Men cried out with pleasure.
Floor movements are among the most stimulatory aspects of slave dance.
I regarded her. She was not bad. She was, of course, not trained. A connoisseur of slave dance, I suppose, might have pointed out errors in the pointing of a toe, the extension of a limb, the use of a hand, not well framing the body, not subtly inviting the viewer's eye inward, and so on, but, on the whole, she was definitely not bad. Given her lack of training, a lack which could, of course, be easily remedied, she was not bad, really. Much of what she did, I suppose, is instinctual in a woman. Too, of course, she was dancing for her life.
She writhed well, an utterly helpless, begging slave.
Then the music was finished and she was before us, kneeling, her head down, in submission to Samos. She lifted her head to regard Samos, her master. She searched his face fearfully, for the least sign of her fate. It was he who would decide whether she would live or die.
'It is my hope, Master,' she said, 'that in time I might not prove totally unacceptable as a slave.'
'You may approach,' said Samos.
She did not dare to rise to her feet. She crawled, head down, on her hands and knees, to the edge of the table. There, near the table, she put her head down and kissed the tiles. Then, rising up a little and approaching further, still on her hands and knees, she turned her head, delicately, and kissed the edge of the table, her lips touching partly the surface of the table, partly its side.
'Do you beg to live?' he asked.
'Yes, I beg to live, my Master,' she said.
'On what terms?' he asked.
'Your terms, Master,' she said, 'only as a total slave.'
'Kneel,' said Samos.
She knelt, back on her heels.
Some of the men of Samos had now gathered about, near the table.
'For the moment, at least,' said Samos, 'you will not be thrown to sleen.'
'Thank you, Master!' she cried. 'Thank you, my Master!'
Samos then nodded to one of the men standing about, the burly oarsman from whom earlier, eluding him, she had danced away.
He took her wrists and tied them together, with her own hair, before her body, leaving a length of the hair for a leading tether.
She looked up at the oarsman.
'See that you continue to prove adequate,' said Samos.
'yes, Master!' she said.
She was then drawn to her feet by the hair tether and, bound, was led across the tiles to the oarsman's place.
'Tula!' called a man. 'Let Tula dance!'
Several men shouted their agreement to this. A long-legged brunette was thrust to the center of the tiles. She had high cheekbones, a tannish skin and a golden collar. Her bit of silk was ripped from her.
'Tula!' cried men, and, sensuously, she lifted her arms, and standing, excitingly posed, awaited the instruction of the music. She would show the men what true dancing could be.
Across the room I saw she who had been Lady Rowena of Lydius, her arms, her wrists still bound with her own hair, about the neck of the oarsman. His hands were one her. Her lips were pressed fervently to his. He lowered her to the tiles beside his table.
The music began and Tula danced. I saw other girls moving closer to the tables, subtly taking more prominent positions, hoping perhaps thereby to be more visible to the men. Tula was Samos' finest dancer. There was much competition among his girls for the second position. My own finest dancer was a wench named Sandra. Some others, for example, Arlene, Janice, Evelyn, Mira and Vella, were also quite good.
She who had been the former Lady Rowena of Lydius suddenly cried out.
'It is your move,' I told Samos.
'I know,' he said.
He moved his Ubara's Rider of the High Tharlarion to Ubara's Builder Three. This seemed a weak move. It did open the Ubara's Initiate's Diagonal. My Ubar's Rider of the High Tharlarion was amply protected. I utilized the initial three-space option of the Ubar's Scribe's Spearman. I would then, later, bring the Ubar's Builder to Ubar's Scribe One, to bring pressure to bear on the Ubar's Scribe's file. Samos did not seem to be playing his usual game. His opening, in particular, had been erratic. he had prematurely advanced significant pieces, and then had lost time in withdrawing them. It was as though he had desired to take some significant action, or had felt that he should, but had been unwilling to do so.
He moved a spearman, diffidently.
'That seems a weak move,' I said.
He shrugged.
I brought the Ubar's Builder to Ubar's Scribe One. To be sure, his opening had caused me to move certain pieces more than once in my own opening.
Tula now swayed lasciviously, insistently, forwardly, before the table. I saw Linda, kneeling somewhat behind Samos, regard her with fury. Slave girls commonly compete shamelessly for the favor of the master. Tula, with those long, tannish legs, the high cheekbones, the wild, black hair, the golden collar, was very beautiful. It is pleasant to own women. But Samos paid her little, or no, attention. With a toss of her head she spun away. She would spend the night in the arms of another.
Samos made another move and so, too, did I.
I heard soft gasps and cries from across the room, the fall of a goblet, and squirming. The former Lady Rowena of Lydius's hands were no longer bound but they were now held above and behind her head, each wrist in the hands of a different man. She was on her back, thrown across one of the low tables.
Tonight, Samos seemed off his game.
I wondered if anything might be wrong.
'Did you want to see me?' I asked. It was unusual for Samos to invite me to his holding simply for a game of kaissa.
He did not respond. He continued to regard the board. Samos played well, but he was not an enthusiast for the game. he had told me once he preferred a different kaissa, one of politics and men.
'I do not think you brought m e here to play kaissa,' I said.
He did not respond.
'Guard your Ubar,' I said.
He withdrew the piece.
'have you heard aught of Kurii?' I asked.
'Little or nothing,' he said.
Our last major source of information on this matter, as far as I knew, had come from a blond slave named Sheila. I recalled her kneeling naked before us, the slave harness cinched on her in such a way as to enhance her beauty. She had spoken obediently, and volubly, but she had been able, all in all, to help us but little. Kurii, doubtless as a security measure, entrust little vital information to their human agents. She had once been the Tatrix of Corcyrus. She now belonged to Hassan of Kasra, often called Hassan, the Slave Hunter. I had once been in Kasra. It is a river port on the Lower Fayeen. It is important in the Tahari salt trade. When Samos had finished with her, she had, at the command of Hassan, still in the harness, served the pleasure of both of us. She was then hooded. The last time I saw her Hassan had put her in the bottom of a longboat at Samos' steps, descending to the canal. He had tied her ankles together and pulled them up behind her body, fastening them there with a strap passed through a ring at the back of the slave harness. I suspected she would not be freed from the hood, except for its lifting to feed and water her, for days, not until she was in Hassan's keep in Kasra. I had little doubt he would see to it that she served him well.
I nodded. From the testimony of Sheila, and other sources which seemed to corroborate it, we gathered that the Kurii might now be turning to the patient stratagems of piecemeal subversion, the control of cities and their eventual linkages in networks of power, to win a world by means theoretically within the laws and decrees of Priest-Kings. Indeed, for such a strategy to eventually prove successful, it seemed not unlikely they would have at
