and Tyros, and it would be madness to bring her as far as Brundisium. Too, if the ship is at the piers, I do not think it could be that ship, given her draft. It is no common round ship. She would lie a quarter of a pasang offshore, or seek a harbor of unusual depth.”
“What ship, then?” I asked, as we hurried on.
“Aii!” cried the stranger, as we surmounted a small rise, and then had the piers below us, and before us.
We stopped.
Men with us, too, stood in amazement.
“I have never seen such a ship,” I said.
“I have,” said the stranger.
“It is so large,” I said. “How could it be at the pier?”
“It is shallow-drafted,” he said. “It can manage rivers. It maintains stability in the high seas by the descent of a dagger board.”
Men were pointing at the ship.
Boys continued to run past us.
The ship had a high stern castle, and four masts. Most unusual to me were the large, strange sails, tall, and rectangular, and ribbed, divided into lateral sections.
“That,” I said, turning to the stranger, “is a ship from the World’s End.”
“It is,” said the stranger.
“How can it be?” I asked.
“Tersites,” he said, “showed the way. He proved that such a voyage was possible. For those at the end of the world, we are the World’s End. What can be done by sailing west, can be done, as well, by sailing east. The voyage of Tersites has made the world different. Because of him men will never again think of the world in the same way.”
“You have seen such ships,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “many, in the Vine Sea, but few as large.”
“It is a strange, and beautiful, ship,” I said.
“I know its lines, its markings,” he said.
“You have seen it before?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “briefly, at a wharf, at the foot of a walled-in-trail, in a sheltered cove.”
I regarded him.
“It is, or was, one of the three ships,” he said, “of the
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Have you finished your work?” I asked my slave.
“Yes, Master,” she said, kneeling beside me, placing her right cheek softly, lovingly, on my knee. I brushed aside her hair, and touched her collar, fingering it idly.
What pleasure can compare with having a slave at one’s feet?
To be sure, the mastery of her, and the enjoyment of her.
“Your slave begs to be caressed,” she whispered. “Would master be pleased to caress his slave?”
How much she was a slave!
And how perfect she was in her collar!
“Please, Master,” she whispered.
At one time I supposed she had never dreamed that she would one day be a slave, and on a world far from her own.
How far she was today from the noise, the pollutions, the lies, the corruptions, the hypocrisies, and falsifications of her world!
“Please, Master,” she said. “Your slave begs your caress. She would be touched.”
“I take it your need is on you well,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“You will go to the market,” I said, “and buy tur-pah, tospits, suls, and a bottle of ka-la-na.”
“Yes, Master,” she moaned.
I watched her rise, and go to the chest at the side of the room, kneel there, and count some coins into her hand.
She turned, on her knees, to face me, the coins clutched in her hand.
“May I wear a tunic?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “The blue tunic, the short one, with the ragged hem, of rep-cloth.”
“Thank you, Master,” she smiled.
I thought that would turn some heads in the market. It is pleasant to witness the admiring glances which might fondle one’s slave, as she busied herself on my business in the market. Sometimes I took her out, leashed, on the promenade, her hands braceleted behind her. Occasionally on such outings I permitted her a tunic. The tunic I had prescribed for her today was the tiny one, of blue rep-cloth. It would not hurt for idlers and passers-by to guess, from the color of her scrap of clothing, that she was a Scribe’s girl.
“Hold,” I said, she at the door, and I rose to walk about her, and inspect her. “Stand taller,” I said, “lift your head, and put your shoulders back. Be proud. You are not a free woman. You are a slave. A female found worth being collared by men.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“And remember,” I said, “you are a reflection on me.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She stood nicely, lissome, and appealing.
Her feet were small, and bare.
I unhooked the switch from its peg, and, returning to her, standing behind her, slapped it twice in the palm of my hand.
She winced each time, but the useful, supple implement had not touched her.
“Bargain well,” I told her.
“I will try, Master,” she said.
“If you do not, in my view,” I said, “you will be well stung upon your return.”
“I do not know your world,” she said. “And the market is different, day to day. Perhaps suls will be in short supply. And some in the stalls will attempt to cheat a slave, who would dare no such thing with a free woman!”
“And particularly,” I conjectured, “one whose accent might betray her as a barbarian.”
“I fear so, Master,” she said.
“Linger about,” I said, “sense the prices, the market, see what goods go for, question other slaves, ones who might speak to you, perhaps another barbarian, if you can find one, do not be afraid to thank the Merchant, respectfully, and prepare to leave. If your offer is reasonable, you will be hailed to return, however begrudgingly. Do not then pretend to victory, but be deferent, and grateful, that mercy has been taken on you.”
“I have done well with smiles, too, Master,” she said.
“That is one of the few advantages you have over free women,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
The face of the slave, by law, must be naked. Free women insist on that. They are not to be confused with animals, with collared beasts. The features of free women, presumably so exquisite, precious, and marvelous, are not to be exhibited to common view. Accordingly, given the depth of their veiling, and the opacity of the common street veil, they cannot well prevail upon, or influence, the peddler or merchant, the fellow sitting behind his goods, spread upon a rug or cloth, or the stallsman, behind his counter, with the loveliness of a woman’s smile. To be sure,
