by John Norman
The lady Elena, casting her eyes down, moved back, quickly, from the side of the bed.
The other ladies in attendance, almost immediately, moved away from her.
The lady Elena found herself, though in the room with fellows, much alone.
“And perhaps you, Elena,” snapped the empress mother, “will be that slave girl!”
The women in attendance gasped.
“Yes, your majesty,” whispered the girl, terrified.
She looked wildly at Iaachus, the arbiter of protocol, who met her gaze impassively.
Women such as she, she knew, might disappear one night from the palace. A reason could always be found. Who would know if she showed up on a chain, in a market, on some distant world? too, who would care, or what would it matter, for she would then be of no account. She would then be only another marked-thigh girl.
“Leave us!” said the empress mother.
Only too willingly did the ladies in attendance scurry from the room, taking care only to separate themselves from the lady Elena.
“Your experiment was interesting,” said the empress mother.
“A trivial business,” said Iaachus. “I expect she will serve you most dutifully from now on.”
“Would you like to add her to your women, Iaachus?” asked Atalana.
“At my country villa?” said Iaachus.
“Of course,” she smiled.
“I shall give the matter thought,” he said. “You would not mind if I did not keep her, but merely used her for a gift, or gratuity, or sent her off to be sold somewhere?”
“Of course not,” said Atalana. “Such matters would be entirely up to you.”
“As to the emperor’s birthday,” he smiled.
“He will receive the usual thousand gifts, from a selected thousand worlds,” she said.
“Together with the usual tributes and taxes.”
“Of course,” she said.
“Are we alone?” she asked.
Iaachus looked about the room, and opened the nearest doors. The ladies in attendance had withdrawn to other quarters. Iaachus speculated that it would not be likely that any were now conversing with, or embroidering or sewing near, the lady Elena.
“Yes, your majesty,” said Iaachus.
“I do not know whom I can trust,” she said, plaintively.
“You have billions of loyal subjects, of thousands of species,” said Iaachus.
“Are the frontiers secure?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I fear he of the Aurelianii,” she said.
“The ambition of the Aurelianii is well known,” said Iaachus.
“I fear they have designs upon the throne,” said Atalana.
“That is possible,” said Iaachus.
“What of his plan to enlist barbarians, in the mobile forces?” she asked.
“I think it would not be judicious to oppose it,” said Iaachus.
“You would then grant the barbarian beast an imperial captaincy, to form a company?” said Atalana.
“It is one thing for a commission to be authorized, granted, drawn up and such things,” said Iaachus. “It is another for it to become effective.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Many things might occur,” said Iaachus. “For example, it might be received too late.”
“You have a plan?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“But what of he of the Aurelianii?”
“He figures most prominently in my plans,” said Iaachus. “The barbarian is incidental.”
“Have you taken steps to put your plan into effect?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You may kiss my hand,” she said.
Iaachus did this, with suitable deference. He then withdrew from the royal bedchamber, that chamber in which the empress mother, at her leisure, before the heat of the day, was accustomed to informally receive envoys, petitioners and such.
As he left he heard her ring for the return of her highborn attendants.
Slave girls were not in immediate attendance on the empress mother.
In the corridors, passing amongst priceless hangings, pictures and such, as guards lifted weapons in salute, he wondered what the lady Elena, who was surely both young and beautiful, and doubtless slave juicy, might look like chained in the basement of his villa. He thought that might be an excellent start for her, teaching her what she was, before he had her marked. To be sure, perhaps he should have her marked first, that she might then understand, from the very beginning, what she was. Yes he thought, I will do that. That will save me a good deal of time. In this, as it turned out, he was correct.
CHAPTER 20
“Have you been kept waiting, Flora?” asked Emon.
“We are dreadfully sorry,” said Rigg, “but we were unexpectedly busy.”
Flora, naked in her cell, chained by the wrists to a ring, kept her head down.
“We had to process a girl,” said Emon. “The papers, prints, measurements, everything.”
“She was a beauty,” said Rigg, crouching down and unlocking the slave cuffs which held Flora’s small wrists in their clasp.
“Was she more beautiful than you, that is what you are wondering, isn’t it?” asked Emon.
“No, Master,” said Flora.
Flora had heard the woman cry out, doubtless as she was marked.
“Stand up,” said Rigg, rising to his own feet.
Flora stood up.
“I am to be shipped?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“As I was informed?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Rigg. “You know the address and the world.”
“But who will be there?” she moaned, as Rigg took her arm in his grasp.
“You will be there,” said Rigg, conducting her from the cell.
“And your master,” said Emon, closing the cell door behind them.
“May I speak?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Rigg.
“Have I been sold to a new master?” she begged, as she was being led along the hall.
“It is possible,” said Rigg.
“We do not really know,” said Emon.
“You will learn soon enough,” said Rigg.
They stopped a moment.
The heavy door to a processing room was open.
