by John Norman
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Filene," she said.
He regarded her.
"-if it pleases Master," she said.
He sat down, on a chair, near the cabin couch. He wore a half tunic. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed, which was not uncommon among many of the barbarian peoples. He was a large, muscular man. His mighty chest was bared, save for a dangling necklace of claws, lion claws. They were from a beast he had slain on a hunt, in the forests of Varna. She speculated that they might leave a print on her body, were he to take her into his arms, and crush her to him, in the embrace of a master. She saw that the cabin couch had posts, at the head and foot. About one of the posts, at the foot, wrapped there, was a cord. On the steel wall, on one of its panels, on a hook, there hung a whip. On the surface of a small dresser there was a roll of tape.
"You are from Myron VII?" he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"A debtress sold to recover, in part, debts?"
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What were your debts?"
"In excess of ten thousand darins," she said.
"And what did you bring on the block?" he asked.
"Doubtless Master has read on my papers," she said, angrily.
"I cannot read," he said.
"Oh," she said. This startled her, for he was one of the few individuals she had met, in her travels, in her circles, who could not read. To be sure, literacy was a precious commodity in the empire, taken as a whole.
"Perhaps you remember," he said.
"Well over ten thousand darins!" she said.
"I should not think," he said, "that the sisters of an emperor would bring so much." He recalled blond-haired Viviana, and the younger, dark-haired Alacida, sisters of Aesilesius, met not long ago, on a summer world. Both were attractive. He had wondered what they might look like, as slaves.
"Fifty darins, Master," she said, quickly.
Perhaps he had lied about being unable to read, perhaps he had been told the price, perhaps it had been read to him. Iaachus, in his thoroughness, had included a forged bill of sale with the papers, as an insert. She had been furious at the supposed price of a mere fifty darins, but she had been informed, by an agent of Iaachus, that that was a remarkable price, and that a higher figure would not be likely to seem plausible, not for a debtress, from a remote world. Slaves were cheap, in many places in the empire.
"You are vain," he said, "and a liar."
He glanced to the whip, on its hook, on the steel panel.
"Forgive me, Master," she said, frightened. He did not know she was free. He might actually beat her, as a slave.
"Fifty darins, " he said, "is a very high price."
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"Remove the sheet."
"Yes, Master."
"You are very beautiful," he said. "It is not inconceivable that you might bring fifty darins. "
"Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master."
Inwardly her feelings were tumultuous. As a free woman she knew herself to be priceless, but now, suddenly, she had some serious concept of what she might be worth, as a woman, as a female, if she were truly a slave. The supposed price, fifty darins, conceded by Iaachus, might even have been somewhat generous. This came to her as something of an abrupt shock, a most unsettling revelation.
"I am pleased that I was not one of your creditors," he said.
"They have had their vengeance, Master," she said, "as I am now a slave."
"I have wondered, sometimes," he said, "why women, understanding the penalties of defaulting in such matters, permit themselves to accumulate such debts."
"Doubtless we plan to pay them off," she said.
"There would seem great risks involved," he said.
She shrugged, uneasily.
She herself had accumulated considerable debts, on several worlds, but Iaachus had satisfied them. Many were the times she had pretended to be unavailable for inquiries. Often she had dreaded a heavy knock on her door. Sometimes, at night, she, even though of the senatorial class, had awakened, apprehensive of being brought to the dock, and sentenced to the iron, and the collar.
"Hold out your hands," he said, "where I can see them, clearly, spreading the fingers. Now, turn, fully about, on your knees, hands held over your head. Now bend over and shake out your hair, and run your hands through it, thoroughly, touching every part of your head. Now stand, hands over your head, and turn, slowly. Return to your knees. Spread your knees more widely. Now put yourself to your belly."
She looked up at him, angrily.
But, too, she was in consternation.
Naked, brought to him, the sheet removed, earlier kneeling, unable to rise quickly, feet from him, exposed, turning, rising, hands lifted, subjected to such scrutiny, how could a dagger be concealed?
To be sure, things might later be different, or the dagger might be planted in a tent, or smuggled to her later.
"You may now crawl to me, on your belly."
She then lay at his feet, her head turned to the left, her cheek on the rug.
"This is the first time you have crawled to a man on your belly, is it not?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," she said, angrily.
"Go back, and do it better," he said.
Three times he had her repeat this exercise.
At last he seemed satisfied.
"Kneel up," he said, "before me, back on your heels, knees spread, hands clasped behind the back of your head."
"Tell me about yourself, specifically, and in detail," he said.
She had been given an identity, and many specifics, in particular pertaining to her supposed debts, her arraignment, her sentencing, the name of the supposed court, and judge, and such, things concerning which it was anticipated she might be questioned. Where this putative biography fell short, and his direct questions exceeded her preparation, she hurried to supply further data, some of it from her own history, suitably disguised, the rest of it the product of her own invention.
