by John Norman
Virginia Kent dropped to her knees before Ho-Tu, in the position of the Pleasure Slave, and lowered her head. "Thank you, Master," she said.
He shook her head with his heavy hand. "You are a brave little wench," he said. "And you are very dangerous with a bowl of porridge."
She dropped her head even more.
"Hurry, Slave!" barked Ho-Tu. "To the Waiting Cells!"
Virginia Kent, who had taught classics and ancient history in a college on Earth, leaped to her feet, and, barefoot, a slave girl, raced from the room, hurrying to the Waiting Cells, whence at dawn, with others, she would be sent to the Curulean, where, in the evening, she would, with Elizabeth and Phyllis, ascend the block, her purchased flesh, like theirs, to bring gold to the House of Cernus.
Ho-Tu looked after her and grinned. "A very brave little wench," he muttered.
"And dangerous with a bowl of porridge," I reminded him.
"Yes," said he, "that is true."
I looked about the room. Now only guards and members of the staff remained in the room. I supposed I might as well return to my compartment. I would miss Elizabeth.
Suddenly two guards entered the room, thrusting a woman before them.
I saw Ho-Tu look up and turn white. His hand moved to the hook knife at his belt.
The woman stumbled to the place before the table of Cernus, where she stood. A bit of scarlet cord had been knotted about her waist, into which was thrust a long rectangle of red silk; her hair hand been unbound; her wrists were braceleted behind her back; the key hung on a string about her neck; the slave bells were still locked on her left ankle, but her finery was gone; no longer did the slave goad dangle from her wrist.
"Kajuralia, Sura," said Cernus to the woman.
"Kajuralia, Master," said she bitterly.
Ho-Tu spoke. "Let her return to her compartment," said he. "Sura has served us well. She is the finest trainer in Ar."
"She will be reminded," said Cernus, "that she is only a slave."
"I beg your favor," cried Ho-Tu.
"It is denied," said Cernus. "Let the gambling begin."
A number of men crowded between the tables then and some dice, inked knucklebones of the verr, were soon rattling in a metal goblet. Sura knelt before the table of Cernus, her head down. One of her guards snapped a slave leash on her collar. The leash key was on a tiny loop of wire. The guard twisted this wire about the red-enameled steel of her collar. Behind her the men began crying out, watching the tumbling of the knucklebones on the stones of the floor. I understood to some extent what was taking place. It was merely another of the turnabouts of Kajuralia, but in it was perhaps more; Sura's pride and position in the House, though she was slave, had been resented by many of the men and staff; perhaps even Cernus felt she had overstepped herself; surely he seemed pleased that she would now be humbled, now used as a common Red Silk Girl.
"I use her first!" cried one man.
Then there were more shouts and the men continued to gamble. I had not understood until then that the beautiful, proud Sura would, in order of the gambling, serve each of the men in that room.
I looked to Ho-Tu. To my astonishment there were tears in his fierce, black eyes. His hand was on the hilt of the hook knife.
I looked to Sura. She was kneeling on the stones, bent over, her head down, the hair falling forward, clad only in the bit of red silk, her wrists braceleted behind her back. I saw her shoulders move, and, startled, realized that she wept.
I then moved into the center of the gambling men and, not speaking, as they looked up, angry at the intrusion, I took the metal goblet containing the knucklebones from the man who held it.
Bitterly, yet not daring to object, he surrendered it.
I looked from face to face, and then I shook the knucklebones and scattered them, the four of them, on the stones at my feet.
It had been a low cast, not high. Several of the men laughed with relief. But then my sword was out of the sheath and delicately, turning each bone with the tip of the blade, I placed the side marked with the highest number on each of the bones facing the ceiling.
The men looked on angrily. One or two of them muttered in rage. On their knees from the gambling, they looked up at me, in fury.
"I will use her," I said. "And I alone will use her."
"No!" cried a guard, springing to his feet.
I looked at him and he stepped back, turned, and angrily left the room.
