“Not quite,” said Lecchio, musingly.
“Oh?” asked Petrucchio.
“He is right,” granted Chino. “We must see if they switch as slaves.”
“Do not you dare!” cried Rowena.
Lecchio produced a switch, presumably from somewhere at the roadside.
“Oh!” cried Bina. An elongated, bright red mark was now upon her pretty white fundament, and now her entire cheek flared scarlet.
Again there was a hiss of the switch.
“Oh!” cried Lady Telitsia, similarly marked and colored.
“Do not you dare!” cried Rowena. “Do not you dare!” But her cries went unheeded. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh!” she cried again. “Oh!” she cried, yet again. Lecchio, incidentally, although he did not strike the girls as hard as he might have, was, nonetheless, in many ways, all things considered, a stickler for theatrical verisimilitude. He did give the girls actual, sharp, smart blows. This was called for in the characterization, and in the dramatic situation, of course. To be sure, had the actresses actually been free women, in real life, it would have been unthinkable.
“The evidence is complete,” said Lecchio.
“You have now captured Lana, Tana and Bana,” said Chino to Petrucchio. “Well done, Captain.”
“It is nothing,” said Petrucchio, modestly.
“We are free women!” cried Rowena. “Let us go!”
“When you slaves are properly branded and collared,” said Chino to Rowena, “that will be the end of your silliness. Your days of pretending to be free females will then be over.”
“Let us go!” she cried. “Oh! Oh!” she cried, again striped, and twice.
“Did you have anything more to say?” asked Chino.
“No!” she said.
“No, what?” he asked.
“Never!” she said.
Again the switch fell.
“No—Master!” she said.
Lecchio now raised the switch near Lady Telitsia, and Bina. “Master!” cried Lady Telitsia. “Master!” cried Bina.
“Well,” said Petrucchio. “I shall now return these captured slaves to Pseudopolis, where, doubtless, I shall receive a fine reward.”
“A fine reward indeed he would be likely to receive,” said Chino, confidentially, to the audience. “He would be fortunate, indeed, if he were not subjected to a thousand tortures, and then, if time permitted, impaled on the walls by sundown.”
“If we let good Petrucchio return to Pseudopolis,” said Lecchio, also addressing the audience, “that might well be the end of him and then our troupe, and hundreds of other troupes, inferior to ours, would be forced to do without him.”
“I do not think the theater could sustain such a blow,” said Chino to the crowd.
“Nor I,” agreed Lecchio.
“Too, of course,” confided Chino to the crowd, “we have had our eyes on these wenches from the beginning. It is our intention to make a profit not only on their coins and clothing, but on them, as well. I think they should bring us a few coins. What do you think?”
There were shouts of agreement from the audience.
“What are you babbling about?” inquired Petrucchio. “And to whom are you talking?”
“Oh, to no one,” said Chino, innocently.
Petrucchio himself then turned to the audience. “I must be wary of these rascals,” he said. “They seem like good fellows, but on the road one can never be too sure.”
“To whom are you talking?” asked Chino.
“Oh, to no one,” said Petrucchio, innocently.
“Give us these wenches,” said Chino. “In some towns that way,” he said, gesturing behind him with a jerk of his thumb, “we know some shops where these little puddings should bring a good price. Let us sell them for you.”
“I grow instantly suspicious,” said Petrucchio to the crowd. “But,” said he to Chino, “what of returning them to their masters for rewards?”
“But what if there are no rewards?” said Chino.
“That is a sobering thought,” said Petrucchio to the audience. “Well, then,” said he to Chino, “let me take them down the road and see how at these shops of which you speak go this day’s pudding prices.”
“Return us to Pseudopolis!” begged Rowena.
“To weak masters who did not even have you collared and branded!” scoffed Chino. “No! You will be sold to strong men who will well teach you your womanhood.”
Rowena groaned.
“Did you ask permission to speak?” inquired Lecchio.
“No,” she said, “—Master.”