"You stammer and falter," he said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"But still, on the whole," he said, "it is unusual to find a slave who can speak of herself so articulately, so volubly, so readily. It is almost as though you had been prepared."
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"You seem more familiar with the details of your enslavement than with those of your life as a free woman," he said.
"The details of one's embondment," she said, "are often vivid for a woman."
"For a girl," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"For a slave girl," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
He had, of course, she before him, been reading her body, and her expressions.
"You are from Myron VII?" he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What color is its sun?" he asked. "How long is its year, in Telnarian days?"
She began to tremble.
The questions were so obvious that they had not been anticipated.
She dared not invent answers to such questions. What did the barbarian know? Were his questions innocent, matters of pure curiosity, or were they subtler, and dangerous?
"I am not truly from Myron VII," she said. "I am from Lisle, on Inez IV! I fled to Myron VII to escape my creditors. I was apprehended in the port. I did not even see its sun. I know nothing of that world, other than the fact that it was there that I was taken into custody, and there tried and sentenced."
"And you were then returned, a slave, to Inez IV?"
"Yes, yes!" she said.
"May I take my arms down?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"You have told many lies," he said.
"No, Master!" she protested.
"Do not compound your fault," he said.
"No, Master," she said, tears springing to her eyes.
"I would not advise you to behave in that manner when you have a private
master," he said.
"No, Master," she said.
"Lies are not permitted to a slave girl," he said.
"No, Master," she said.
"But you will probably not believe that until you are thoroughly beaten," he said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"When we were shortly out of Lisle," he said, "you were clumsy."
He referred, doubtless, to the incident of the spilled drink.
"I was switched," she said.
"Are you a clumsy slave?" he asked.
Her eyes flashed.
Then she put her head down.
"I do not think so, Master," she said. "It is my hope that I am not clumsy."
"In serving at the table," he said, "a slave is to be graceful, unobtrusive and deferent."
"Yes, Master," she said.
She looked up.
"May I lower my arms?" she asked.
"No," he said.
She moved angrily, not having obtained her way.
"Am I mistaken," he asked, "that you have, upon several occasions, placed yourself provocatively before me?"
"Oh, Master," she said, quickly. "Forgive me, but I fear that it is true. You are a man, and I am naught but a slave girl. How else can a poor slave call herself to the attention of an attractive master?"
"You find me attractive?" he asked.
"Yes, Master."
"You wanted to meet me?"
"Yes, Master!"
"You desire a man's touch?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, yes, Master!" she said.
Surely she must interest him, even drive him mad with desire for her, that she might be alone with him, when she had the dagger! But now, of course, she did not have the dagger. If she had been a free woman she might have teased, and drawn away, and teased, and drawn away, until the time and place were arranged, until she was ready, but such behaviors are not easy for a slave.
He put out his hand and touched her, gently.
"Ai!" she cried, frightened, and drew back.
"Keep your hands behind your head," he cautioned her, gently. "I thought you said you desired a man's touch," he said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said. She came forward a little, deliberately, trembling.
He put forth his hand again, gently.
"Ah!" she said, softly, surprised. Then she flushed scarlet before him.
Quickly, then, almost as though she had not consented to her own movement, she squirmed forward a little, closer to him, but was stopped, by his hand, and held in place.
"Master?" she asked.
"Interesting," he said.
She regarded the necklace of claws on his chest.
What would it be like, she wondered, to be swept into his arms, she helpless and will-less, to be swept uncompromisingly into his arms, as a slave.
"Master has called for me," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"Surely master has called for me, to ravish me, as a slave," she said.
"No," he said.
" 'No'?" she asked.
"No," he said. "I have called for you because it seems to me that there is something different about you, something different from other female slaves. I did not understand it. I was curious about it."
"That is all?" she asked.
"No," he said.
"Ah!" she said.
"You may polish my boots," he said, indicating a pair of boots, to one side. "The polish and rags are in the adjacent cabinet.
"You may lower your arms, of course," he said.
"Thank you, Master," she said, acidly.
She fetched the boots, and the cleaning materials and, kneeling before him, where he had indicated, addressed herself to the assigned task. She worked slowly and carefully, meticulously, responding to his direction, applying a small quantity of paste to a small area, working it into the leather, with firm, circular movements, and then buffing it. This was done again and again, a tiny area at a time, until the entire area of each boot had been done twice.
She was shaken, when she had performed this small, homely task. She was angry, but, too, seemingly unaccountably, she found herself much aroused.
To her surprise she was drawn on her knees to the post at the foot of the bed, that about which the cord was wrapped. Her wrists were then crossed and bound with the cord, which was then fastened to the post. She was thus tied, wrists crossed and bound, on her knees, to the post at the foot of the bed.
"Master?" she asked.
