by Mind Guest
to know. "For what reason do you concern yourself with the new slave?"
"Master, I am merely engaged in preparing her for' you," sleek-voice
answered, sounding a good deal less self-satisfied. "She will beg for
the least attention from you, the smallest glance, the briefest touch."
"This was not the reason for her purchase," the male voice answered,
sounding annoyed. "Those fools at the slave market tell me they are
unable to train her as I wish her trained, and have sent her sooner
than she was to have come. They gave no reason for such hasty delivery,
yet the reason is clear enough: they fear to face what for them would
be failure. I, myself, will not allow such failure." The voice paused
for a second and then said, "She seems unaware of my presence. What has
been done to her?"
"Master, she has been given a potion," sleek voice quavered, for some
reason more frightened than she had been. "We are to continue with the
potion, so that she will be...."
"Unaware of her true fate!" the male voice snapped, wild with rage. "My
enemies seek to take my victory from me, to turn its sweetness bitter!
How is she to be properly trained if she is unaware of my existence?
The potion is not to be given to her again, and I am to be informed
when its hold begins to loosen upon her. See to it, slave."
"Yes, master," sleek-voice whispered, and then I was alone in my
wavery, need-filled world. It seemed to take a very long while, but
slowly I began to be aware of the fur I lay on, the furniture and
decorations around me, and occasionally passing people, a lessening in
the need forced on me. I lay still with my eyes unfocused, resisting
the urge to take a deep breath, coaxing my mind into working again. The
thought that I'd been drugged came through for the second time, but now I thought I knew how it had been done. That sticking pain I'd felt in
my shoulder when I'd struck the vair's saddle; a needle set into the
stirrup pad could have done the work, and would have been in the
perfect position todown anyone foolish enough to climb into the saddle.
In order to put your foot into the stirrup you'd have to set your leg
against the pad, and that would be it as far as staying conscious went.
I'd been right in thinking there was a trap and in deciding against the
vair; I just should have stayed farther away from them.
My mind wandered for the next couple of minutes, and then it came back
to something the male voice had said. Those slavers hadn't told anyone
about what I'd done to their people, and they hadn't kept me for
further training. I had a funny feeling that it was the golden-shirt I
hadn't killed who had gotten me out of that training program. The dead
guard could have been killed by accident as far as anyone knew, but
there was no doubt about what had happened to the golden-shirt. The
slavers wanted nothing more to do with me, but they didn't have the
stomach to tell my present owner what I was really like. As paranoid as
he was, he'd be sure they were lying in some sort of attempt to trick
him out of what was his and then he'd take steps to get even. No, the
slavers couldn't tell their good patron Prince Clero the unlikely
truth, and if I had any luck at all, that omission would be my ticket
out of there.
Good old Prince Clero. My memory told me that it was his voice I'd
tagged as the male voice; I'd just been in no shape to identify it
sooner. He'd stopped his sleek-voice female slave from continuing to
torture me, but I knew damned well that he hadn't done it out of the
goodness of his heart. He had something special in mind for me and for
the Princess Bellna knowing approximately where the slavers' training
program had been going gave me some idea as to his bottom line
expectations. It wasn't a pleasant thought, especially when you added
in the hinting Dameron had done. The room I lay in was somewhat on the
warm side, but I still felt a shiver touch me.
"So you have come back to yourself at last," a female voice said from
behind me, the woman I thought of as sleek-voice. I'd been aware of
someone sitting behind me, and there was no sense in trying to pretend
I was still under. I still felt sluggish, but hoped the feeling would
pass quickly enough to keep from being a problem. I pushed myself into
sitting with a small amount of difficulty, then turned to look at the
woman.
"I am indeed recovered," I answered, making sure I sounded frightened
and uncertain, then spent a minute or two staring at the woman. She was
a very beautiful blonde with gray eyes she wore the clothing of a woman
of the upper classes. No chains, no skimpy little slave shift; a real,
dark red dress and shoes, with plain jewelry and her hair put up. I let
my expression show the confusion I felt and added, "What is this place?
What is to be done with me?"
"You will learn that in due time," the woman answered, rising
gracefully to her feet. "For the moment you will do more than obey
without question a133 she is prepared to depart, master."
The last was directed to the man who was approaching us, a man dressed
in thigh-length red tunic, heavy, lace-up sandals, thick leather wrist
bracers and a sheathed sword. I might have considered his get-up
laughable if he hadn't also worn the casually uncaring look of a paid
sword and bully. It seemed highly probable that he was a guard, and
when he reached down and hauled me to my feet by one arm, the
probability became a certainty.
