I put the small garment on the broad, dark-stained, polished boards of the floor near my feet, behind the screen. I then began to remove the veils -and robes of concealment.
'There is no place back here,' I said, 'to put my garments.'
'Put them on the top of the screen,' be said. I will fold them and place them on the chest.' I did this, reaching above my head to place them on the top of the screen. He then removed them from this location.
'You are to be barefoot,' he said.
I removed my slippers and put them to the left side of the screen. I saw his hand take them.
I then removed the remainder of my garments, and saw them, from the top of the screen disappear. Now, behind the screen, I was naked. Only an inch of wood separated me from such a man. I wished that I had retained some of my other garments behind the screen, if only for psychological security. I felt the dark, polished floor beneath my bare feet.
I felt the air of the room, behind the screen, on my body. I touched the screen lightly with my finger tips.
'Are you ready?' he asked.
'No!' I said. I hastily, trembling, crouched down and sieized up the small bit of cloth I had placed at my feet. I moaned, inwardly. It was so light, tiny and short. it would be dismayingly revealing. Surely such garments are an insult to a woman, I thought, forcing her to show how beautiful she is, to anyone who might care to look upon her. I drew it over my head and pulled it down, desperately, about my body. It was a gray, beltless, one-piece garment of rep cloth, with inch-wide straps over the shoulders. I tugged it down, at the hem, at the sides, trying to make it cover more of my thighs.
'Are you ready?' he asked.
'Yes,'.' I said, faltering.
'Step forth,' he said.
I came forth, from about the edge of the screen.
'Aiiii,' he said, softly, to himself.
This response pleased me.
'Stand there,' he said, indicating a place on the floor.
I went to where he had indicated.
'Now turn, slowly, and then face me,' he said.- I did so.
'Are my legs pretty?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'But your face and figure, as a whole, are also quite pretty.' 'You find my pleasing, then?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said. 'Indeed, I had not supposed that the Tatrix of Corcyrus would prove to be such a beauty.'
'Surely, then,' I smiled, 'I would be worth at least a silver tarsk.' 'There are many beautiful women in the markets,' he said. 'You are untrained.' 'Oooh,' I said.
'Come here,' he said, 'and remove my cloak. Then fold it, and place it on the chest.'
I did so.
'Now return to where you were, facing me.'
I did so.
'The Tatrix of Corcyrus does not often remove cloaks for gentlemen,' I informed him. I did not tell him, of course, how I had almost trembled being so near him, and how pleased I was to have performed this small service for him.
He did not respond but continued to gaze upon me, as though studying me. My scanty garb, of course, I understood, invited such scrutiny.
'Few men,' I said, 'have looked upon the Tatrix of Corcyrus clad in this fashion.'
'Stand, straighter,' he said.
I did so.
'Doubtless they would think of her somewhat differently, if they saw her clad like this,' I said.
'Or any woman,' he said.
'Of course,' I said. I shuddered to think how men might think of women clad like this.
'The garment,' he said, 'is perhaps too modest.'
'Too modest?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said, 'but it will perhaps do. I tried to find a garment which would be both serviceable for our purposes and, at the same time, considerate, within the limitations of our project, of your modesty. That explains the neckline which does not plunge to your belly, revealin much of the beauty of your breasts, and the hemline, which is surely something less than slave short. I pulled down the sides of the garment. It seemed quite short to me.
'It does not even have a nether closure,' I said to him.
'In that it is authentic,' he said. 'Such a closure, or the lines of a lower garment, affording such a closure, would be instantly detected by slaves.' 'I see,' I said.
'The slave, at any instant,' he said, 'is to be available to the master.' 'I see,' I said.
'Do you wish to continue with this project?' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
'I will. take you into the house as though you might be a new girl or a fresh capture. This will explain why you are not in a collar. It will also make plausible your lack of a brand, should the matter arise. Your garment, incidentally, is ng enough to cover most common brand sites. That you are totally free woman, and not a slave, or a capture enroute to collar, will be known to several members of the staff.
They will, accordingly, refrain from handling you as though you were such a slave or capture, for example, stripping you, rrying you through the halls with whips, and so on. Certain other members of the staff will not know that you are free. I all take it upon myself to protect you from them. The pose a jealous captor should suffice. The slaves, of course, will not know you are free. They will think you are merely a new either a slave or one who, optionless, will soon be reduced to their status, one who will then be no more than they.
'No one will know, even high members of the staff, Will they,' I asked, 'that I am actually the Tatrix of Corcyrus.'
'No,' he said. 'They will know only that you are a free woman.' 'Good,' I said.
'Come here,' he said, pointing to a place before him. I went there and stood there, before him. It was not far from the couch, behind him. The couch was a large, square one, with, in its foot, the slave ring, an almost inevitable feature, it seemed, in Gorean domiciles. There was a small mat, and blanket, both rolled up, beneath the slave ring. They would doubtless be used there by a chained slave, if the master permitted it.
I glanced about the room. It was spacious, well-lit, comfortable and private. I wondered if free men and free women ever met in such places, for affairs. But then I glanced again at the slave ring. It seemed more likely that a man might bring a slave here, perhaps one rented for the afternoon or evening. I looked at Drusus Rencius. How could a free woman, I thought, ever compete with a slave? 'Drink this,' said Drusus Rencius.
What is it?' I asked, startled. It seemed be had produced this almost by magic. It was a soft, leather botalike flask drawn from within his tunic.
'Slave wine,' he said.
'Need I drink that?' I asked, apprehensively.
'Unless you have had slave wine,' he said, 'I have no intention of taking you through the streets clad as you are. Suppose you are raped.'
I put the flask, which he had opened, to my lips. Its opening was large enough to drink freely from. 'It is bitter!' I said, touching my lips to it. 'It is the standard concentration, and dosage,' be said, 'plus a little more, for assurance. Its effect is indefinite, but it is normally renewed annually, primarily for symbolic purposes.
I could not believe how bitter it was. I had learned from Susan, whom I had once questioned on the matter, the object. It is prepared from a derivative of sip root. The formula, too, I had learned, at the insistence of masters and slavers, had been improved by the caste of physicians within the last few years. It was now, for most practical purposes, universally effective. Too, as Drusus Rencius bad mentioned, its effects, at least for most practical purposes, lasted indefinitely.
'Have no fear,' said Drusus Rencius. 'Me abatement of its effects is reliably achieved by the ingestion of a
