The Chieftan

some seats down, near Pulendius, to the captain’s right, “it is the men who are slaves.”

“None are slaves on Terennia,” she said, angrily. Then she flushed, aware, perhaps, of the gaze of the bodyguard upon her, he behind Pulendius, to his right. “Let us not spoil the evening by dispute on such matters,” said the captain.

“You know the law, of course,” said Pulendius, “that if one should bring his property to another world within the empire, it does not cease to remain his property.”

“Of course I am familiar with the law,” she said, angrily. “The principle is a simple one, familiar from basic jurisprudence.”

“Let us suppose,” said Pulendius, “to take a purely hypothetical example, that you yourself were to become a slave, and were then to be brought to Terennia.”

“Yes?” she said, her body stiffening.

“You would then still be a slave, would you not?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“‘Yes’?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rigid on her chair, “I would still be a slave.”

“Within the full rights of your master?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, angrily.

“And are you so sure,” he asked, “that there are no slaves on Terennia?”

“Certainly,” she said.

“Are you so sure?” he asked.

“Perhaps in the wilderness,” she said, “in rural areas, away from the cities.”

“And perhaps in the schools?” he asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, reddening. She looked at the bodyguards, particularly at he who was behind Pulendius, to his right, and then looked away, quickly. Such men, she suspected, though she was only from Terennia, might not only relish and desire women, but might actually need them, even crave them, desperately, like food and drink, quite otherwise than the “true men” with whom she was, to her boredom, more than familiar.

“Who knows?” said Pulendius, pleasantly, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Are you telling me that this girl is a slave?” asked the young, dark-haired woman, indicating the pourer of kana.

“We have not said that,” said the captain.

“Kana, milady?” asked the pourer of kana, pausing at the side of the young, dark-haired woman.

“No!” exclaimed the young, dark-haired woman, drawing back.

At a gesture from Pulendius the pourer of kana returned to her usual serving station, somewhat behind the captain, and to his left.

“Who owns her?” demanded the young woman.

“The line,” said the captain, “at least until tomorrow evening.”

“After the contest,” said Pulendius.

“I do not believe she is a slave,” said the young, dark-haired woman.

“Surely such matters need not be made obvious,” said the captain.

“She is not a slave,” said the young, dark-haired woman.

“This is not a barbarian ship,” said the captain.

“Are you skeptical because she is not slave clad, and not collared?” asked Pulendius.

The young, dark-haired woman tossed her head, angrily.

“The collar is a lovely adornment, and it has its purposes, identificatory, mnemonic, and such,” said Pulendius, “but it is bondage which makes the slave, not the collar. Too, how do you know she is not slave clad?”

The young, dark-haired woman looked down, in consternation. “Is she slave clad?” she asked. The young dark-haired woman seemed agitated, enflamed.

“Yes,” said Pulendius.

There was silence at the table.

“She is not a slave,” whispered the young, dark-haired woman, desperately.

“Kana,” said the captain, irritably, holding forth his delicate glass.

“Yes, milord,” said the pourer, hurrying forward to replenish the beverage.

“Speak clearly,” said the captain.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Then she raised her eyes to the young, dark-haired woman, and in that glance there was more than a hint of anger, of defiance, but then, swiftly, as though frightened, she put down her head and returned to her station.

Such women, you see, are not free, but owned. They may not always do what they please. They are subject to authority, to punishment.

Pulendius regarded the young, dark-haired woman, she from Terennia, she who was the minor patrician, considering her, and then his eyes rested, as though amused, on the golden necklace, about a half of an inch in height, with which she had so closely encircled her throat. Selfconsciously she raised her fingers to her throat, and then, hastily, returned them to the glistening cloth of the table. The necklace reminded him of a slave collar, of the interwoven-chain variety. To be sure, it was not as sturdy, and it did not have a lock.

“Shall I send her away?” asked the captain, concerned. As the captain of a cruise ship he had not only the care of his vessel to consider, but his obligations to look after the comfort and pleasures of his passengers.

The young, dark-haired woman did not answer.

“More kana,” said the young naval officer, he of the imperial navy, he of one of the imperial fleets, he on leave, it seemed. And so the pourer of kana remained present.

Pulendius, nursing his kana, moving it about in the delicate, shallow bowl, looked upon the young, dark-haired woman. Pulendius was still a strong man, but he had, in these past years, grown somewhat corpulent, doubtless from the rich food, the softness of his life, the luxuries. He looked at the young, dark-haired woman. She seemed to him a fine, vital, healthy young animal. He wondered what sort of slave she would make. The bodyguard, too, one of the gladiators, he who was behind and to the right of Pulendius, also regarded her. He, too, wondered what sort of slave she would make.

A junior officer approached the table. Shortly thereafter, the captain rose and, wiping his lips, and making excuses, took his leave from the table.

Pulendius, and the bodyguards, watched him leave. So, too, did the ship’s first officer. The naval officer, too, he on leave, as it seemed, seemed to note the captain’s departure.

“There seems an anklet of some sort on her ankle, a band of some sort,” said the young, dark-haired woman, offhandedly.

“Why, yes,” said Pulendius. “So there does.”

“That is enough!” suddenly cried the young, dark-haired woman flinging down her napkin, and rising to her feet. The entire table regarded her.

She pointed to the bodyguard, he whose presence, if not regard, seems to have made her uneasy throughout the evening.

“He keeps looking at me!” she said, angrily.

“Ah, my dear, but who would not?” said Pulendius, soothingly. “Or,” he added, tactfully, “at our other charming companions, as well?”

This addition clearly met with the approval of the other women at the table, who, to be sure, for the most part were not at all unlikely recipients of just such attentions.

Reddening, the young, dark-haired woman once more took her seat.

“It is not as though you were in a haik, my dear,” said one of the women. This remark was greeted with laughter. The young, dark-haired woman again reddened, and looked down. The haik was a dark, cumbrous garment which would cover a woman from head to toe. Through a narrow aperture in the garment, that aperture itself covered with black lace, or black gauze, a woman might peer out. It was sometimes worn by the women of certain desert worlds, who would kneel behind their men, who spoke with other men of the things of men. One did not always know if the wearers of the haik