"The Prince awaits this one with impatience," the man growled, looking me over with what seemed to be a practiced eye. "There are guests,
therefore are you to follow as well."
"Yes, master," the woman responded in a low, unhappy voice as the guard
began hauling me along. The room we were in was relatively small, but
it was also paneled in dark wood with touches of silver decoration and
silk-seated items of furniture. The carpeting on the floor was thick
and soft, and it led through a doorway to another room of about the
same size, which was decorated just as richly. We passed through three
or four rooms of that sort, but I didn't have the time for sightseeing
the guard was in a hurry, and if he hadn't been holding my arm I would
have been flat on my face any number of times. We finally reached a
room smaller and barer than the rest, with two beautifully carved
wooden doors standing closed in front of us, another armed, tunicdressed
guard standing in front of the doors. The guard gripping my arm
pulled me to a halt, then nodded to the other guard.
"The Prince awaits this one, Ryskor," he said, raising my arm a couple
of inches. "The other has been summoned for the guests."
"Then she must be prepared," the guard called Ryskor answered, showing
a faint grin as he looked at the blonde behind us. "Come to me quickly,
little one. The Prince's guests must not be kept waiting.
"Master, I am already prepared," the blonde quavered, fingers tugging
nervously at each other as her eyes pleaded with the guard. "Rarely is
a latecomer chosen to tend a guest, yet should I be chosen despite<
br />
this, I will give such pleasure as has nevera133"
"Ah, ah, ah," Ryskor interrupted with a wider grin, waving a finger at
her as he walked toward a heavy wooden chair. "The Prince has decreed
that no slave shall pass those doors without first having been. You
will then strive that much harder for the privilege of giving pleasure.
Come here!"
The snap in the last two words made the woman jump, then started her
toward the guard, who was sitting himself in the chair. When she
reached him he took her by the waist and sat her down on his left knee,
then put his left arm around her waist. One of her hands went to his
shoulder and the other to the arm around her, but bracing herself did
no good at all. As soon as his free and began rising under her long
skirts, she shut her eyes and threw her head back.
"Master, I beg pity!" she whimpered, moving slightly against the
restraining arm around her. "I have not been used since last I was
prepared, and I cannot resist your touch! Please do not- Oh! Oh, no!"
I turned my head away so as not to have to watch the woman being
"prepared," but I couldn't keep from hearing her pleading, gasping and
struggling. They wanted her hot for the Prince's guests and hot she was
made, none of them giving a damn how much she would suffer until she
was taken care of-if she was taken care of. The guard holding my arm
watched the proceedings with a faintly amused look on his face, which
was a damned good thing for me; my hands had curled into fists below
the wrist cuffs, and if he hadn't been watching the show he would have
seen it. I just stood there staring at the beautifully carved doors,
fighting to calm down enough to open my hands, aware of the trembling
silence coming from the Bellna presence. She knew where we were as well
as I did and the thought frightened her, but she could feel the fury
inside me and was somehow comforted by it. If she'd had any sense,
comfort would have been the last thing she felt; losing your temper in
a dangerous situation is a good way of getting yourself killed, but I
wasn't far from doing exactly that. I was out of patience with these
big, strong manly men, and was waiting for nothing more than a couple
of minutes alone to dump those chains. After that we'd see how big and strong they were.
It didn't take long to get the blonde woman properly primed; the harder
part was getting her calmed down enough to pretend that nothing had
been done to her. It seemed to be part of the twisted game that she
show nothing of the need forced on her, but it took both of the guard
males to hold her until she stopped trying to reach herself. The thing
that really bothered me was the fact that she hadn't once screamed or
raised her voice to a shout during the entire incident, even though she
had panted, mewled, struggled and sobbed without tears. Quiet hysterics
were fine, but noise was out. That high a degree of conditioning made
me sick, but it also began to disturb me. If that was what Clero did to
female slaves as a matter of course, what did he have in mind for me?
I was willing to consider the question academically on a cold winter's
night some place far from there, but that sort of willingness didn't
help me much. I tried fading past the guards while they were involved
with the blonde, but they weren't involved enough to have forgotten
about me. I was just beginning to believe it might be clear when a
sandaled foot hooked the chain between my ankles and pulled hard,
sending me down to the floor with a crash and a clank of chain. I broke
the fall with my hands to keep anything else from breaking, but it
still hurt to land on the wrist chains with my body. My guard came over
and hauled me to my feet again, pushed me back toward the doors with a
shove, then laughed when I tripped and went down again. I was pulled to
my feet and then shoved two more times, finally being allowed to just
lie there while the blonde straightened her clothing and hair so that
she would be presentable. The carpeting was soft but the flooring under
it was hard, and I'd been shown what trying to slip away had bought me.