"Dispute her with me who will," I said.
Angrily the men rose to their feet, and, muttering, dispersed.
I turned to face Cernus. He smiled and expansively lifted his hand. "If none dispute you," said he, "she is surely yours." He laughed and grinned down at Sura. "Kajuralia, Slave," said he.
"Kajuralia, Master," said Sura, whispering.
I spoke harshly to Sura. "Lead me to your quarters, Slave."
She struggled to her feet, the leash dangling from her collar. I did not pick up the leash and she moved past me, tears in her eyes, leaving the room, the sound of bells marking her movements. But she did not walk as a trained Pleasure Slave. She walked numbly, her head down, a defeated woman. I heard Cernus laugh. "I have heard," jeered Cernus, "that the Killer knows well how to use slaves!"
Sura stopped at that moment, and put her head back, though she did not turn to face him, and then she hurried through the door.
"Killer," I heard.
I turned to face Ho-Tu. His hand was still on the hook knife.
"She is not a common slave," he said.
"Then," said I, "I shall expect from her uncommon pleasures," and turned and left.
Sura proceeded me through the halls of the House of Cernus, and then we passed through her training room, and entered her own quarters were we stopped. As she stood in the room I took the key on its string from about her neck and removed the bracelets. I threw them with the key to one side of the room; then I unlocked the slave leash and threw it, with its key, also to the side of the room.
She stood there, rubbing her wrists a bit. There were red marks on them. The bracelets need not have been fastened so tightly. She looked at me with hatred. I turned about to examine the room. There were several chests there, doubtless containing silks, cosmetics, jewelry; there were also rich furs, on which I gathered she slept; in one corner there leaned a six-stringed kalika, long-necked, with its hemispheric sound box; I knew she played the instrument; on one wall, some feet away, hanging over a hook, I saw her slave goad.
I looked at her. She had not moved, though she now no longer rubbed her wrists. I could still see the red circles on them. Her black hair was quite marvelous, long and unbound, falling as it did over her shoulders; her eyes were black and deeply beautiful; her body, as the slave masters had intended, was tormentingly magnificent; the features of her face and lips showed to my eye, which had become more discerning in the past several months, the breeding lines of the House of Cernus.
I turned away again, wondering if there might be some Ka-la-na or perhaps even Paga, though I doubted the latter, hidden away in the room. I began to rummage through one of the chests, and then another. Still she had not moved.
I came to another chest. "Please do not open that chest," she said.
"Nonsense," said I, thinking that in this one must be the beverage I sought, flinging up the lid.
"Please!" she cried out.
This must be the one, I thought to myself. I poked around in the chest but I could find nothing, so far, but tangles of beads and jewelry, some silks. Sura certainly had a great deal of such things. That I was forced to admit. Were they her own, she would have been the envy of many of the free women of Ar.
"Do not look further!" she cried.
"Be silent, slave," said I, poking about, and then I saw in the bottom of the chest, almost colorless, ragged, not more than a foot high nor a few ounces heavy, a small worn, tattered doll, dressed in faded Robes of Concealment, of a sort little girls might play with on the bridges or in the corridors of
cylinders, dressing it or singing to it.
"What is this?" I asked in amusement, lifting it up and turning to face Sura.
With a cry of rage the Pleasure Slave ran past me and tore the slave goad from the wall, flicked it to on. I saw the dial rotate to the end of the red band, to the Kill Point. The tip of the goad, almost instantly, seemed incandescent. I could not even look directly upon it.
"Die!" she screamed, hurling herself toward me, striking with the goad.
I dropped the doll, spun and managed to catch her wrist as she struck downward with the burning goad. She screamed out in frustration, weeping. My hand closed on her wrist and she cried out in pain, the goad falling to the floor, rolling, I hurled her some feet across the room and retrieved the goad, it had stopped rolling and now, burning, had begun to sink through the stone. I rotated the dial back to its minimal charge and then flicked it off.
