupid, that she cannot remember it in the belly of her, that she is incapable 
of learning from it?
No, I said.
It is what I know I am, she said.
I see, I said.
And you knew it before, didnt you? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I suppose some men are better than others at seeing the slave in a female, she 
said.
Perhaps, I said. To be sure, some men are quite remarkable at this. Certain 
slavers, for example, at a glance, find it easy to assess slave potential. 
Otherwise, I suppose, it would be very difficult to explain their unusual 
success in deciding which women, even of women in crowds, and veiled and clad in 
the robes of concealment, are likely to be the most beautiful and make the best 
slaves, and those women, of course, are the ones most profitably stalked. It is 
their business, of course.
Oh, she said, you are not calming me now!
Oh? I said.
No, she said. You are exciting me! You are doing it to me again! How dare 
you! I am a free woman! Is this how you want me, as an irresponsible, helpless, 
whimpering, yelping (pg. 414) squirming animal, unable to help herself, leaping 
and crying out, half mad, beside herself with passion, responding almost as a 
slave in your arms?
Yes, I said.
Beast! she said.
Oh, yes! she cried. Yes! This time it seemed it had taken her hardly any 
time at all. Her reflexes were clearly honable.

Shhh, I said. Someone is passing by, in the passage between the buildings. 
To be sure, they couldnt see us where we were, unless they had entered this 
particular side passage and followed it to its termination.
The shops may be open on the Avenue of Turia by now, I said.
Yes, she said sweetly, her head on my chest.
We could see the sunlight on the walls high above us. It was now warm between 
the buildings.
What time do you think it is? I asked.
The eighth or ninth Ahn, she said.
Probably, I said.
How will I get home? she asked. There will be many people about now? Will you 
buy me robes and a veil and bring them back here?
Do not count on it, I said.
Do you think the free woman you tied at the slave ring has been freed by now? 
she asked.
Probably, I said. I do not know.
Do you remember the second time I kissed you, she asked, the time when you 
told me that if a slave had not kissed better than that she would have been 
whipped?
Yes, I said. That was the time she had tried to strike me, and I had not 
permitted it, but instead had punished her. I had shortly thereafter carried her 
to the slave mat.
Is that true? she asked.
It depends on many things, I said, such as the master, the familiarity of the 
girl with her collar, for example, has she yet learned how to kiss, and the 
mood, the situation, and so on.
(pg. 415) But some slaves, she said, might have been whipped for not kissing 
better than that? she said.
Certainly, I said.
How do I kiss now? She asked, kissing me.
Much better, I said.
As good as a slave? she asked.
No, I said.
Oh? she asked.
No, I said. You will not kiss as well as a slave, until you have become a 
slave, and then, probably, only after you have learned your collar for a few 
months, and perhaps even have had some training. Also, there is a whole 
indefinable modality to the kisses of slaves, that has to do with bondage and 
that they are literally the properties of the master. It is an entirely 
different sort of kissing from that of a free woman.
I understand, she said. Perhaps one day I will be a slave. And then I will 
kiss like a slave.
Perhaps, I said.
I know that I am a slave, she said. I have learned it here, on this mat, in 
this place.
I said nothing.
So what should I do? she asked.
What do you man? I asked.
What does a free woman do, she asked, when she learns she is a slave?
You are free, I said. The decision is yours. But beware of certain decisions, 
for if you make them, you would then no longer be free. Your decisions then 
might rather be concerned with such things as how to best please your master, 
within certain latitudes which he might permit you.
She was quiet, her head on my chest.
The self-enslavement decision is an interesting one, I said, for it is a 
decision which is freely made, being made by a free individual, but, once made, 
it is irrevocable, for the individual is then no longer free, but only a 
property.
She lifted her head. She was then on her elbows beside me. Her breasts were 
lovely. You could take me to a slavers and sell me, she said.
True, I said.
(pg. 416) Do so! she said.
No, I said.
Why not? she asked.
Because it amuses me to treat you like a slave, I said.
Beast, she said, and put her head down again on my chest.
You could turn yourself in, to a slaver, I said.
True, she said.
You call upon him, dressed in your finest veils and robes of concealment, I 
said, probably first having made an appointment. That would be common courtesy. 
He may, after all, be a busy man. Then, in the privacy of his office, as he 
observes, you strip yourself. You do this as gracefully and as well as you can, 
without training. You reveal yourself to him completely. You are absolutely 
naked. He will presumably put you through some simple slave paces, forming some 
conception of your capacity to move well before men. In the process of this, you 
are, of course, being assessed. You then, when permitted, kneel. You then humbly 
beg his permission to bind yourself into slavery before him, thereby making 
yourself a slave, and, in the context, submitting yourself to him as your first 
master. You keep your head down, and await his decision. In your case, I am sure 
the decision would be affirmative.
Various things might then happen. He might have you sign a slave document, in 
the presence of witnesses. As soon as your signature is on the document, of 
course, you are a slave. On the other hand, he might proceed even more simply. 
He might merely have you utter a formula of enslavement, though, again, 
doubtless in the presence of witnesses, who might sign a paper certifying their 
witnessing of your declaration. Let us suppose you utter such a formula. The 
simplest is perhaps, I am a slave. You are then a slave. He will perhaps then 
say, You are my slave. This claims you. You are then his slave. This is 
sufficient in the context for in that context you have been momentarily an 
unclaimed slave, who may be claimed by the first free person who chooses to do 
so. Too, in this case, there are, of course, no counterclaims to be adjudicated. 