She was then, to the amusement of the crowd, given another stripe.
“May I speak, Master!” begged Rowena.
“No,” said Lecchio.
“I thought,” said Petrucchio, “that you two were going toward Pseudopolis, not back the other way.”
“We were,” said Chino, “but Lecchio here forgot a ball of yarn, having left it in a Kal-da shop.”
“I did?” asked Lecchio.
“Surely you remember?” asked Chino.
“No,” said Lecchio.
“I remember it quite clearly,” said Chino.
“That is good enough for me,” said Lecchio. “It was probably not an important ball of yarn.”
“And we are going back for it, anyway,” said Chino.
“All that way,” asked Lecchio, “for only a ball of yarn?”
“Yes,” said Chino, irritably.
“It must have been an important ball of yarn,” said Lecchio.
“It was,” said Chino, angrily.
“Then it seems I should remember it,” said Lecchio.
At this point Chino delivered to Lecchio one of the numerous kicks in the shins, and such, which the crowds had come to expect in these diversions.
“That ball of yarn!” cried Lecchio.
“Yes, that one,” said Chino.
“I remember it clearly,” said Lecchio. “It was red.”
“Yellow,” said Chino.
“Well, I remembered it fairly clearly,” said Lecchio.
“Very well, my friends,” said Petrucchio, indicating the direction from whence Chino and Lecchio had come, “we shall all go this way. We can travel together.”
“We welcome your company,” said Chino. “There is little to fear in that direction, as long as one is not from Turia. By the way, where did you say you were from?”
“Turia,” said Petrucchio, puzzled.
“That could be very unfortunate,” said Chino, apprehensively.
“How is that?” asked Petrucchio.
“But it probably does not matter,” speculated Chino, “given your prowess in combat.”
“I do not understand,” said Petrucchio.
“It is only that we have recently come from that way,” he said, gesturing with his head back down the road.
“Yes?” said Petrucchio.
“You have probably not yet heard the news,” said Chino. “Yet perhaps you have. It is spreading like wildfire.”
“What news?” asked Petrucchio.
“The war,” said Chino.
“What war?” asked Petrucchio.
“The war with Turia,” said Chino.
“What war with Turia?” inquired Petrucchio.
“Ten towns down the road,” he said, “have just declared war on Turia. A great hunt is on. They are looking for fellows from Turia.”
“What for?” asked Petrucchio, alarmed.
“I am not sure,” said Chino. “It was hard to make out, for all the shouting and the clashing of weapons. I think it was something about frying them in tarsk grease or boiling them alive in tharlarion oil, I am not really sure.”
Petrucchio began to quake in terror.
“I see that you are trembling with military ardor,” said Chino.
“Yes,” Petrucchio assured him.
“You are welcome to come with us, of course,” said Chino. “The warding off of bloodthirsty troops and maddened,
hostile mobs, with bulging eyes, would be nothing for you.”
“True,” asserted Petrucchio, “but I am in spite of my fierce appearance sometimes a gentle fellow, one who is often hesitant to wreak broadcast massacre too impulsively, particularly on so balmy a day. Too, only this morning, as luck would have it, I cleansed my sword from my most recent slaughters and I am accordingly loath to immerse it so soon once more in baths of blood.”
“You may actually spare, then, the maddened mobs and the town militias, the assembled soldiery of the district?”
“Perhaps,” said Petrucchio.
“It is a lucky day for these lands then,” said Chino.
“Dispose of the puddings,” said Petrucchio. “I shall wait here.”
“It may be difficult to make it back through the war zone,” said Chino. “Too, it may be dangerous to remain here.”
“Dangerous?” asked Petrucchio.
“Yes, for the mobs and soldiers,” said Chino. “They are scouring the countryside, looking for Turians. If they should find you here, it would be too bad for them, even in all their numbers.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Petrucchio, looking anxiously about himself. “What do you suggest?”
“I wonder what all that dust is over there,” said Chino, looking off in one direction.