"I think I know now," he said, "what is unusual about you."
"Master?" she said, apprehensively.
"Can you guess what it might be?" he asked.
She was frightened.
Her mind raced.
"Perhaps Master suspects that I am not truly a slave," she said, lightly, tentatively, as though in jest.
What else could it be?
Certainly she could protest the authenticity of her bondage. There were the papers, in which she was clearly specified, even to toeprints. Indeed, obviously, there was her very presence on the ship, amongst women anyone could see were slaves.
"No," he said.
"Oh?" she said.
"You are truly a slave," he said. "There is no doubt about that. You are truly a slave."
"What then?" she asked.
"It is only that you do not know you are a slave," he said.
She looked up at him, but he had gone to the side, where, on the surface of a small dresser, there lay the roll of tape.
"Lift your head, look at me, close your mouth," he said.
He then, using the metal, saw-toothed extension, part of the roller, snapped off a few inches of tape, and put it across her lips and face. She felt it pressed down, firmly.
"I have heard you enough," he said. "You will now be silent."
She looked up at him, over the tape.
He then applied an additional length of tape, longer than the first, firmly, over it.
"It is a bit late to return you to the slave room," he said.
He then applied a third length of tape, longer than the second, pressing it into place. This came well about the back of her neck. He then, moving her hair about, that as little of the tape might adhere to it as possible, encircled her mouth and head three times, the free end of the tape being pressed down, at last, behind the back of her neck.
Then he looked down upon her. "You are tempting," he said.
She looked quickly away, down.
He then snapped off the light, and retired.
After a time she tried to struggle, but found her struggles useless.
She knelt there, for a long time, angrily.
She could not sleep.
She tried to speak, late in the night, but was unable to do so. She had been silenced, and bound, as might have been a slave.
Later, at times, she whimpered, and moaned, a little, as she could, helpless, begging for attention.
But there was no sign that she was heard.
Toward morning, her head on the foot of the bed, inches from his feet, she slept. A mariner came for her later. The barbarian had already left the cabin.
***
"It is clear that the barbarian has disappeared," the small brunette was saying, she scarcely within the entrance to the long, low cement slave shed at Venitzia, "and it is not known where!"
The blonde, half sitting, half kneeling, in the tiny slave tunic, on the thin, hard, striped mattress of the metal cot, to which she was chained, gasped, her head reeling as she struggled to comprehend the import of the brunette's revelation.
"What is wrong, Cornhair?" asked one of the other slaves.
Few had noticed the agitation of the blonde.
"Nothing," gasped the blonde.
"Has this anything to do with us?" one of the slaves was asking the brunette.
"I do not know!" said the brunette.
"Who cares about the barbarian," said one of the girls. "What about us?"
"Yes!" cried another.
"W
e have been here for days," said one of the girls.
"Why are we being kept here, in this shed, in the administration compound?" asked another.
"Why have we not been sold?" asked another.
"Irons should have been heated for us by now," said another. "We should have been put on the block!"
Only the blonde, of all the women in the shed, had a clear idea of the putative purport of the slave consignment to Venitzia. Only she knew that the women were not, by intent, destined for a sale in Venitzia.
If the barbarian is gone, thought the blonde, wildly, then perhaps I need not use the knife! But then, surely, the agent will identify himself to me, and assure my safe return to Lisle. But what if he does not? What if, for some reason, the agent had not even been on the ship? What then? She knew Iaachus was thorough. Her slave papers would doubtless appear in perfect order!
"Perhaps we will be put up for sale tomorrow," said a girl.
"Fools! Fools!" suddenly screamed the blonde, from her cot. "Are you not aware of the goods embarked with us at Lisle? Are you not aware of the stores in the warehouse within the compound, some even under canvas, under snow, in the yard! They have not been moved either! You are not intended for Venitzia, fools! You are trade goods, trade goods!"
"No!" screamed one of the slaves.
"Cornhair is a liar!" cried one of the girls.
"Beat her!" cried another.
There was a sudden rattling of chains.
The blonde shrieked and knelt down on the cot, covering her head.
To be sure, only two of the girls could reach her, given the shed's custodial arrangements.
The blows of small fists rained upon her.
The blonde shrank even smaller on the cot, whimpering.
"No, no!" called the first girl, chained near the door. "Stop! Stop!"
The blows stopped. The assailants were half hysterical, weeping, as well as furious.
"I fear Cornhair is right," said she who was first girl.
"Trade goods?" said one of the slaves, aghast.
"Yes," said the first girl.
"But to whom?" asked another slave, her voice quavering.
"Barbarians, Heruls, primitives, who knows," said the first girl.
"Whomever they like," said another slave, fearfully.
"They cannot do that!" said one of the slaves.
"They can do as they wish," said the first girl. "We are slaves."
"We can be disposed of as masters wish," said one of the girls, frightened.