“I see,” I said.
“A single chain, run through their shackle chain, and fastened between trees, will secure the lot. You may be added to such a chain.”
“My Mistress,” I said, “usually buys at the camps.”
“I know,” he said. “I have been with the wagons since Ar.”
“Why are you with us?” I asked.
“I have taken fee,” he said.
“And why have you taken fee?” I asked.
“I thought it might be nice to see Venna,” he said.
I smiled to myself. I thought I might be able to manipulate him. But then, too, I thought, it is difficult to manipulate a man when one is chained at his feet.
“You can cook, can you not?” he asked.
“On my former world,” I said, “I did not do such things.”
“But here,” he said, “you find that the lowliest, the most trivial and servile of tasks, are yours to perform, unquestioningly, and perfectly.”
“Yes,” I said.
“So?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I can cook, a little. I was taught in the slave house, that of Tenalion of Ar.”
“I know the house,” he said.
“Then Master knows it handles the most beautiful, and prized, slaves in Ar,” I said.
“All the houses do,” he said. “The house of Tenalion is also known for distributing she-tarsks amongst minor markets, for quick, cheap sales, some even in the Metellan district.”
“I see,” I said.
I recalled the small cell, facing the market area, behind the bars of which I, with others, as merchandise to be vended, were publicly displayed to passers-by, and then my sale, being turned about, exhibited naked, on the small cement sales dais.
“I am thinking of having you prepare my food tonight,” he said. “Do you think you could do it, passably?”
“A slave must do her best to please,” I said.
“If I am not satisfied,” he said, “you will be beaten.”
“A slave will do her best,” I said.
“If I am satisfied,” he said, “I will let you feed.”
“A slave is grateful,” I said.
“Would you prefer,” he said, “to have the food cast to the ground, or to take it, kneeling, or on all fours, from my hand?”
“From Master’s hand,” I said.
He well knows, I thought, how to teach a woman that she is a slave. I recalled a lesson in such things from the house of Tenalion, in which I fed, kneeling, leaning forward, from the hand of a guard, my right hand clasping my left wrist behind my back. Such things can enflame the belly of a woman.
“Master?” I said.
“Yes?” he said.
“I think my tunic may be in the wagon box.”
“So?” he said.
“May I wear it, outside the wagon?” I asked.
“Do you beg it?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said, “I beg it.”
“Very well,” he said.
Chapter Seventeen
It was hard not to be excited by the roar of the crowd. I leaped to my feet, with thousands of others. “Hurry on!” I thought to myself, feverishly, with respect to the blue colors. He in whose care I was favored them. Perhaps, then, I thought, as I hated him, I should favor another color, say, yellow, or red, just so that it would be different, to spite him, though it would not do, of course, to call such a discrepancy to his attention. It could be my private concern. But I did not. He had wagered on blue, he in whose charge I was. Thus, insofar as I might have a color, which, of course, I was not permitted, it was his color, blue. How strange! His desire was my desire, his wager as though my wager. Odd, I thought. As I loathed him, what difference was it to me, his fate, his fortune? To be sure, it occurred to me that if he lost, he might be displeased, and I might be beaten. “Hurry on, blue!” I thought, rising to my tip toes. Across the track it was hard to see for the dust. Much was the noise about me. Some had glasses of the builders, though shorter than the usual glass. I felt myself immersed in the surf of screaming, shouting, cheering adherents. I did not cry out, of course. I had not been given permission to speak. We were in the high tiers. There were five in our party, if I include myself. I pulled a little at my wrists, which were braceleted behind me. It is only so that my sort were permitted in the stadium. To be sure, if the master lacks bracelets, one’s wrists may be thonged or corded behind one, or, with a strip of cloth, tightly scarfed in place. Venna was far more permissive than Ar, for in Ar slaves, unless discreetly concealed, were not permitted in the stadiums, let alone theaters. For example, one would almost never see them at the pageants, the plays, the concerts, the song dramas, the epic readings, the great kaissa matches, and such. This was in deference, supposedly, to the feelings of free women, whose sensibilities might be offended by the presence, in their vicinity, of the half-clad, shapely beasts of masters. One sort of slave, however, is likely to be more visible in a stadium, a certain sort of stadium, a “stadium of blades,” a more vulgar, violent milieu, the sort helplessly chained naked to a post, a sack of gold tied about her neck, she and it prizes to be awarded to a successful fighter.
“Hurry on, red!” cried another slave, two rows below me.
She had permission to speak, to cheer for her master’s favorite! I felt like pulling her to the ground by her hair, but I would not dare to do so. I knew it would be I who would soon be weeping, and pleading for mercy! It would not be another, but I, I knew, who would soon be the cringing, beaten slave. This was clear to me, even from my former world. I had sensed this ever since the party on my former world, when I had been disgracefully camisked and forced to serve, in a locked leather collar, and had found myself tearfully, stung again and again, helplessly groveling under the switch of the imperious Nora. It takes but one such experience to realize that one is a slave. I still, after all these months, dreaded and feared Nora, terribly. She was Mistress and I was slave. She had taught me that.
As you know, as in the tarn races, there are various factions, the blue, the yellow, the orange, the red, and so on.
Many Goreans take their allegiance to a given faction with great seriousness. This may continue for generations in families. There are sometimes riots between the adherents of these factions.
Orange won the race.
I sat down, on the tier. Many filed down the tiers, to place new bets. Hundreds clutched programs, which listed the mounts, and their riders.
The last race, just witnessed, was one of quadrupedalian tharlarion. These are bred for endurance and speed, but, even so, they are ponderous beasts, and no match for the more typical racing tharlarion, which is lighter and bipedalian. It is also carnivorous and more aggressive. In the race they commonly have their jaws bound shut. There have been several cases in which such beasts, before a race, or in the stable or exercise yards, have attacked their competitors, even their handlers. They are occasionally used for scouting or communication. Some hunt wild tarsk with lances from their saddles.
“Orange won,” said he in whose charge I was.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
There were five in our party at the stadium, the Lady Bina; Astrinax, who was our jobber; a man named Lykos, hired, I think, for his sword; he in whose keeping I was; and myself. I remembered the man, Astrinax, from Ar, as it was he who had arranged my sale to the gambling house. He had been hired in Ar by the Lady Bina to
