elaboration. By means of such garments, women, the most desirable properties a man may own, are dressed for his taste, delectation, and pleasure. Were it not for the security of their Home Stones, one supposes there would be few free women in a Gorean city. One wonders sometimes if they understand that the freedom which, in their arrogance, they take so much for granted is tenuous and fragile, a revocable gift of men. Let them think of Tharna, and tremble, or, if they wish, present themselves naked before her gates, petitioning entrance.
“Why is Seremides on board?” she asked.
“There is a price on his head,” I said. “Perhaps, then, to flee.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but one could flee anywhere, to Torvaldsland, to the deeper recesses of the formidable Voltai, to the vast Barrens, to the long Valley of the Ua, anywhere. Here, he is trapped, on a ship.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “he hopes to recoup his fortunes, at the World’s End.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said, “he knew you to be on board, and has in mind your apprehension, and eventual remanding to Ar.”
“Surely that venture,” she said, “would be fraught with peril. The price on his head, I suspect, is greater than that on mine.”
“I agree that is likely,” I said. He had been, of course, the captain of the Taurentians, and had been close to Myron, the
“Still,” I said, “do not underestimate your value in Ar.”
“To another,” she said, “but I think not to Seremides.”
“He might negotiate, anonymously, through others,” I said. I did not doubt that he had cohorts on board, if not brought with him, then later recruited.
“Perhaps,” she said.
“You do not think he seeks you?”
“I think,” she said, “he is after greater game.”
“What, then?” I asked.
“I am not sure,” she said. “I do not know.”
“In any event,” I said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Yes,” she said, “a slave is far from Ar.”
“Return to first obeisance position,” I said.
“Surely not!” she said.
“Now,” I said. “Good.”
“Now,” I said, “to second obeisance position.”
“Please,” she protested, her head to the deck.
“Must a command be repeated?” I inquired.
“No!” she said.
The repetition of a command is often a cause for discipline, and she was well aware of what that might involve.
She was now on her belly before me, her hands at the sides of her head.
“Lips to boots,” I said.
She pressed her lips to my boots, left and right, kissing them, and licking at them.
I let her continue to do this for a time.
It is pleasant for a man to have a beautiful woman, for she was beautiful, so at his feet, so at his mercy.
I noted a particular movement in her body, one I had seen before in a slave. I smiled. She was beginning to understand what it might be, to be a slave. Already, I suspected, she had begun to hope, forlornly, that I might be pleased to attend to her, as one who, in his lenience or indulgence, might attend to a slave.
“Enough,” I said. “Position.”
She knelt then before me, as before, back on her heels, head up, back straight, the palms of her hands down on her thighs.
“You wear your furs well,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“To be sure,” I said, “I would prefer you in a tunic, or less.”
“May a slave not open her knees before Master?” she said.
“Do you wish to do so?” I asked.
“I think so,” she whispered.
“No,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“Is a slave white silk or red silk?” I asked.
“Must a slave respond?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“A slave is white silk,” she said.
“That is unusual,” I said.
“For a slave,” she said.
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, “I am a slave.”
“It seems, slave,” I said, “you have let the black wine grow cold.”
“Master?” she said.
“Thus, you are remiss,” I said.
“I have been detained!” she said, frightened.
“You are remiss,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “I am remiss.”
“Then, rise,” I said, “hurry to the kitchens, to heat the wine, or replenish your vessel.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
She retrieved the vessel, wrapped in its cloths.
“And hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
“I was the Lady Flavia of Ar!” she said.
“Hurry,” I said, “run, run!”
She turned about, in misery, and, holding the vessel in its cloths, hurried away. She stopped once, to look over her shoulder, and then, frightened, disappeared through the second hatchway amidships, that between the second and third masts.
I feared for her safety, and that of all of us.
Night was falling. On the ice below the work lamps, on their tripods, had been lit. Pani, with bows and glaves, patrolled the perimeter below.
They had earlier stopped two men, set to trek the ice. One had been killed, the other flogged.
Rations were growing short.
I thought of the slave, Alcinoe. Off the block, sold for her simple quality as a female, she might bring one or two silver tarsks. In the south, delivered to the justice of Ar, she might bring a double handful of golden tarn disks. What a fool one would be, not to advantage oneself of such an opportunity. On the other hand, she was pretty, and might make a good slave.
It was hard to tell about such things.
Reasonably clearly, she was already beginning to sense what it might be to be a slave.
That was promising.
I wondered if, in the darkness of the Kasra keeping area, she might have pressed her fingers to her lips, and then softly to her collar.
I recalled she had been switched awake four times.
Presumably she had been thrashing in her chains.
She is coming along nicely, I thought, even predictably.
What woman can be truly fulfilled, who is not a slave, who does not know herself owned, who does not know herself the absolute property of a master, a master whom she knows she must serve with perfection, a master
