I did not move. I felt her beauty squirm against my chest and thighs. 'Master, Master,' she whispered. 'Please, Master!'
'What do you want me to do?' I asked.
'Have your hot slave,' she begged.
'Very well,' I said.
I made her scream and sob muchly in the darkness of the tunnel. She seemed piteous in my arms. 'I did not know it could be like this,' she whispered, hoarsely.
'Be silent, slave,' I told her. 'Yes, Master,' she whispered, kissing and moaning.
'Do it to me again, Master,' she begged. 'Please, Master!'
'It is growing late,' I said.
'Please, Master,' she said.
'It is time to send you back to your Mistress,' I said. 'She will surely be wondering where you are.'
'Please, Master,' she begged.
'Surely you do not wish to spend time at the whipping ring,' I said.
'The Mistress will not whip me,' she said.
'How do you know?' I asked.
'I am sure of it,' she said. 'Please, please, Master!'
'It is late,' I said.
'But one more time, I beg of you,' she said. 'But one more time, I beg of you, my Master,' she said.
'Very well,' I said.
She lay on her back in the dirt, beside me. She was very quiet. I rose to my feet, found my tunic, and drew it on. 'Get on your knees,' I told her. She did so. I reached to her hair and, holding her head with one hand, with the other jerked a few hairs from her head.
'Oh!' she cried. 'Why did you do that?'
'It pleased me,' I said.
'You hurt me,' she said.
'Be silent,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said. I put the bit of hair to one side, where I might retrieve it later.
'Find your things,' I said, 'and hold them in your hands.' She felt about in the darkness.
'I have them,' she said.
'Are you now again kneeling before me?' I asked.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Kiss my feet,' I said. I felt her lips kissing at my feet in the darkness. 'Straighten up,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'I now dismiss you,' I said. 'You dismiss me!' she cried.
'Should I not now return you to your Mistress?' I asked, smiling.
'Yes, Master,' she said, angrily.
I heard her move to get up.
'Wait!' I said.
'Master?' she asked, acidly.
I crouched beside her. I took the two slippers and the light gown from her hands. 'Open your mouth,' I told her. I put a bit of the silk across her lower teeth, and then thrust the open heels of the slippers into her mouth. 'Close your mouth,' I told her. She did so, with a sound of anger. I then, by the arms, jerked her to her feet, and turned her about.
'Return to your Mistress,' I told her.
She made an angry noise.
'Run!' I told her. I gave her a swift and stinging slap below the small of the back.
She then ran down the tunnel, sobbing, away from me.
I retrieved the bit of hair which I had put on the floor of the tunnel, and placed it in my tunic.
I heard her running down the tunnel, sobbing, away from me.
I smiled in the darkness.
25 I FIGHT KRONDAR, SLAVE OF MILES OF VONDA; TARNSMEN
The leather slave hood was pulled from my head. I heard the cry of the crowd. Barns rubbed my back. Kenneth was wrapping the long strips of leather about my hands. I saw slave girls, in their brief rags and collars, at the gate, some standing on the bars of the gate. 'Jason! Jason!' some of them called. 'Krondar!' cried several of the free persons in the crowd. 'Jason!' cried others.
There was a new cry from the crowd as a burly, short, thick-bodied man was led into the sand-floored, circular pit. He pulled against the manacles which confined his hands behind his back. 'He is eager,' I thought.
'Krondar! Krondar!' cried men in the crowd.
'I have not heard of this slave,' I said to Kenneth. 'Is Gort not the champion of the stables of Miles of Vonda?'
'Here,' cried one of the referee's men, pointing to me, 'is Jason, champion of the stables of the Lady Florence of Vonda!' There was a cheer at this. 'Jason! Jason!' cried several of the slave girls. The women present at the pit of sand, whether at the gate leading into it, or in the tiers looking down upon it, were excited. Women grow excited when men are to do battle. This is because they know that they are the natural spoils of the wars of men. This is obvious in any woman, whether slave or free, but it is particularly and almost pathetically obvious among female slaves, who already know themselves explicitly and legally as properties and spoils. Too, their half-naked bodies, collared and branded, make it difficult for them to conceal their excitement, or other emotions and feelings.
'He seems strong,' I said to Kenneth.
'Yes,' said Kenneth, not looking back, but continuing to wrap the leather about my hands.
'His body,' said I, 'is muchly scarred.'
'It should be,' said Kenneth. I did not understand his remark.
'Krondar!' cried free persons in the tiers.
'Jason!' cried others.
I looked to the tiers and there saw the proud and regal figure of Miles of Vonda. He was smiling. I recalled that he had once been one of the rejected suitors of the Lady Florence of Vonda. He was one of the main tharlarion ranchers in the area. I did not think so proud a man would have taken his rejection cooly. The Lady Florence was not this day present at the bouts. For no reason that was generally clear to her employees and slaves she had claimed to be currently indisposed, and had chosen to remain in seclusion in her house. When I had asked Kenneth about this, he had merely grinned, and asked, 'Do you not know?' 'Perhaps,' I had smiled.
Miles of Vonda gestured to one of the referee's men, and he removed the slave hood from the head of the burly man opposite me, across the sand.
'Aiii,' I whispered.
There was a gasp of horror from the crowd.
'This,' called another of the referee's men, pointing to the burly fellow, whose seconds were now removing the manacles from his wrists, freeing his hands from behind his back, 'is Krondar, newly purchased slave to Miles of Vonda, and new champion of his stables!'
Krondar struggled, but was held by his seconds. One of the referee's men whipped forth steel, a Gorean blade, short and wicked, and, leveling it, thrust it a quarter of an inch into the burly man's gut. Krondar ceased struggling. He well knew the meaning of Gorean steel. Such a blade, with little effort, can disappear into a body and divide flesh.
But Krondar's eyes sought mine. They were small, under hanging brows. His face was a mass of scar