A cleaned iron, among others, hung on the wall, together with chains and collars. The brazier, as she could see, was still hot. There was a table in the room, on which was a miscellany of objects, papers and writing materials, pads, sponges, measuring tapes, and such things. This table was large enough and sturdy enough to support a considerable amount of weight. Flora remembered what that table had felt like, its rough texture, on her back, and belly.
To one side there was a pile of discarded clothing, what appeared to be leel.
On the floor, near the brazier, doubtless where a woman had been knelt, there was a considerable amount of shorn hair.
Rigg closed the door.
“Was she, Master?” asked Flora.
“What?” asked Emon.
“More beautiful than I?” asked Flora.
“You are both quite beautiful,” said Rigg. “It is only that your beauties are quite different.”
“You would both be held for late in a sale,” said Emon.
“But is she more beautiful than I?” begged Flora.
“I do not think so,” said Rigg.
“No,” said Emon.
“What is her master like?” asked Flora.
“Be pleased that you do not belong to such a man,” said Rigg.
“You would be in no doubt as to your slavery in his hands,” said Emon.
“My master, or he who was my master,” she said, “is such a man.”
She remembered him, with indescribable emotions. He was the sort of man before whom she could scarcely muster the strength to stand. How often she had dreamed of him! How often she had desired to
serve him selflessly, to touch him timidly, to love him in any way she could. He was the sort of man before whom a woman is at best a pleading, abject slave. He was imperious, powerful, uncompromising, the sort of man who will do precisely what he wishes with a woman, and from whom he will get exactly what he wants, and more. He was the sort of man before whom a woman, even when free, feels an almost overwhelming impulse to kneel and perform obeisance. She wanted to kneel before him, to belong to him, to be governed, to be broken, to be crushed in his arms, to be mercilessly ravished, to be put to his purposes, to obey, to find herself helpless, to know herself wholly a woman. He was to her many things, power, nature and master.
“Here is the box,” said Rigg, indicating a small, sturdy metal box, with bolts and locks.
“It is so small,” she said.
“Get in,” said Rigg.
She crouched down and crept into the box. The door closed behind her. She turned about, quickly, frightened, as bolts were thrust into place. She pressed her hands against the metal door from the inside, and peered through the tiny, rectangular, thickset grille, at eye level, as she now knelt. She heard the key turn in locks. The key itself was taped to the top of the box. There was a slot at the bottom of the box, now bolted shut, through which a shallow pan might be slipped.
“Please!” she begged, as Rigg prepared to affix the shipping label to the box.
She strove to read the label which he, briefly, showed to her. It was hard to read, through the grille. There was the address and the world on the label, which were as she had been informed, and the name of the shipping house, of course, with its address, and its world. The shipping charge was reasonable, and calculated by weight, as she was cargo. The contents were slave, female, house name “Flora,” brown hair, brown eyes, one hundred and ten pounds in weight. As one could see then, the freight charge in her case would be comparatively slight.
“The van is here,” said a man.
Rigg affixed the shipping label to the outside of the door.
“Wait,” said Emon.
A wire was twisted about, through two staples, one on the door of the container and the other on its body, in such a way that the door was tied shut with the wire. Two small, red, disklike blocks of wax were then placed on each side of the wire, about its twisted closure, the ends of the wire then protruding below the disklike bocks, spreading, something like an inch on each side. These tiny plates of wax were then, with a match, heated and fused together, thus the door could not be opened without breaking this closure. Emon then, with a small hinged tool, rather like a pair of pliers, pressed together, firmly, the sides of the still-warm, soft, platelike closure, formed from the two fused red disks. He then removed the tool. The blocks were now better shaped and fused, and on each side of the small, platelike closure there was now an imprint.
“That is the virgin seal,” said Rigg.
“Yes, Master,” said the girl.
“It will protect you on the ship,” said Emon.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Do not forget the slave flower,” said Rigg.
“No, Master,” said the girl.
“Farewell,” said Emon.
“Farewell,” said Rigg.
“Farewell, Masters,” said the girl.
In a moment two handlers had entered the house and, lifting and tilting the container, placed it on a dolly.
Within, the freight, terrified, wept.
CHAPTER 21
“Mercy! Mercy!” cried Tuvo Ausonius.
He was forced down to his knees before the curule chair.
The black, metal holding rod, used for controlling and guiding, was snapped into its adjustable sockets, on the mounts fixed on the floor before the chair. There were other such paired mounts, to receive other such bars, elsewhere in the dank, dimly lit chamber, one several levels beneath the commissioner’s quarters.
Tuvo Ausonius knew where he was, as he had not been blindfolded. His arrest had been effected quite openly, the officers arriving during daylight hours with the rod and cuffs, and conducting him quite publicly through the streets.