He is there first, so to speak. His claim is fully (pg. 417) warranted, 
unchallengable and legally indisputable. This is again done presumably in the 
presence of witnesses, who may be asked to certify their witnessing of the 
action. You might then say, though it is not necessary in the context, for you 
are, anyway, by this time, clearly his slave, Yes Master, I am your slave. By 
this utterance you officially acknowledge him as your master. It is sometimes 
thought this sort of thing is good from the slaves point of view, that she 
hears herself say this. It is legally unnecessary, but it is sometimes thought 
to be a psychologically useful act on the part of the slave. She, in this 
pronouncement, at any rate, clearly acknowledges that she knows who owns her. 
This, too, of course, may be attested to in writing by the witnesses.
There is then little left to be done with you, except perhaps to take you 
below, to the pens. There you will presumably be branded and fitted with your 
first collar. You might also then be given your first whipping in order that you 
learn almost immediately to fear, and terribly fear, the slave whip. You might 
then, afterwards, when you can eat, be given a handful, or two, of moist slave 
gruel. You might also be permitted to lap some water on all fours from a pan, or 
from a puddle, where it has been poured onto the floor. You might then be 
chained in a training kennel. In the morning I suppose your training might 
begin. On the other hand, perhaps you would be simply shipped out of the city to 
a distant market, there to be put on the block for your first sale.
My sale, she whispered, excitedly.
Yes, I said.
Do you think I would bring a good price? she asked.
Yes, I said. I think so.
She shuddered with pleasure.
I think I will take you home now, I said.
I thought you would not take me home, she said.
No, I said. I will do so.
Why this sudden change of heart? she smiled.
I am not sure, I said. Perhaps it is because I now know you better. Perhaps 
it is because it is now later in the day.
Or perhaps there is another reason? she said.
(pg. 418) Perhaps, I said. I am not sure.
Bind me, and take me instead to a slavers she said.
No, I said.
I would not have the courage to turn myself over to a slaver, she said. I 
would be afraid.
I understand, I said.
I could be killed, she said.
If you are obedient and pleasing, I said, there is usually little to fear, 
other than the normal rigors and exactions of bondage.
Surely they are fierce enough, she said.
Sometimes, I admitted. Not all masters were pleasant with their properties.
But I could be killed. She said.
You are in far greater danger of being killed as a free woman, I said. Just 
as it would not occur to most men to kill a pet sleen or a kaiila, it would not 
occur to them to kill a slave. She is, like other such domestic animals, not a 
person, but a property. She, like them, has certain sorts of work to which she 
may be put, and very pleasurable work often, and, like them, has her many values 
and uses. If a city is taken, while free folks may be fleeing about, and be 
subject to indiscriminate slaughter, she is likely, instead, to be secured and 
protected. She is, you see, like the sleen and kaiila, part of the clearly 
understood spoils of victory. Surely you can understand that you yourself, for 
example, might make delicious booty.
I? she said, softly. Booty?
Yes, I said, if you were slave.
I understand, she said, trembling. I saw from the way she said this, so softly 
trembling, so thrilled, that she belonged, truly, in a collar.
To be sure, I said, the slaves in such a situation would be well advised to 
be as obedient and pleasing as possible.
Of course, she said.
Particularly as the killing lust might still be upon the men.
I understand, she said.
(pg. 419) But slaves are generally well trained in placatory behaviors, I 
said.
Of course, she said.
And they serve well, naked, in the victory orgies, I said.
Yes, she said.
But then even free women may be used in such orgies, I said.
I do not think they would long remain free, she said.
No, I said. That would presumably be their last night of freedom.
Do they serve naked at the orgy, as do the slaves? she asked.
Of course, I said.
Are such women sometimes enslaved before the orgy? she asked.
Yes, I said, presumably that they will then understand the totality of what 
will be expected of them at the feast. Too, some commanders think this is an 
excellent introduction to her new condition for a former free woman.
They are probably right, she said.
We must get you home soon, I said.
Why? she asked.
You are tempting, I said.
But if I were a slave, she said, I would be subject to penalties.
Yes, I said. The master would own you.
I could even be killed, she said.
It is one thing, of course, I said, to be subject to penalties, and it is 
quite another for them to be inflicted.
That is true, she said.
For example, it is one thing to be subject to the whip, and to know that 
subjection is quite real, that the master can, and will, whip you, and well, if 
you are not pleasing, and something else to be actually whipped.
I understand, she said.
But in general it is similar with all the penalties, I said, (pg. 420) even 
those which are seldom, if ever, inflicted. She must know that they exist, and 
that, for her, they are real possibilities. She must know, whether they are 
inflicted upon her or not, that she is truly subject to them.
I understand, she said.
This is the sense in which she knows that anything can be done with her, that 
she might even be killed.
I understand, she said.
Without this, I said, her slavery would be incomplete. She would not be a 
total slave.
That is true, she whispered.
Most simply put, I said, she belongs to the master, fully, totally.
I understand, she said.
So let us now return to your residence, I said.
I could accept that risk, she said. It would be part of my fulfillment. 
Indeed, without it, I could not truly, fully, belong to him.
You are so confident of your ability to please? I asked.
I am confident of my ability to try desperately to please, she said.
We must be on our way, I said, sitting up.
Take me to a slavers, she said.
No, I said.
Are you a true man? she said, petulantly, rising up on her knees.
I regarded her.
Are you? she challenged.
You belong in a collar, I said.
Take me to a slavers! she said. See that I am put in one!
I did not speak.
Let it be such that I cannot remove it! she said.
It would be such, I assure you. I said.
Take me to a slavers! she said.
No, I said.
Are you afraid? she asked.
No, I said.
(pg. 421) Look upon me, she said. Am I not the sort of woman who might 
suitably be taken to a slavers?
Yes, I admitted.
Do so, she said.
No, I said.
Look, she said, but inches from me, as I sat there, observing her. She 
suddenly rose up a bit on her knees and thrust her belly forward, toward me. 
There! she said. Would any but a slave do that? she asked.