I let the goad, on its leather strap, dangle from my left wrist and then I went to the doll and picked it up. I approached Sura, who backed against the wall, closing her eyes, turning her head to one side.
"Here," I said. I handed her the doll.
She reached out and took it.
"I am sorry," I said.
She stood there, looking at me, holding the doll.
I walked away from her and then took the slave goad from my wrist and hung it up again on its hook, where she might take it again if she wished.
"I am sorry," said I, "Sura." I looked upon her. "I was looked for Ka-la-na."
She looked at me, bewildered.
"It is in the last chest," she whispered.
I went to the last chest along the wall and opened it, finding a bottle and some bowls. "You are a fortunate slave," I said, "to have Ka-la-na in your quarters."
"I will serve you," she whispered.
"Is it not Kajuralia?" I asked.
"Yes," said she, "Master."
"Then," said I, "if Sura will permit, I shall serve her."
She looked at me blankly, and then, still clutching the doll, put out one hand, trembling, to take the bowl of wine from me. It began to spill, and I steadied it, lifting it with her hands to her lips.
She drank, as had the black-haired girl, the leader of the girls of the Street of Pots.
Then, when she had lowered the bowl, I took my drink, that she should have drunk first.
"Kajuralia," said I to her.
"Kajuralia," she whispered, "-Master."
"Kuurus," I said.
"Kajuralia," said she, whispering, "Kuurus."
I turned about and went back to the center of the room, where I sat down cross-legged. I had taken the bottle with me, of course.
She placed her bowl on the floor near me and then went back to the chest where the doll had been kept.
"How is it," I asked, "that you have such a doll?"
She said nothing, but returned the doll to its hiding place, beneath some silks and jewelry, at the back of the chest, in the right corner.
"Do not answer if you do not wish," I said.
She returned to where I sat and knelt there across from me. She lifted her bowl again to her lips and drank. Then she looked at me. "It was given to me," she said, "by my mother."
"I did not know Pleasure Slaves had mothers," I said. I was sorry I had said this, immediately, for she did not smile.
"She was sold when I was five," she said. "It is all that I have left from her."
"I'm sorry," I said.
She looked down.
"My father," she said, "I never knew, though I suppose he was a handsome slave. My mother knew little of him, for they were both hooded when mated."
"I see," I said.
She lifted her cup again to her lips.
"Ho-Tu," I said, "loves you."
She looked across to me. "Yes," she said.
"Are you often victimized on Kajuralia?" I asked.
"When Cernus remembers," she said. "May I clothe myself?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
Sura went to one of the chests and drew forth a long cloak of red silk, which she drew on. She tied the string at the neck, closing the high collar.
"Thank you," she said.
I refilled her bowl.
"Once," she said, "for Kajuralia, many years ago, I was mated."
"Do you know with whom?" I asked.
"No," she said. "I was hooded." She shuddered. "He was brought in from the streets," she said. "I remember him. The tiny body, swollen. The small, clumsy hands. His whining and giggling. The men at table laughed very loudly. It was doubtless quite amusing."
"What of the child?" I asked.
"I bore it," she said, "but, once more hooded, I never saw it. It was surely, considering its sire, a monster." She shuddered.
"Perhaps not," I said.
She laughed softly.
"Does Ho-Tu visit you often?" I asked.
"Yes," said she. "I play the kalika for him. He cares for its sound."
"You are Red Silk," I said.
"Long ago," said she, "Ho-Tu was mutilated, and forced to drink acid."
"I did not know," I said.
"He was once a slave," said Sura, "but he won his freedom at hook knife. He was devoted to the father of Cernus. When the father of Cernus was poisoned and Cernus, then the lesser, placed upon his neck the medallion of the House, Ho-Tu protested. For that he was mutilated, and forced to drink acid. He has remained in the house these many years."
"Why should he remain here?" I asked.
"Perhaps," she said, "because it is in this house that Sura is slave."