I hurt where the chains had repeatedly slammed into me, but that wasn't
the reason I kept my head down. I felt so close to snarling it
frightened me; what the hell had happened to the self-control I had
started out with?
I winced inwardly when I was pulled erect for the last time, then went
along quietly in the grip of the guard. The second guard opened one of
the doors for us and the blonde followed, walking stiffly with a
ghastly smile on her face. She hurried as fast as she could, peering
anxiously ahead to get a glimpse of the guest situation, then choked
softly when she saw. There were four men with Clero and seven women
dressed the way she was.
If I hadn't been in the middle of that insane situation, the scene
would have looked normal if not downright dull. Prince Clero stood in
the center of the group, dressed in dark red and white, his sword and
swordbelt and those of his guests clearly expensive and made for the
upper classes. They spoke in light tones to each other and the women,
who laughed appreciatively at the jokes and urged the men to try the
dozens of dishes standing on a side table. Sight of all that food made
me realize how hungry I was, but I was also able to see that none of
the women were eating unless they were fed something by one of the men.
Clero turned away from the others to see me, and his face suddenly
creased into a warm, beautiful smile that made him look even more
friendly and trustworthy than he normally looked. He continued smiling
beatifically while I was dragged right up to him, then he half-turned
and gestured for the attention of the others.
"Come, my friends, and give me your opinion of my newest acquisition,"
he said in a smugly pleased voice, his eyes still on me. "Is she not
worth the price I paid?"
The other four men left the circle of women to join Clero, and then
five pairs of eyes glittered at me. I stood in the grip of the guard, trying to look suitably beaten down, but somehow I didn't think I was
making it. I don't like being looked at like that, and my normal selfcontrol
was still misplaced.
"For one so young she is truly remarkable," one of the men commented,
letting his eyes move all over me as he sipped from the goblet he was
holding. "She also bears a striking resemblance to a certain high-born
young lady of our acquaintance, and yet this cannot be she. That
particular young lady would not have fallen slave."
"Which is a fortunate thing," said another, a stout man with a
slobbering leer. "Were she that particular young lady, it would be
necessary for us to remove her from among the living, to spare her poor
father the shame of knowing his daughter lived as a slave."
Bellna began trembling at their thinly veiled threat, struck by the
horror of her predicament all over again, and I showed everything she
felt, making the men around me laugh in amusement. It was suddenly
easier to act the way a hel
plessly trapped young girl should be acting,
and that told me my previous trouble with controlling myself had been
Bellna again stood with eyes downcast, trembling in the grip of the
guard next to me, trying to figure out how Bellna had gotten to me
without my knowing it, but I wasn't given the time I needed to
understand what had happened. The men were enjoying their laugh at my
expense, but the round and leering fellow had something else to say.
"How gratifying that the slave makes no attempt to claim a falsely
elevated status," he drawled, moving slowly closer until he was no more
than inches away from me. "And how generous of you, my lord, to offer
her use to us."
All four of the men were suddenly closer, their drooling approval of
that idea thick enough to feel, none of them aware of the stricken
looks covering the faces of the eight slave women. Bellna's panic made
me cringe back wide-eyed against the guard holding me, and Clero
chuckled indulgently.
"Your interest frightens the child, my friends," he drawled, getting a
good deal of pleasure out of the flinching fear I was showing. "I may
perhaps grant you her use later this day, should her training advance
in a satisfactory manner. By then, however, you may no longer wish her
use."
The men's leers froze, and without their taking a single step they were
no longer as close as they had been. A chill descended on the group as
a whole, but Clero never noticed it.
"She will, of course, be one of my special prizes," he said, his eyes
still glued to me. "She will be taught to hate and fear sexual
congress, and to find exquisite release only in the pain of the knife.
Her lovely body will be made even lovelier by the scars of the patterns
of pleasure - will it not?"
He turned to look at his guests then, and they hastened to assure him
that everything he said was true. The man beamed with pleasure at their
agreement, never seeing that their blood was probably running almost as
cold as mine. The sort of conditioning Clero intended was more than
possible; with the right preparation and enough repetition, almost any
woman could be taught to respond to a blade the way others responded to
men. Sight of the knife hilt would bring on the stirrings of desire,
unsheathing the blade would build uncontrollable arousal; the need to