No, I said. Perhaps it would have been better for her, I thought, if she had 
not done that. She was attractive.
Take me then to a slavers, she said.
No, I said.
You are no true man! she said.
I then stood up before her. She looked up at me puzzled, I then, after regarding 
her for a time, suddenly with the back of my hand, struck her fiercely back from 
the mat, she twisting and falling back, flung to the side from her knees, almost 
half on her feet for an instant, then losing her balance, then falling back into 
the trash at the side of the wall. She, from the midst of the garbage, half on 
her side, looked at me wildly, her hand at her mouth, blood between her fingers.
I pointed to the mat. Here, I said. Kneel.
She hastened back to the mat and knelt before me. She looked up at me in wonder, 
blood at her mouth. She had been cuffed. Did you strike me because I challenged 
your manhood? she asked. I did not really mean it. It is only that I was 
terribly angry. I did not think.
You were not struck for such an absurd reason, I said.
You are after all, a free woman, and free women are entitled to insult, and to 
attempt to demean and destroy men. It is one of their freedoms, unless men of 
course, should decide to take it from them. You were struck, rather, because you 
were attempting to manipulate me.
She nodded, putting her head down.
Do you recognize your guilt, and the suitability of your punishment? I asked.
Yes, she said.
(pg. 422) Also, I said, I would not, if I were a free woman, go about moving 
like that before men.
But I am not really a free woman, she whispered.
You are at this time in your life, I said, legally free. Do not forget it.
Yes, she said, Master.
Do not call me Master, I said. That is for slaves.
Yes, Master, she said.
You seem to have a curiosity as to the slave experience, I said.
I am a slave, she said. It is only natural that I would have some curiosity 
about what it is to be a slave. She put down her head. She wiped some of the 
blood from her mouth.
You have no idea, I said, about what it is like, truly, to be a slave.
She did not respond.
Perhaps I can change your mind about its desirability, I said.
Master? she asked.
I then took her by the hair and, twisting her about, as she cried out, flung her 
forcibly, on her back, on the mat. I then, ruthlessly, angrily, swiftly, caring 
nothing for her feelings or sensibilities, exploiting her, employing her for my 
pleasure. I then, in a moment or two, stood up beside her, and rolled her to her 
side, spurning her, with my foot. She lay there on the mat, gasping, her legs 
drawn up.
So, I asked, Free Woman, what do you think?
She turned about and looked up at me, through her hair.
It is thus that a slave may be used, I said.
She looked up at me. In her eyes there were tears.
How did you like it? I laughed.
She went to her belly and reached for my foot. She put her lips over it and 
kissed it tenderly. Then she looked up at me, again, her hair about her face. I 
loved it, she said.
I cried out with rage, and pulled my foot away from her.
Put on your garment, I told her, angrily.
Yes, Master, she said.
(pg. 423) In a bit she had donned the brief leather garment. It amazed me that 
it could take her so long to get into so little. To be sure, she had had to 
smooth it out, and had not been hurrying. She looked down at the garment, now on 
her. She pulled down a bit at the sides. It is not very large, is it? she 
said.
No, I said.
But I suppose, she said, if I were a slave, I might be given things much less 
than this to wear, and things far more revealing.
Quite possibly, I said. I saw no point in telling her that that was almost a 
certainty.
But I am a free woman, she smiled. She looked down at the garment, ruefully. 
Are you really going to take me through the streets in this?
Yes, I said. I certainly have no intention of buying you a new outfit.
She laughed. No, she said. I suppose not. She looked at me. Clad like 
this, she said, I suppose I should heel you.
No, I said.
You will permit me to walk beside you, as a free woman, though I am clad so 
shamelessly? she asked.
No, I said.
You are not going to accompany me then? she asked, disappointed.
I will come with you, I said.
I do not understand, she said.
You will precede me, I said.
Of course, she laughed. You do not know the way.
Of course, I said.
I have seen masters walking their girls before them in the streets, she 
laughed. Doubtless they enjoy seeing them walk before them.
Doubtless, I said.
That is your reason, isnt it? she laughed.
(pg. 424) Yes, I said.
You do find me attractive, dont you? she asked.
Yes, I said.
I will try to walk well before you, Master, she smiled.
Do not call me Master, I said.
Yes, Master, she smiled.
Let us go, I said.
I will never forget this place, she said. It was here I became a woman, and 
learned my slavery.
Let us go, I said.
Take me to a slavers, she said.
No, I said.
Shall I now precede my Master? she asked.
You may precede me, I said.
She then preceded me from the back passage, into the larger passage, running 
between the buildings, leading to the Avenue of Turia. She did walk well. I 
wondered why I had decided to accompany her to her dwelling. I was not certain 
about the matter. Surely she could have found her way there safely, and 
particularly now, in the full daylight. I did have extra binding fiber in my 
pouch.
On the Avenue of Turia, to the left, we saw a small crowd. Wait, I said. Let 
us investigate that. We went a bit closer. Then, between people, we saw the 
hostess from the Tunnels. She was still on her knees, tied to the slave ring. 
Though it must have been the tenth Ahn, she had not yet been released. Her head 
was down. Much, I gathered, had she been suitably mocked. Look, Mother, said a 
child. She is naked!
Come away, said the mother.
I know her, said a man. She is from the Tunnels.
Look, said another fellow, she has a tarsk bit tied on her belly!
Yes! laughed another. I did not think that that free woman would be likely to 
return to her work at the Tunnels. That sort of thing, I thought, was behind 
her. I did not think that she would be any longer wearing leather. Other 
garmentures would now be more appropriate for her, I speculated, such as tiny 
rags of rep-cloth or brief tunics of silk, bound with (pg. 425) girdlings of 
binding fiber, and perhaps, about her neck, closed closely about it and locked 
shut, a graceful ornament of steel, a slave collar.