"I would not doubt it," I said.
She looked down, smiling.
I looked about the room. "I am not anxious to return immediately to my compartment," I said. "Further, I am confident that the men of the house will expect me to remain some time here."
"I will serve your pleasure," she said.
"Do you love Ho-Tu?" I asked.
She looked at me, thoughtfully. "Yes," she said.
"Then," I said, "let us find something else to do."
She laughed.
"Your room," I said, "seems to offer little in the way of diversions."
She leaned back, and smiled. "Little save Sura," she admitted.
I, glancing about once again, saw the kalika in the corner.
"Would you like me to play for you?" asked Sura.
"What would you like to do?" I asked.
"I?" she asked, amused.
"Yes," I said, "you-you Sura."
"Is Kuurus serious?" she asked skeptically.
"Yes," I affirmed. "Kuurus is serious."
"I know what I would like," she said, "but it is very silly."
"Well," I said, "it is, after all, Kajuralia."
She looked down, flustered. "No," she said. "It is too absurd."
"What?" I asked. "Would you like me to try and stand on my head or what? I warn you I would do it very poorly."
"No," she said. Then she looked at me very timidly. "Would you," she asked, "teach me to play the game?"
I looked at her, flabbergasted.
She looked down, immediately. "I know," she said. "I am sorry. I am a woman. I am slave."
"Have you a board and pieces?" I asked.
She looked up at me, happily. "Will you teach me?" she asked, delighted.
"Have you a board and pieces?" I asked.
"No," she said, miserably.
"Do you have paper?" I asked. "A pen, ink?"
"I have silk," she said, "and rouge, and bottles of cosmetics!"
In a short time we had spread a large square of silk on the floor between us, and, carefully, finger in and out of a rouge pot, I had drawn the squares that would normally be red on a board, leaving those squares that would normally be yellow blank. Then, between us, we managed to find tiny vials, and brooches, and beads, to use as the pieces. In less than an Ahn we had set up our board and pieces, and I had showed Sura the placing of the pieces and their moves, and had explained so
me of the elementary techniques of the game to her; in the second Ahn she was actually negotiating the board with alertness, always moving with an objective in mind; her moves were seldom the strongest, but they were always intelligent; I would explain moves to her, discussing them, and she would often cry out "I see!" and a lesson never needed to be repeated.
"It is not often," I said, "that one finds a woman who is pleased with the game."
We played yet another Ahn and, even in that short amount of time, her moves had become more exact, more subtle, more powerful. I became now less concerned to suggest improvements in her play and more concerned to protect my own Home Stone.
"Are you sure you have never played before?" I asked.
She looked at me, genuinely delighted. "Am I doing acceptably?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I began to marvel at her. I truly believe, also, that she had never played before. I realized, to my pleasure, if danger, that I had come upon one of those rare persons who possesses a remarkable aptitude for the game. There was a rawness in her play, a lack of polish, but I sensed myself in the presence of one for whom the game might have been created.
Her eyes sparkled.
"Capture of Home Stone!" she cried.
"I do not suppose you would care to play the kalika," I proposed.
"No! No!" she cried. "The game! The game!"
"You are only a woman," I reminded her.
"Please, Kuurus!" she said. "The game! The game!"
Reluctantly I began to put out the pieces again.
This time she had yellow.
To my astonishment, this time I began to see the Centian Opening unfold, developed years ago by Centius of Cos, one of the strongest openings known in the game, one in which the problems of development for red are particularly acute, especially the development of his Ubara's Scribe.
"Are you sure you have never played before?" I asked, thinking it well to recheck the point.
"No," she said, studying the board like a child confronting something never seen before, something wonderful, something mysterious and challenging, a red ball, some squares of brightly colored, folded orange cloth.
When it came to her fourteenth move for red, my color, I glanced up at her.
"What do you think I should do now?" I asked.
I noted that her lovely brow had already been wrinkled with distress, considering the possibilities.