by John Norman
"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.
"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.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-634ifdrv-33ph-h7jf-7cdk-wh5sr4gngb77
Document version: 1.1
Document creation date: 05.12.2008
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v.1.0 — created FB2 (mifisailka aka tatuk)
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