Let us continue on our way, I said.
Yes, Master, said the blonde.
She then took her way in the opposite direction, which would have been to the 
right, as we had emerged between the buildings. Behind her I was in an excellent 
position to see the looks she received, which were many, the admiring glances, 
the intakes of breath, the sudden delights at seeing such a female. To be sure, 
she walked well. She did belong in a collar, I thought. I put the binding fiber 
in my pouch from my mind. I must not think of it. She was a free woman. Yet, to 
be sure, she was desirable and exciting, and should be a slave.
It is here, she said, after a long walk.
In that tower? I asked. We were on one of the lower bridges.
Yes, she said.
It seemed to soar to the clouds.
You must be wealthy, I said. We were in one of Ars finest residential 
districts, that of the seventeen Tabidian Towers.
She shrugged.
Quite wealthy, I said.
Yesterday, I thought so, she smiled.
That seems a strange thing to say, I said.
Oh in one way I suppose I am one of the wealthiest women in Ar, she laughed. 
But in another I think I am perhaps one of the most miserable and poorest.
I do not understand, I said.
My life was unsatisfactory, she said. It seemed empty and meaningless. I only 
this morning learned what happiness, and fulfillment could be.
Helpless on the mat of a slave? I said.
Yes, she smiled.
Perhaps it was the masculine domination, and you feeling yourself in your place 
in nature, as what you are, a female, I said.
(pg. 426) Perhaps, she said.
I wish you well, female, I said.
I must climb the high bridge alone? she asked.
Yes, I said. I think it is better that I leave you now, quickly.
Why? she asked.
I think I do not trust myself, I said.
Oh, she asked.
You are an exciting female, I said.
Do you really think so, truly? she asked.
Yes, I said.
She came close to me. She looked up at me. Bind me then, she whispered. Take 
me to a slavers.
No, I said.
You know I am a slave, she whispered, that I am truly a slave, that I belong 
in a collar!
I did not speak.
Please! she begged.
Turn yourself over to a slaver, I said. She looked down in frustration. She 
kicked with her right foot at the flooring of the bridge. Her feet were bare. I 
cant, she said. I cant!
Farewell, I said.
Do not go! she pleaded.
I turned to face her.
Some women can do that! she said. I cant!
Very well, I said.
I am afraid! she cried.
I understand, I said.
Please! she said.
Is freedom not precious? I asked.
Perhaps for others, she said. To me it would be a thousand times less 
precious than my slavery.
I looked at her.
I want my master to be free, she said, but as for me, I want to belong to 
him, totally, to be his, fully, like a sandal or a sleen!
I did not respond to her.
Let him treat me as he pleases, she said. I do not care.
(pg. 427) It is his prerogative. He is the master. Let him neglect me or be 
cruel to me. Let him whip me or chain me. Let him do with me as he wills. I do 
not care. I want to belong to him. I will kiss his whip with joy! I want to love 
him, with all that I have to give as a woman. I want to serve and love him, 
selflessly, only his mastered slave!
Turn yourself over to a slaver, I said.
No! she wept.
Very well, I said.
Help me! she begged.
No, I said.
She wept, and raised her fists as though to strike me, but then she put her 
hands down, quickly, frightened, thinking, perhaps fearing that I might not be 
pleased, and might punish her. She had learned earlier that not all men will 
accept humiliation at the hands of a woman, even a free woman.
So, I said, turn yourself over to a slaver.
I do not want it done that way, she said, tears in her eyes.
Farewell, I said.
Farewell, said she, looking up at me with tears in her eyes, Master,
I have told you about calling me Master, I said.
Yes, Master, she said.
She turned about and began, slowly, to walk up the long bridge. The soaring, 
lovely tower, one of the seventeen Tabidian Towers, lay ahead of her. In it was 
located her residence. It would presumably be on the upper levels. Those are 
usually regarded as more exclusive, and safest from attack. They are usually 
approached only by the higher, narrower bridges. Her apartments, doubtless, 
would be luxurious and well appointed, perhaps involving portions of more than 
one level. Perhaps she might serve well as a slave in such a place, I thought. 
The particular bridge, colorfully paved, graceful, narrow and ascendant, on 
which she walked, barefoot, blonde, her hair moving in the wind,, in her 
exquisitely brief leather, gave entrance to the tower at something over half its 
height, other bridges about, as well, some giving access at different levels, 
and others leading to other towers, and to other bridges, and (pg. 428) down to 
the streets. Gorean cities, given the bridges, can be traversed, often, at 
different levels. She looked very small, and forlorn.
Part way up the bridge she turned about. She looked back. She lifted her hand. I 
did not deign to respond to this gesture. She was, after all, only a female. She 
then lowered her head and turned about, and, slowly, continued on her way up the 
bridge.
I caught up with her at the height of the bridge.
Stop, I said.
She stopped, startled.
Do not turn around, I said.
You, she said. I know your voice.
Do not turn around, I said.
She did not turn, but continued to face the other way.
The leather you are wearing is rather brief, I said.
Yes! she said.
It seems more fitting for a slave than a free woman, I said.
Yes! she said.
You may call me Master, I said.
Master? she asked.
Yes, I said. Begin to form the habit of calling free men Master.
I do not understand! she said.
Place your wrists, crossed, behind your back, I said.
She did so. Oh! she said. I had whipped binding fiber about them, securing 
them in place. It is so tight, she said.
Now that you are bound, I said, you may turn and face me.
She spun about, wildly, trying to free her hands.
You cannot free yourself, I said.
No! she cried, elatedly. I cannot! Oh, What are you doing?
Leashing you, I said.
That is not necessary, she said.
I snapped the slave leash, taken from my pouch, about her neck.
Be silent, I said.
(pg. 429) She looked up at me, startled.
The proper response, I said, is Yes Master. 
