I knelt beside the low table, about which Masters Desmond, Lykos and Astrinax sat, cross-legged.
It was a high tavern.
“Not one would go for less than two silver tarsks,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
I supposed men had much sweated in their bidding on them. I saw one fellow knot the wrists of a slave behind her and thrust her toward an alcove.
I recalled that he in whose keeping I was had said that in some of the alcoves a man might stand upright. The alcoves, I understood were furnished with a variety of conveniences, bracelets, chains, thongs, cords, scarves, hoods, switches, whips, and such, by means of which a girl might be encouraged to perform excellently, to do her best for one of her master’s customers. It was in her best interest to see that no client was disappointed, in the least.
I looked about. The girls were belled, on the left ankle. Each was clothed, in a sense. Each was silked, but diaphanously. In my brief, rep-cloth tunic, kneeling by the table, I felt myself less exhibited than they, in their soft, colorful, swirling silks.
I could understand how it was that men would seek the paga taverns.
Still, to one side, at more than one table, fellows were intent upon a game of kaissa.
How could that be? Were the slaves not beautiful enough?
I knew that a yearning slave, to one side, lying in her chains, must often await the outcome of such a game
There was music in the tavern, a czehar player, a drummer, utilizing the small tabor, two flautists, and a pair of kalika players. He with the czehar was the leader. That was common, as I was given to understand.
I could smell paga, and roast bosk.
A bit of silk flashed by. I drew my head back, for it had brushed across my face.
He in whose keeping I was laughed.
I did not care for that.
“Master?” I said.
“You were insulted,” he smiled.
“What flanks!” said Astrinax.
“Why do you not pursue her and tear her silk from her?” asked Lykos.
“She would tear out my hair, and beat me,” I said.
Master Astrinax had been, so far, unsuccessful in his recruiting. He had approached more than one table, without success.
Master Desmond, I noted, had an eye for the paga slaves. That was nothing to me, of course. Why, then, was I so angry?
“I have brought Allison here,” said Master Desmond, “that she might see what true slaves are like.”
“My collar is on my neck as well as theirs are on theirs,” I said, angrily.
“Then,” said he in whose charge I was, “you are a true slave, as well?”
“My thigh is marked,” I said, “my neck is collared, I am owned.”
“Then you are a true slave?” he said.
I looked at him. “Yes, Master,” I said, “Allison is a true slave.”
“Look at me, and say it,” he said.
“I am a true slave,” I said. “Allison is a true slave.”
“That is known to me,” he said.
“I hate you,” I said, tears in my eyes.
“Put your hand on her,” said Lykos.
“No!” I said.
“How would you like to be taken to an alcove?” asked he in whose charge I was.
How I had dreamed of being in his power, as a slave is in a master’s power.
“No,” I said, “no!”
“Why not?” he asked.
“You do not own me!” I said.
“True,” said Master Desmond.
“I have seen her like,” said Lykos. “Put her in your chains, and she will leap, begging, to your touch.”
“No, no!” I said.
“She would be an easy one to master,” said Lykos, “a little resistance, and then she is yours.”
“No, Masters!” I said.
“See that one!” said he in whose charge I was, pointing toward the paga vat.
She was indeed beautiful.
“See that auburn hair,” said Astrinax.
“That color,” said he in whose charge I was, “is prized in the markets.” Then he looked at me. “It is not common,” he said, “like brown hair.”
“Brown hair is beautiful,” said Lykos.
I cast him a look of gratitude.
“But common,” said he in whose charge I was. How angry I was with him.
“The hair of the Lady Bina,” said Lykos, “what I have seen of it, is beautiful.”
That was true. I had often seen the Lady Bina unhooded, unveiled, and her hair was strikingly blond, and her eyes were a soft, sometimes, sparkling blue. She was exquisite, in face and figure. I supposed, though the speculation was inappropriate, as she was a free woman, that she might bring a fine price off a block. I had sometimes wondered what she would look like, if marked and collared.
She with auburn hair, the paga slave, had dipped her goblet into the vat, and then, holding it with two hands, had turned, and conveyed it to a table.
“There is another beauty,” said Astrinax, gesturing with his head to another slave.
She had a swirl of long blond hair.
“That hair color is similar to that of the Lady Bina, is it not?” said Lykos.
“Perhaps, Master,” I said. It did not seem fitting to me, to speak of such things, to speak of the Mistress. To be sure, at the troughs, and in the Sul Market, I had heard more than one woman’s slave excoriate her Mistress, in the most detailed and vivid terms.
I noted that Master Desmond, whom I supposed of the Metal Workers, certainly he in whose charge I was, to my annoyance, was still appraising various paga slaves, as masters look upon such women.
“Master considers slaves,” I observed.
“See that one,” he said to me, pointing.
“Perhaps Master would care to gaze upon a slave closer at hand,” I said.
“Where?” he said.
“Here,” I said.
“You?” said he.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Surely you do not think to compare your beauty with that of the paga girls of The Kneeling Slave,” he said.
“On my former world I was thought quite lovely.”
“Perhaps for such a world,” he said.
“If we were such poor stuff,” I said, “we would not have been brought here, to be put in the collars of brutes such as yourself.”
“Some barbarians are of interest,” he said.
“You might learn much from the men of my world,” I said.
“Oh?” he said.
“They are sweet, pleasant, kind, gentle, sensitive, solicitous, accommodating, and wonderful, and they do what we want,” I said.
“Is that why the women of your world make such excellent slaves, why they lick and kiss our whips and feet, why they beg to be subdued and chained, owned and mastered, why they writhe in grateful ecstasy in the thongs