“I do not see any dust,” said Petrucchio, anxiously.
“It was probably just my imagination,” said Chino.
“Perhaps you could give me something now,” said Petrucchio.
“We are very short on cash,” said Chino.
“But you have the gold,” said Petrucchio.
“You do not wish to be paid in false gold, or stolen gold, do you?” asked Chino, disbelievingly.
“No, of course not,” said Petrucchio.
“Perhaps we could have a wager,” said Chino, drawing out a coin. “Do you wish top or bottom?”
“Top,” said Petrucchio.
Chino flipped the coin, looked at it, and tucked it back in his wallet. “Bottom,” he said.
“I did not see the coin!” said Petrucchio.
“There,” said Chino, fishing out the coin, and pointing to it. “Bottom,” he said, indicating the coin’s reverse.
“You are right,” said Petrucchio, dismayed.
“Would you care for another wager?” asked Chino.
“Yes,” said Petrucchio.
“I am thinking of a number between one and three,” said Chino.
“Two!” cried Petrucchio.
“Sorry,” said Chino. “I was thinking of two and seven eighths.”
“Captain Petrucchio,” cried Rowena. “May I speak!”
“Of course,” said Petrucchio.
“Do not let these rascals trick you!” she cried. “I assure you we are truly free women.”
“Are you?” asked Petrucchio, now that he had lost the wagers apparently being willing to reconsider that matter.
“Yes,” she cried. “Do not be beguiled by our brazenly bared flesh, our degrading positions, our neck chains, forced upon us by men!”
“I wonder,” mused Petrucchio.
“You know the nature of Gorean masters,” she said. “Do you think that if we were truly slaves, we would not be branded and collared? Gorean masters are not that permissive, not that indulgent, with their women!”
“You will soon learn, Lana,” said Chino, “and more clearly and vividly than you can even now begin to imagine just how true that is.”
She groaned.
“I am perplexed,” Petrucchio informed the crowd. “Yet I think that I, as a soldier, must be prepared to take prompt and decisive action.” He then turned to Chino and Lecchio. “Hold, rogues!” he cried. “I suspect chicanery here, for which I intend you shall sorely answer. Tremble! Shudder! Quake in terror, for I, Petrucchio, draw upon you!” He then began to try to pull his great wooden sword from its lengthy sheath, dragging behind him. As was not unoften the case it seemed to be stuck. Chino, and then Lecchio, too, helped Petrucchio, bit by bit, to free that mighty wooden blade. “Thank you,” said Petrucchio. “You are welcome,” said Chino and Lecchio.
“Now, craven sleen,” cried Petrucchio, flourishing that great blade, freed at last of its housing, “be off!”
“Very well,” said Chino. “Come along, girls.”
“Hold!” cried Petrucchio.
“Yes?” asked Chino.
“Surrender to me these poor wronged women!”
“Wronged women?” asked Chino.
“These are not slaves,” cried Petrucchio. “They are free women!”
“But all women are slaves,” said Chino. “It is only that some lack the collar and brand.”
“Save us!” cried Rowena.
“They are not yet legal slaves!” said Petrucchio.
“Even if they are not yet legal slaves, for the sake of argument,” said Chino, “that detail can be rectified by sundown.”
“Surrender them to me,” demanded Petrucchio, grimly, resting the point of that sword on the platform, its hilt now, in his hand, over his head. With his other hand he characteristically twirled a mustache. “If you surrender them promptly, without a fight, I may be tempted to spare your miserable lives.”
“That sounds fair,” said Lecchio.
“We would be happy to surrender them,” said Chino, paying his partner no attention.
“Good,” said Petrucchio, transferring his sword to his left hand, that he might now twirl his mustache with his right hand.
“But unfortunately,” continued Chino, “we cannot, according to our caste codes, do so without a fight.”
“What?” asked Petrucchio, paling.
“I am very sorry,” said Chino, “but the codes of the cloth workers are very strict on such matters.”
“Oh?” asked Petrucchio, quavering.