Yes, Master, she said, wonderingly. Master!
Did you ask permission to speak? I asked.
May I speak? she asked.
Yes, I said, jerking the leash twice, rather hard, against the back of her 
neck, testing it. The leash collar was a high, sturdy one, and fitted rather 
closely about her neck. Girls do not slip such leashes. It had two buckle 
fastenings. These I had fastened in the front and then turned to the back. This 
had brought the sturdy leading ring, on its plate, riveted into the leather, to 
the front, under her chin. This is the common position for front leading, the 
girl behind her, whether she is on her feet, as it was my intention to lead this 
girl, if only to save time, or, say, on her belly or all fours. The back 
position is commonly used when the girl is in front of you, and you are 
controlling her from behind, she either on her feet ahead of you, or, say, 
beside you or ahead of you on her belly or all fours. The front position is 
generally preferred as leash pressure is then received at the back and sides of 
the neck, not the front. To be sure, a girl is likely to be much more wary, and 
fearful, and docile, when the ring is at the back.
I had then snapped the leash strap on the leading ring. In ones pouch or pack 
the leash strap is normally coiled inside the collar, whether it is snapped on 
the leash ring or not. I usually do not keep it on the collar because in that 
way I am free to use it independently as a binding device or, doubled, as an 
admonitory lash. Also, I think it does a girl good, and it had seemed to do this 
girl good, to hear it snap on the collar ring, either at the back of her neck, 
when she is to be back-controlled, or just under her chin, when she is to be 
front-led, Leashing, of course, of either variety, is excellent psychologically 
for the female, as it confirms her bondage upon her and helps to make clear to 
her her animal status. Similarly, the jerking of the leash, to test its 
strength, is good for her. It helps her to understand that it is truly on her.
This leash pressure, in testing, of course, either is done with the ring in the 
front position, to avoid damage to the (pg. 430) throat, even if the collar is 
then to be turned and she is to be back-controlled, or, if the ring is left in 
the back position, in such a way, say, with a thumb or fingers inserted at the 
front of the leash collar, as to take the pressure of the testing, and protect 
the throat. The general consideration here, of course, is to avoid pressure to 
the front of the throat. It is general Gorean practice to avoid even the 
slightest of pressures here. This does not represent a relaxation of Gorean 
disciplinary practices incidentally, for discipline may be, and will be, if 
there is the least cause for it, inflicted outside the strictures of the leash. 
Too, if the ring is in the back position, if the girl is not compliant she puts 
this pressure on herself. An excellent example is the choke leash, which cannot 
be slipped, but can tighten. The least bit of resistance on the part of the girl 
closes the loop. In such a device, girls, after the first moment or two, follow 
without resistance.
What are you going to do with me? she said.
I am going to take you to a slavers, I said. I think I know one who will not 
ask too many questions.
To a slavers! she cried.
Yes, I said.
Why? she cried.
Why do you think? I asked. To make some money on you, of course. It will 
probably be the first time any man ever made any money on you, but I assure you, 
it will not be the last.
I then turned about and began to stride rapidly down the bridge. She was running 
behind me, on the leash, laughing and crying. (pg. 431)
27    I Sell a Blonde
I threw the blonde to her knees before Tenalion, slaver of Ar. It was he to whom 
Boabissia had earlier, inadvertently, returned herself, his slave. We were now, 
however, in his house of business, in his office there. She knelt inside an 
outlined yellow circle. It was a few feet before his desk. This circle had a 
diameter of about seven or eight feet. The border of this circle, delineating 
it, was about seven or eight inches in width, and was formed of yellow stones 
set mosaiclike into the smooth scarlet flooring.
I bring you a woman, I said.
He rose from his desk and came about it, to stand a few feet from the blonde.
I removed the leash from her neck. I separated the collar and strap. I coiled 
the strap, placing it within the collar. I then returned the two parts of the 
leash to my pouch. I glanced to the blonde. Kneel with your knees more widely 
spread, I said.
She obeyed. I could see she was frightened, now that she was here. Perhaps she 
was having second thoughts. It was a bit late, however, for such thoughts. She 
squirmed a little, on her knees. She was attractive, doing so. This squirming, I 
think, was genuinely due to her fear and agitation, but, even so, I thought it 
might add to her price. She moved well. Her hands were still tied tightly behind 
her.
Where is her brand? asked Tenalion.
She is a free woman, I said.
I thought so, he said.
You are in the house of a slaver, he said to the blonde.
You kneel within a circle of assessment.
(pg. 432) She looked down at it. I did not know, she whispered.
It is about the size of a slave block, he said.
She nodded.
The circle, of course, was flush with the floor. The slave block, on the other 
hand, is normally about a yard to five feet high, and is designed to raise the 
girls above the crowd, so that they may be more easily seen by the bidders.
Have you ever seen a sale of female slaves? he asked.
No, she said.
Perhaps you have some idea, he said, of what they are like.
Yes, she said.
Usually the merchandise is exhibited stark naked and sold to the highest 
bidder, he said, whose slave they then are, in all ways.
I understand, she said.
You are to be assessed, he said.
I understand, she whispered.
And eventually, doubtless, he said, in one way or another, you will be sold 
as a slave.
I understand, she said.
Is she a virgin? asked Tenalion.
No, I said.
The blonde blushed hotly.
I did not think so, said Tenalion..
The blonde put down her head.
You are beautiful, my dear, he said.
Thank you, Master, she said.
Are you sexually responsive? he asked.
She looked at me, wildly. I do not know, she said.
Yes, I said, quite so, at least for one who is still substantially a free 
woman.
In your opinion, asked Tenalion, she shows slave promise?
Yes, I said.
May I see? asked Tenalion.
Of course, I said.