The rod was behind the small of his back, and his arms had been brought forward about it; his hands, in the cuffs, were rather at his sides; held closely there by the arrangement of cuffs and chain. The rod could not slip from its position as two small, looped chains, attached to the rod, one on each side of the body, were snapped about his arms, just above the elbow.
The two officers who had placed Tuvo Ausonius on his knees now stepped back.
Tuvo Ausonius was naked, save that a rag had been twisted about his loins, perhaps that his modesty as a same might be respected.
Ausonius winced as a bright light, set somewhere above, illuminated him.
The curule chair, at the moment, was empty.
Ausonius, his eyes half closed, shut against the glare, tried to look to the guards. He could do so only with difficulty, as they were rather behind him, on each side. He could read nothing in their expressions or carriage, save perhaps that they would do with him what they were told.
A door opened and an officer of the city entered.
“Mercy!” cried Tuvo Ausonius.
The officer, who carried some papers, regarded him.
“I am innocent!” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Of what?” asked the officer.
“I do not know,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “Why am I here? With what have I been charged?”
The officer, looking down upon him, did not choose to respond.
“There has been some mistake,” cried Tuvo Ausonius. “I am Tuvo Ausonius, of Miton, an honest citizen, a patrician, a level-four civil servant in the government of his majesty, the emperor!”
“My record is impeccable,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“I am a patrician,” he said.
“I am innocent!” he said.
“You will be heard, of course,” said the officer. “His lordship himself will hear your case.”
“His lordship?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
At this point a tall, darkly clad figure appeared in the doorway.
Tuvo Ausonius pressed back against the metal bar fixed in its sockets.
“Your lordship,” said the officer, deferentially.
The darkly clad figure nodded and approached, taking the papers from the officer. “Thank you, Commissioner,” said the darkly clad figure.
This appellation startled Tuvo Ausonius.
The darkly clad figure took his place on the curule chair, and leafed through the papers.
“I am innocent, your lordship,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“You may leave, Commissioner,” said the darkly clad figure.
“Yes, your lordship,” said the officer, and withdrew.
The darkly clad figure was masked.
“Tuvo Ausonius, civil servant, fourth level, Miton, a same world, finance division, first imperial quadrant, member of the honestori, even of the minor patricians-” said the masked figure, looking through the papers.
“Of the Ausonii,” said Ausonius, “in the 103rd degree!”
“That is quite impressive,” said the masked figure.
“An excellent dossier,” said the masked figure.
“Yes, your lordship!” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“On the whole,” said the masked figure.
“Your lordship?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“There does seem the matter of mating,” said the masked figure. “You are aware of the encouragements of the imperial government in these respects? You are aware of the empress mother’s concern in such matters?”
“Oh!” cried Tuvo Ausonius, relievedly. “Certainly! Do not fear! I searched avidly for a spouse! A marriage was arranged, indeed, with an inferior, but technically suitable member of the patricians, one from the acceptable world of Terennia, one whose descent fell, even if only barely, within the guidelines for my station, a Tribonius Auresius!”
The masked figure raised his eyes from the papers.
/> “That is a woman, of course!” said Ausonius. “Sames often give their female children masculine or neutral names, in order to help them better attain in their psychology and behavior the goals and ideals of sameness.”
“But you are not mated,” said the masked figure.
“Alas, no!” cried Tuvo Ausonius. “Perhaps you have heard of the Alaria?”
“Yes,” said the masked figure.
“It was lost!” moaned Tuvo Ausonius.
“Several ships have been lost,” said the figure.
“There was doubtless a malfunction, or a meteor storm,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Doubtless,” said the masked figure.
“My proposed bride was on board the Alaria,” said Tuvo Ausonius, in a choked voice.
“But you have not made other arrangements?”
“I was at a loss, I was heartbroken,” said Tuvo Ausonius. “You can understand.”
“I think so,” said the masked figure.
“But now, after this time, of course,” said Tuvo Ausonius, “I am more than willing to mate. Does the board have a candidate in mind? I would be eager to comply, whoever it might be. I am a good citizen.”
“Your citizenship is commendable,” said the masked figure. “Do you think this business has to do with a mating board?”
“Does it not?” asked Tuvo Ausonius, apprehensively.
“The empire does not practice coercion,” said the masked figure. “The empire is the very condition of freedom, as you know.”
“Certainly,” said Tuvo Ausonius.
“Very few individuals, statistically, are arraigned before mating boards,” said the masked figure, “and little more is necessary, in most cases, than presenting some evidence, reasons, arguments, or such, pertinent to the matter. You have done far more than is expected by such boards, having actually gone to the lengths of arranging a marriage, and such. You would be instantly, and without question, exonerated. Too, the empire can surely respect your sense of loss, your feelings.”
“Then this matter is not in connection with a mating board?” asked Tuvo Ausonius.
“Certainly not,” said the masked figure.
“Why do you think you were brought to this world?” asked the masked figure.
“I do not know,” said Tuvo Ausonius.