“Yes,” said Chino. “I am very sorry, but we must engage now, it seems, in a blood melee.”
“Are you sure?” asked Petrucchio.
“Yes,” said Chino. “But do not blame me. It is not my fault. You know how uncompromising the codes are.”
“Do we have enough combatants on hand for a melee?” asked Petrucchio.
“Doubtless much depends upon definitions,” said Chino, “but we must make do as best we can.”
“I really do not think we can muster the numbers necessary for a genuine melee,” insisted Petrucchio.
“Then,” said Chino, “we must substitute a duel to the death.”
“To the—death?” inquired Petrucchio.
“Yes, I am afraid so,” said Chino. “It seems that only one of us can leave the field alive.”
“Only one?” asked Petrucchio.
“Yes,” said Chino.
“That is not very many,” said Petrucchio.
“True,” granted Chino.
“But you have no weapons,” said Petrucchio.
“There you are mistaken,” said Chino.
“I am?” inquired Petrucchio, anxiously.
“Yes,” said Chino, drawing forth from his pack a large pair of cloth-worker’s shears.
“What are those?” asked Petrucchio, alarmed.
“Fearsome engines of destruction,” said Chino, “the dreaded paired blades of Anango. I have never yet lost a fight to the death with them.” At this point he snipped the air in his vicinity twice, neatly. “Though to be sure,” he said moodily, “I suppose there could always be a first time. There is seldom a second in such matters.”
“The sun glints hideously from their flashing surfaces,” said Petrucchio.
“I shall do my best,” said Chino, “not to reflect the sun into your eyes with them, thereby blinding you, making you helpless, and thereby distracting you from your charge.”
“Are they efficient weapons?” inquired Petrucchio, shuddering.
“Against one such as you, doubtless they will be of small avail,” said Chino, meditatively, “but against lesser warriors, war generals, high captains, pride leaders, bat
tle chieftains, instructors in swordsmanship, and such, they have proven more than adequate. Let me say simply that they, in their time, have divided the tunics, so to speak, of hundreds of warriors.”
“Perhaps the women are not all that beautiful,” said Petrucchio.
“What!” cried Rowena.
“Stay on all fours, Lana,” warned Chino.
“Yes,” said Rowena, quickly adding, as Lecchio lifted the switch menacingly, “—Master!”
“They do seem to be slaves,” said Petrucchio.
“Clearly,” said Chino.
“We are free!” cried Rowena. “Ai!” she cried, in misery. Her outburst had earned her a smart stroke from Lecchio’s switch. She was then silent, the chain clinking, dangling from her collar.
“Perhaps it would be churlish of me,” said Petrucchio, “to slay you here upon the road, after we had become such fast friends.”
“I would really think so, honestly,” said Chino.
“I spare you your lives,” said Petrucchio, generously.
“Thank you,” said Chino, warmly.
“That is a relief,” said Lecchio. “I was preparing to return a tarsk-bit to Chino from whom I borrowed it last year. Now I need not be in a hurry to do so.”
“Furthermore,” said Petrucchio, grandly, “I give you the slaves!”
“Slaves!” cried Rowena. Then she again cried out sharply, in pain and protest, and then again, Lecchio having seen to it that a certain portion of her anatomy had renewed its unwilling acquaintance with his fierce switch, was quite docile, and quite silent.
“That is an act of incredible nobility!” cried Chino, overwhelmed.
“Do not even consider it,” said Petrucchio, as though the astounding magnanimity of such a gesture could possibly be dismissed lightly.
“I cannot praise your generosity too highly,” said Chino, leaving it to the audience to interpret this perhaps somewhat ambiguous remark.
“It is nothing, my friend,” said Petrucchio, modestly.
“Surely the glory of such an act must be long remembered in the songs of Petrucchio, Captain of Turia,” exclaimed Chino.
“Have you heard such songs?” inquired Petrucchio.
“In a hundred halls,” said Chino, “about a thousand campfires.”
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