Oh! cried the girl. Please no! Not here! Not like this! I beg you! Oh, Oh, 
Master! Master! I could scarcely hold (pg. 433) her then, squirming, bucking, on 
her knees. It was almost like trying to hold a small sleen. Her body was very 
strong in its passion. Then she looked at Tenalion, tears in her eyes, revealed 
before him as a superbly responsive female, in a mans hands no more than a 
slave.
Excellent, said Tenalion.
I would suppose, I said, of course, that she might improve considerably, and 
indefinitely, in such matters, when she is truly a slave, when she is legally 
and fully imbonded.
She looked at me in wonder.
Of course, said Tenalion.
The blonde put down her head, shuddering.
Girl, said Tenalion.
She lifted her head.
Are you prepared to enter slavery? he asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
Will you strive to be a good slave? he asked.
Yes, Master, she said.
Many masters are not patient with slaves, he said. Do you understand what 
that means?
Master? she asked.
You are well advised to be fully pleasing to your masters, he said.
Yes, Master, she said.
It is not pleasant to be whipped, he said.
No, Master, she said.
Similarly, it would not be pleasant to be subjected to many other conceivable 
punishments, or, say, to be thrown alive to hungry sleen, he said.
No, Master! she said.
Be a good slave, he said.
Yes Master! she said.
Do you think being a slave is merely a matter of crawling about your masters 
legs, and licking and kissing, and serving his intimate pleasures?
I do not know, Master, she said. I have never been a slave.
Do you think you would look well dancing before your master? he asked.
(pg. 434) I do not know, she said.
Absolutely naked, of course, he said, as you are now.
I do not know, Master, she said.
I, frankly, thought she would look quite well doing this. No one, however, had 
asked my opinion.
Still, he said, such things are only among the more obvious sexual 
modalities.
Yes, Master, she said.
Your entire life, he said, will now be pervaded with sexuality, with your 
femaleness. Your life will now be a sexual one, a life in which your femaleness, 
for the first time, will be of undeniable and paramount importance, a life in 
which it will be overwhelmingly central. Everything else will take its 
coloration and meaning from that.
Yes, Master, she said.
It will be a life of total femaleness, and dedication, and service and love.
Yes, Master, she said.
The smallest tasks in your life, how you clean your masters leather, how you 
set out his clothes, how you cook, and she said, how you shop, how you clean and 
launder, even the tiniest and most servile tasks, all such things, will become 
sexual, and all will become expressions of your femaleness, fitting and joyful 
manifestations of your worthless but helplessly proffered, gladly tendered love 
and service, that of only an insignificant slave.
I understand, she said.
The life of a female slave, he said, is a life wholly given over to love. It 
is not a compromised life. It is not one of those lives which is part this, and 
part that. It is a total way of life, a total life. The female slave seeks to 
give all, selflessly, knowing that she, as she is a mere slave, a rightless 
animal owned by her master, one who can be bought and sold at his least whim, 
can make no claims, that she deserves nothing, and is entitled to not the least 
attention or consideration. There are no bargains made with her, nor 
arrangements.
Yes, Master, whispered the girl.
(pg. 435) And it is for such women, he said, that men are willing to die.
She put down her head, humbly.
What do you want for her? asked Tenalion.
I shrugged.
Two silver tarsks? he asked.
Fine, I said.
Not a thousand gold pieces? asked the blonde.
Tenalion smiled. You have a very unrealistic concept of the market, he said. 
Too, you are no longer a free woman, and priceless. You are now only one slave 
among others, and now, within certain limits, have a specific monetary value.
But so little? she asked.
Prices are useful in helping women to understand themselves and rank 
themselves, at least in certain dimensions, he said.
So little? she asked.
That is a high price, I told her. Indeed when Boabissia had returned herself 
to Tenalion, only one silver tarsk had changed hands.
Oh, she said.
He reached to a bell on his desk and rang it. It was not unlike the bell which 
had been on his desk in his residence. Tenalion, I gathered, like most efficient 
people, was a creature of habit. This frees the mind so that it may better 
concentrate on important considerations. In a moment, as before, a fellow had 
entered the room.
This is a slave, said Tenalion, indicating the blonde. Take her below. See 
that she is fittingly marked as such. We do not want there to be any confusion 
in the future about the matter.
Yes, Tenalion, said the fellow.
The blonde saw Tenalion place two silver tarsks in my hand. She looked at them, 
wonderingly. The slave, she, herself, so easily, now had a new master.
Tenalions man, taking her by the upper arms, from behind, jerked her up to her 
feet.
You do not even know my name! she cried to me.
(pg. 436) My right hand, reflexively, flew up, striking her across the mouth, 
lashing her head back.
Tenalions man, angrily, threw her again to her knees, before me.
She looked up at me, startled, frightened, blood about her mouth.
You do not have a name, I told her.
Yes, Master, she gasped.
I regarded her, idly. She was attractive, naked and bound, and on her knees.
Do you not wish to know who I was? she asked.
Who were you? I asked.
I was the Lady Lydia, she of the High Merchants, she whose wealth was in gems 
and land, she of the Tabidian Towers! she said.
An excellent catch, smiled Tenalion. I shall enjoy having her in my pens for 
a time, the lovely Lady Lydia, before her sale.
Lydia, she said, of the Tabidian Towers!
Does it matter? I asked.
No, she said, crushed. It does not matter.
You are now only a nameless slave, I said.
Yes, Master, she said, head down.
Take her away, said Tenalion.
The slave was pulled to her feet. She was roughly turned about. The hand of 
Tenalions man was then in her hair, fastening itself deeply therein. It was 
like the closed talon of a bird of prey. She, bound, held, was helpless. She 
cried out softly, so held, startled, in pain. Then, bent over, her wrists 
confined in the cruel, encircling binding fiber, that which I had earlier put 
well on her, holding them mercilessly, so helplessly, behind her back, her head 
at his hip, stumbling, weeping, she was conducted swiftly from our presence.
