Her fists clenched in the slave bracelets. Her collar, yellow and enameled, shone in the darkness, at her throat. Her hair, a black sheen, loose, fell over her shoulders, and to the small of her back. She was beautiful in the bit of yellow silk. She pulled at the bracelets. Then she relaxed.
She smiled. “It seems,” she said, “you have found me, Tarl.”
“I am Bosk,” I said.
She shrugged.
“What has happened to you, since we parted?” she asked.
“I have become rich,” I told her.
“And what of Priest-Kings?” she asked.
“I no longer serve Priest-Kings,” I told her.
She looked at me, troubled.
“I serve myself,” I said, “and do what I wish.”
“Oh,” she said.
Then she looked up at me.
“Are you angry,” she asked, “that I fled the Sardar?”
“No,” I said. “It was a brave act.”
She smiled at me.
“I now seek Talena,” I said. “I will hunt for her in the green forests.” “Do you not remember me?” she asked.
“I seek Talena,” I told her.
She put down her head. Then she lifted it. “I did not want to be returned to Earth,” she said. “You will not return me to Earth, will you?” I regarded her. “No,” I said. “ I will not return you to Earth.” “Thank you, Tarl,” she whispered.
For a time we said nothing.
“You are now rich?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Rich enough to buy me?” she asked.
“Ten thousand times over,” I told her, and truly.
She relaxed visibly in the chains, and smiled. “Tarl-“ she said.
“Bosk” I corrected her, sharply.
“I would hear my name on your lips once more,” she whispered. “Speak my name.” “Who are you?” I asked.
“Elizabeth Cardwell,” she said. “Vella of Gor!”
“What is locked on your left ankle?” I asked.
“Slave bells,” she said.
I put my hand in the bit of silk. “What is this?” I asked.
“Slave silk,” she whispered.
I pointed to the yellow collar on her throat. “And that?” I asked.
“The collar of Sarpedon,” she whispered, “my master.”
“What is your name?” I asked.
“I see,” she said coldly.
“Your name?” I asked.
“Tana,” she said.
I smiled. It was the same name which had been that of one of the girls I had had Thurnock sell this morning, one of the two panther girls. It is a fairly common Gorean name, but no heard of that often. It was something of a coincidence that the two girls had both that name, the one sold this morning, the other now chained before me.
“Your name is Tana,” I told her. You are simply Tana, the slave girl.” Her fists clenched in the slave bracelets. She was indeed that now, simply an unimportant, lowly paga slave in Lydius.
I regarded her beauty.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“I have paid the price of a cup of paga,” I told her.
I regarded her in the shadows of the small alcove, lit by the tiny lamp, its draft carried by the tiny, ventilating hole above it.
She still wore the chains I had put her in. the bit of yellow silk, crumpled, soaked with sweat, lay to one side.
“How does it feel to be a paga slave?” I asked.
She turned her head to one side.
I had exacted the full performance of the paga slave from her.
“You are angry,” she said, “because I fled from you. Now you take your vengeance on me.” “I merely used you as the paga slave you are,” I told her. It was true. I had treated her no worse, or better, than such slaves are commonly treated. Moreover, she knew that. She knew I had forced her to serve precisely as a paga slave, no more nor less.
I had not taken vengeance on her. I had simply treated her exactly as what she was.
In my use of her I had, of course, addressed her only as Tana. That was the name of the slave.
She looked at me, in her chains. I sat cross-legged, was buckling my belt. “What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I am going to seek Talena,” I said. “I will hunt for her in the forests.” She lay back, in the chains. Then she rose to one elbow.
“You are different,” she said, suddenly. “You are different, from when I knew you.” “How is that?” I asked, curious.
“You seem harder now,” she said, “less soft, less gentle hearted.”
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You have become more-“
“Yes?” I asked.
“More Gorean,” she whispered. “You are now like a Gorean man.” She looked at me, frightened. “That is it,” she said. “You have become a Gorean man.” I shrugged. “It is not impossible,” I said.
She shrank back, in the chains, against the low, curved wall of the alcove. I smiled at her.
I fastened the sword, with the sheath straps, to my belt. I began to tie on my sandals.
When I had finished tieing my sandals, she spoke. “You said that you were rich,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“That you were rich enough to boy me.”
“Yes,” I said. I smiled. “More than ten thousand times over,” I said. She smiled. “Now that you have found me,” she said, “you will not return me to Earth, will you?” “No,” I said. “I will not return you to Earth.” She had fled the Sardar. She had made her decision. It had been a brave act. I admired her for it. But it had been an act not without its risks.
“Sarpedon,” she said, “does not know that I was trained in Ar. He will not charge more than twenty pieces of gold for me.” “No,” I said, “I do not think he would.” “It will be good,” she said, “to again be free.” I could recall that once, it now seemed long ago, this girl, in a marvelously staged sale, with all the skills of the great auction house, the Curulean, in Ar, had, with two other girls, Virginia Kent and Phyllis Robertson, brought fifteen hundred gold pieces. Virginia Kent had become the free companion of the warrior, Relius of Ar. Ho-Sorl, another warrior of Ar, had obtained Phyllis Robertson. I expected he still kept her in collar and silk, liking her that way. Now this girl, once Elizabeth Cardwell, of Earth, now a paga slave in Lydius, would bring only fifteen or twenty-five pieces of gold. Contexts, and markets, were interesting.
She was surely as beautiful as she had been, when she had been sold in Ar. But now, comparatively, she was cheap.
It did not seem to me impossible that I might be able to obtain her for ten. “Perhaps,” I suggested, “ I could get you for as little as ten,” She looked at me, angrily. “Perhaps,” she said.
“If I wished,” I added.
“What do you mean?” she whispered.
“I seek Talena,” I told her.
“Buy me,” she whispered. “Buy me. Free me!”
“In the Sardar,” I said, “you made your decision. That decision was not without risks.” She looked at me in horror.
“You gambled,” I said. “You lost.”
She shook her head, no! “Do not think that I do not admire you,” I said. “I do. You performed a brave act. I admire you greatly for it. But, as I have told you, such acts are not without their risks. You have made your decision. Not there are consequences to be paid. You gambled. You lost.” “Do you know what it is to be a paga slave?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I told her.
“Buy me!” she begged. “Buy me! You are rich! You can buy me!”
“Is that how a slave begs?” I asked.
“Buy Tana!” she wept. “Buy Tana!”
She extended her chained wrists to me. I took her by the arms, and kissed her, long. I tasted the slave rouge in my mouth.
Then I thrust her back from me.
“What are you going to do?” she begged.
