“Forgive us, milady,” said the guard, he so close to her. “We did not mean to startle you. We have been relieved. We are off duty now, and are returning to our quarters.”
The other guard continued on his way, and the guard closest to her, he whose sudden appearance had so startled her, turned to follow him.
“Linger,” she said, suddenly.
“Yes, milady,” said he, turning.
“I had not seen you, until the lounge,” said she, “since the arena.”
“No, milady,” said he, “not since you had me bound.”
“You were spoken for by Pulendius, who was much impressed with your deeds in the arena.”
“Yes, milady,” said he.
“In deference to Pulendius, your sentence was commuted, remanding you into his custody.”
“Into the custody of a keeper of a gladiatorial school,” said he, “in which men are trained to kill.”
She tried to step back, but the railing was behind her.
“I am now a free man,” he said. “I received my freedom after my tenth victory.”
She looked up at him.
“My seventh kill,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“I am now as free as you,” he said.
“I — I see,” she said.
Need he stand so close to her? Was he still such a rude, ignorant peasant, with no understanding of civilities? Did he think himself still in some primitive, dirty village, with animals running about between the huts? Was he so ignorant of the proprieties, of the distances, on Terennia, suitable to one of her class? She seemed confused, she looked about, she felt enflamed. Not a hand’s breadth separated her from that mighty chest, the shining leather stretched across it.
“Pulendius has high hopes for you,” she said, unsteadily, looking to the side.
The gladiator shrugged.
How dare you stand so close? she thought.
Pulendius had some twenty fighters with him on the ship. He also had a complement of support personnel, trainers, a physician, an accountant, secretaries and such. He was bound for Iris, which, like Miton, was in the first provincial quadrant.
“I am low in the matches,” said the gladiator, looking down at her.
Please don’t stand so closely to me, she thought. Cannot you see I am uncomfortable?
“But even fighters like Archon and Mir San were once low in the matches,” he said.
These two were known throughout galaxies. They normally performed on the Telnarian worlds themselves, even in the imperial arena.
“You — you enjoy the arena?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “The light, the crowds, the music, the contest. One is very much alive there. I can understand why men seek it out. But I do not feel the arena is my destiny.”
“You are free,” she said. “You can leave Pulendius.”
“He saved my life. I serve him,” he said.
“Doubtless he pays well,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are of the
“Even less than
“What do you mean by that?” she cried.
“Why, nothing, milady,” he said.
She felt weak, giddy. What could be the meaning of such feelings?
She feared they might be those of a slave girl before her master.
“Why did you look at me, as you did this evening?” she asked, angrily.
“Surely it was milady’s imagination,” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” she said icily.
“Methought,” said he, “that milady did have her eyes once or twice upon me.”
“Never!” she said.
“How then would she know if I might have glanced upon her?”
“You are an insolent beast!” she cried and raised her small hand to strike him. But the blow did not fall and she winced for her small wrist was trapped as though in a vise of steel, helpless in the
grip of his great fist.
Once before he recalled, when he had first recovered from his wound in the barrack of the school of Pulendius and had been on his feet, that Pulendius had come to see him. Pulendius, unexpectedly, had struck at him and his wrist, too, had been so caught. “If I were wearing a wrist knife,” had said Pulendius to him, “you would have lost fingers.”
“But, milord,” had said the peasant, “you were not wearing a wrist knife.”
“Excellent,” had said Pulendius. “Release me, now. Your training begins in the morning.”
“Please let me go,” she said. “You’re hurting me.” He released her, instantly. She drew back her hand, rubbing the wrist. She had never guessed before what it might be like, to be the captive, so helplessly, of so mighty a grip.
“Why would I have wasted my time,” he asked, “looking upon one who was a mere slave?”
“I was not the slave!” she said. “There was a slave there, she who cared for the flask of
“You are both slaves,” he said.
“I am not a slave!” she cried. “I am of the patricians!”
“You are a slave,” he said.
“No,” she cried.
“I have learned in the school,” he said, “how to look upon a woman, and tell if she is a slave or not.”
“And I am one such, a slave?” she said, angrily.
“Yes,” he said.
“Begone!” she wept.
He stepped back, and bowed. “Yes, milady,” said he.
“What is the contest tomorrow evening?” she demanded.
“Its nature, until the moment,” said he, “is to remain confidential.”
“Are you to be involved?” she asked.
“That is my understanding, if it is necessary,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“Is it milady’s intention to attend?” he asked.
“Certainly not,” she said.
“Good night, milady,” said he, bowing, and withdrawing.
It was shortly thereafter that the captain chanced by, in the very corridor in which was the large observation port, that before which the last recounted events took place. The officer of the court stood by the port, grasping the railing with one hand, with the other holding her small purse tightly against herself. She was looking out, on the silent, lateral, unsounded depths of the night, on the tiny, clustered fires, some suns, some universes themselves. She may have seemed shaken. In any event the captain paused, solicitously.
“I am all right,” she assured the captain.
“I passed in the corridor,” said he, “on my way, one of Pulendius’s brutes. I trust you were not accosted.”
“No,” she said. “No!”
How could she have been accosted? One does not accost slaves. One commands them.
“I think it a mistake that such brutes should be allowed to roam freely,” he said.
“Doubtless,” she laughed.
“They should be kept in cages,” he smiled.