She will be branded shortly, said Tenalion. If you wish, a little later, in 
the afternoon, you might visit her in her pen.
You are a kind fellow, I said.
He shrugged. It is a weakness of mine, he said. (pg. 437)
28    Tenalion Accords Me a Favor
Girl, I said.
She moved in pain, in the straw. She lifted herself to a half sitting, half 
kneeling position. There was a sound of chain. It is you! she said, softly. 
The heavy chain was on her neck. They branded me, she said. I am branded.
Thigh, I said.
She, wincing, turned toward me, in the straw. An excellent brand, I said. It 
was the common kajira mark, as I had expected, a small, delicate, and beautiful, 
the cursive Kef, the stand and fronds, lyrically feminine, but unmistakable, a 
brand marking property, worn by most Gorean female slaves.
She looked at me. How helpless and soft she was, so perfect, now that she was 
enslaved.
It is beautiful, I said, reassuring her.
Thank you, she whispered.
What is your name? I asked.
I have not been given a name, she smiled. I too, smiled.
Do you think I would so soon forget my cuffing? she asked.
No, I said. I did not think so.
The other girl had a name, or thought she did, she said.
I see, I said.
So I shall answer promptly to the name given me, she smiled.
That would be my recommendation. I said.
I hope I am given a good name, she said.
You are pretty, I said. You will probably be given a pretty name.
(pg. 438) I hope so, she said.
But if you are not pleasing, I said, it may be removed from you.
I know, she said.
Some masters force a girl to serve superbly for months, before being given any 
name, let alone a lovely one.
That is cruel, she protested.
You are at the mercy, totally, of anyone who buys you, I said.
I know, she shuddered. The chain on her neck made a small noise. Chains look 
well on the necks of women.
Have you received your first taking, after your branding? I asked.
No, she said.
I nodded.
I am naked, and the straw is soft and warm, Master, she said.
You are very beautiful, I said. So beautiful are slaves!
My Master, Tenalion, of Ar, has permitted you here, she said.
Yes, I said, looking down at her.
He has doubtless planned this, she whispered.
Are you resistant? I asked.
No, she laughed. I am not resistant! I am a slave! I shall do my best to be 
responsive, and pleasing. I wish to be pleasing to my masters.
Perhaps you do not wish to be beaten, either, I said.
True, she laughed. I do not wish to be beaten, either.
I smiled.
I think Tenalion is kind, she whispered.
Do you think he would be slow with the whip, if you were not pleasing? I 
asked.
No, she smiled. I do not think he would be slow with the whip.
Does your brand hurt? I asked.
A little, she said.
Prepare to be taken, I said. I removed my tunic. I (pg. 439) looked down at 
her. She was lovely in the straw, at my feet.
How do you wish to be taken?
I am new to my chains, she said. Gently, lovingly, please.
Very well, I said, this first time. (pg. 440)
29    Soldiers
Hist! whispered the fellow in the doorway.
Ho? I asked.
I saw then that it was small Achiates, he who was the landlord of the insula in 
which I lodged, which shabby structure now lay only a stones throw away, down 
the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla.
I approached him. It was now well past the fourteenth Ahn, late in the 
afternoon. I had intended to be back somewhat earlier, indeed, rather in the 
neighborhood of dawn, but I had dallied for a time in the house of Tenalion, or, 
more specifically, in one of the pens, off one of the labyrinthine corridors, 
beneath his house. I remembered the heat and softness of her lips and beauty, 
her readiness and eagerness, and the chain on her. I thought she would make an 
excellent slave.
Surely the rent is not due so soon? I inquired.
Here, come out of the light, he said.
I stepped into the doorway with him. He looked about. He then drew back his 
head.
What is wrong? I asked.
What have you done? he asked.
Nothing, I said. I think it is generally a good rule to protest ones 
innocence with vigor.
Come now! he said.
I do not know, I said. I have done quite a few things. Have you anything 
particular in mind? Has the room been damaged? I feared Hurtha might have been 
practicing with his ax. Another alarming possibility was that he might have 
decapitated, either as an honest mistake, or intentionally, (pg. 441) another 
tenant, perhaps one who had been so bold as to object to the declamation of 
poetry in the halls. Hurtha had the habit of composing orally. Still that would 
be something he had done, not that I had done.
No, said Achiates, nervously.
See, I said.
They are waiting for you, he said.
I watched a free woman hobble by, carrying a sack of suls on her back.
Hurtha and Feiqa, the slave? I asked. I blinked. Perhaps I had not had enough 
sleep the night before. That was possible, I thought, as I had not had any 
sleep.
No! he said.
You are thinking of raising the rent? I asked.
No! he said. But I had noted his eyes and glinted for an instant. I should not 
have said that. It had been the lack of sleep, I gathered. One must be careful 
how one speaks to his landlords. One must be careful not to put ideas into their 
heads. It is generally better to complain loudly and frequently, keeping the 
fellow on the defensive, so that the very thought of having the rent raised 
under such conditions would seem an unthinkable, outrageous affront.
Who then? I asked. I noted a slave passing by in the street, the lower portion 
of her body in shadows, the upper portion bright in the late afternoon sun. She 
was shading her eyes. Her collar was close-fitting. Her dark hair fell about it. 
She was probably on an errand. A coin sack was tied about her neck. Some slaves 
are not allowed to touch money. Many, on the other hand, on errands, carry coins 
in their mouth. This however, is not unusual on Gor, even for free persons. 
Gorean garments generally lack pockets. She was barefoot. She moved well. In 
time, I supposed, the former Lady Lydia, whom I had left behind me in one of 
Tenalions pens, one of his newer acquisitions, would be put on the block and 
sold, and would then, eventually, in one city or other, probably not Ar, find 
herself only such a girl. Such slaves are not allowed outside the city gates, 
unless accompanied by a free person. I recalled how the former Lady Lydia had 
showed me her brand. It had been an excellent one, a (pg. 442) lovely one. How 
pleased she had been that that was the case. I smiled. Slave girls are so vain 
about their brands.
Soldiers, he said.
What? I said. I felt suddenly alert. This seemed, suddenly, a serious 
business.
Soldiers, he repeated, looking about himself.
City Guardsmen? I asked.
No, he said, soldiers.
Taurentians? I asked.
No, he said. Soldiers.
What do they want with me? I asked.
I do not know, he said.
Did you ask? I asked.
Yes, he said.
What did they say? I asked.
Nothing, he said. They only wanted to know when you would return.
What did you tell them? I said.
I told them I did not know. He said.
How long have they been there? I asked.
Only a little while, he said. I found that of interest. Planned arrests are 
normally made at dawn.
Why are you informing me of this? I asked.
You are a tenant, he said. Too, you have paid your rent. Too, I do not want 
any arrests made in my insula. That might be bad for its reputation.
Thank you, I said. I pressed a coin into his hand.
That is not necessary, he said, but took it. He was, after all, a businessman.
You are Tarl of Port Kar? asked a man.
Aiii! moaned Achiates.
Yes, I said, Captain.
May I have your sword, please? he inquired. There were now some fifteen or 
twenty fellows behind him. There was not much room in the doorway to draw, let 
alone to wield the weapon. Yet I was not covered by crossbows. Too, none of the 
men had lowered their spears or drawn their weapons.
On what grounds? I asked.
(pg. 443) You are under arrest. He said.
Achiates moaned.
You may leave, Citizen, the fellow informed Achiates. Achiates then, like an 
urt, spotting an opening between sleen, darted away, hurrying toward the insula.
Your sword, please, said the captain. Surely he realized men do not lightly 
surrender their weapons. Too, clearly he must realize that I could force myself 
from the doorway, and, in an instant, be in the open, the blade free. I wondered 
if it were his intent to encourage such a movement on my part, in order that 
this might provide a plausible, legitimizing circumstance for the employment of 
their own weapons. But I really did not think so. They could always attack, 
surely now that Achiates was gone, and we were alone, as they wished, and fill 
out their reports, if necessary, in any way they saw fit. In that way they would 
have risked very little, if anything. Too, they had permitted Achiates to slip 
away, in spite of the fact that he must have been engaged in the business of 
warning me. I did not think he was in league with them. If he were he could 
simply have let me walk into their midst as I entered the vestibule of the 
insula. Interestingly enough, I did not think the officer was engaged in making 
a standard arrest. His generous treatment of Achiates suggested this. 
Interestingly enough, I did not think he anticipated any resistance.
Please, he said.
I handed my blade, in its sheath, the straps wrapped about it, to him.
Thank you, he said.
I do not wish to be bound, I said.
That will not be necessary, he said.
What is going on here? asked Hurtha, coming up to us.
Do not interfere, I said to Hurtha.
It appears, said Hurtha, unshouldering his ax, that a battle to the death is 
in order.
Who is this? asked the captain.
My friend, I said.
Greetings, said the captain to him.
Greetings, said Hurtha. Hurtha was a friendly Alar. He was not one of the 
suspicious, remote, aloof ones. He enjoyed (pg. 444) being on good terms with 
fellows he was preparing to fight to the death.
Where are we going? I asked the captain.
To an arranged place, he said, one of secrecy.
There? said Hurtha.
Yes, said the captain.
Hurtha, too, I suspected, had not had a great deal of sleep last night.
And what is to occur there, I asked, In this place of secrecy?
One awaits you there, he said.
Who? I asked.
An august personage, he said.
Who? I asked.
His excellency, Gnieus Lelius, regent of Ar, he said.
I am coming with you, said Hurtha.
He is to come alone, said the captain.
Look after Feiqa, I said to Hurtha.
Do not think you can rid yourself of a tenacious comrade so easily, said 
Hurtha. I am an Alar.
Please, I said, do not make things harder for me.
I refuse to be left behind, he said.
Please, I said. This is hard enough. You must try to understand.
Consider all we have been through, he said.
Hurtha, I pleaded. I did not wish to weep. I put the two silver tarsks I had 
received for the blonde in his hand.
Where did you get these? he asked.
I sold something, I said.
Was it pretty? asked Hurtha.
Yes, I said, very pretty.
Not Feiqa? he asked.
No, I said.
But consider another candidate for the collar, one you came across, somewhere, 
one for whom the collar is fitting, perhaps, as for Feiqa? he asked.
Yes, I said. That is true.
Well, farewell, said Hurtha.
Farewell? I said.
(pg. 445) Yes, said Hurtha.
Shall we go? asked the captain.
Yes, I said, somewhat irritated.
I then fell into step within the column of men, marching in their midst. The 
captain was in the lead, my sword in its sheath, slung on its strap, over his 
shoulder. I looked back, once. Hurtha, now at the threshold of the insula of 
Achiates, waved cheerily. I wondered if killing an Alar, Hurtha, in particular, 
would count, strictly, legally, as an act of murder, or if there were some more 
sensible, benign category under which it might fall. Then I turned my mind to 
more pleasant thoughts, such as recollecting the pleasures men may take in 
slaves. I recollected, in particular, most recently, the former Lady Lydia, that 
particular slave, how she had looked, the straw about her body, and in her hair, 
the chain on her neck, her eyes, her cries, her pleading kisses and touches, her 
utter helplessness, and the joy of doing ownership on her.
Let us step lively, said the captain.
We moved more quickly.



To be continued in
RENEGADE OF Gor,
to be published soon.



