'Remain in the city,' I said. 'There you will be safe, there you will be secure.'
'No,' she said.
'No?' I asked.
'No,' she said, firmly. 'I am not yours. I do not need to obey you.' 'Assume a position on your hands and knees,' I told her.
'Yes,' I said. I removed a slave whip from my pack.
'I am free!' she said.
'I think it will do you good to feel this,' I said, shaking out the five, soft, broad blades. I then went behind her.
'Ai!' she cried, struck. 'It hurts, so!' she wept, now, a moment later, beginning to feel the pain in its fullness, now on her stomach, disbelief in her eyes. 'I did not know it was like that.'
'I struck you but once, and not hard,' I told her.
'That was not hard?' she gasped, striped, stung, sobbing, terrified.
'No,' I told her. 'Go back now to the city, and be safe.'
'No,' she sobbed. 'No!'
I crouched near her, looking at her closely.
'No,' she said. 'No, no!'
I regarded her.
'Please,' she said.
'Very well,' I said.
She looked at me, wildly, elated. I thrust her face down to the grass. She sobbed with relief, with pleasure. I drew forth a slave collar from my pack. Roughly, unceremoniously, I placed it on her neck, snapping it shut, locking it. 'Good,' said the merchant, turning away. 'Good,' said the two soldiers, too, turning away.
I regarded her.
She was now collared. She was now a slave. She was now mine.
She looked up at me, frightened. 'I am yours,' she whispered.
'Yes,' I said.
'Please strike me once more,' she said, 'that I may this time feel the blow as a slave.'
I said nothing.
'I want to feel your whip, as your slave,' she said.
'Very well,' I said. I then, by the hair and an arm, drew her again to her hands and knees. I again then stood behind her but this time I did not strike her immediately, but let her wait, as a slave, that she might anticipate the blow, and grow apprehensive of it, and not know precisely when it would fall. Then the blades hissed suddenly down upon her and again she cried out, sobbing, flung to the grass, which she clutched with her fingers. 'You punish me,' she said. 'You can do with me as you please. I am your slave! I am yours!'
I looked down upon her. She was not unattractive. I had not planned to take a slave with me from Samnium, but I did not truly object to doing so. She could cook for me, and serve me, and keep me warm in the furs. It was late in Se'Kara. I would find her a useful convenience, a lovely one. Every man needs such a convenience. Then, when I wished, I could give her away, or dispose of her in some market.
'Do you think you were struck hard?' I asked.
'I do not know, Master,' she said.
'You were not,' I informed her.
'Yes, Master,' she whispered, frightened, sensing what might have been done to her but had not been. To be sure, I had struck her harder than the first time, for she was now a slave, and slaves, of course, are whipped differently from free women, but I had not, truly, struck her with great force.
'Can men strike harder than that?' she asked.
'Do not be absurd,' I said. 'I struck you with only a tiny fraction of the force that an average fellow, if he wished, might bring to such a task. Too, I struck you only once, and in only one area, one less sensitive to pain than many others.'
'I see, Master,' she said, shuddering. She had then sensed what it might be to be a whipped slave girl. And whipping, of course, is only one of the punishments to which such a girl might be subjected. 'I will try to be a good slave, Master,' she whispered, frightened, understanding now perhaps some what better than before something of the categorical and absolute nature of her new condition.
'Who were you?' I asked.
'Lady Charlotte, of Samnium,' she said.
'Who are you?' I asked.
'A slave, only a slave, yours,' she said.
'What is your name?' I asked.
'I have no name,' she said. 'I have not yet been given one. My master has not yet given me a name.'
'Your responses are correct,' I said.
She sobbed with relief.
'Do you wish a name?' I asked.
'It is all within the will of the Master,' she said. 'I want only only what Master wants. I desire only to please.'
'It will be a convenience for me to have a name for you,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'You are, «Feiqa' I said, naming her. 'Thank you, Master,' she breathed, elated, 'Feiqa' is a lovely name. It is not unknown among dancers in the Tahari.
Other such names are 'Aytul' 'Benek', 'Emine', 'Faize', 'Mine', 'Yasemine' and ' Yasine'. The 'qa' in the name 'Feiqa', incidentally, is pronounced rather like 'kah' in English. I have not spelled it 'Feikah' in English because the letter in question, in the Gorean spelling, is a 'kwah' and not a 'kef'. The 'kwah' in Gorean, which I think is possibly related, directly or indirectly, to the English 'q', does not always have a 'kwah' sound. Sometimes it does, sometimes it does not; in the name 'Feiqa' it does not. Although this may seem strange to native English speakers, it is certainly not linguistically unprecedented. For example, in Spanish, certainly one of the major languages spoken on Earth, the letter 'q' seldom, if ever, has the 'kwah' sound. Even in English, of course, the letter 'q' itself is not pronounced with a 'kwah' sound, but rather with a 'k' or 'c' sound as in 'kue' or 'cue'.
I gathered my shield and weapons from the grass near us, where they lay with my pack. I slung my helmet over my left shoulder. I set my eyes to the southeast, away from the high gray walls of Samnium.
'Fetch my pack, Feiqa,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said. She would serve as my beast of burden.
I watched her as she, unaided, struggled with the pack. Then she had it on her back. Her back was bent. 'It is heavy, Master,' she said. I did not respond to her. She lowered her head, bearing the pack. The wind moved through the trampled grass. She shivered. It was now late in Se'Kara. Already on Thassa the winds would be chill and the cold waves would be dashing and plunging to the bulwarks and washing the decks with their cold floods. I regarded the girl. In warmer seasons, or warmer areas, one may take one's time in making the decision as to whether or not a female is to be permitted clothing. Some masters keep their slaves naked for a year or more. The girl is then grateful when, and if, she is permitted clothing, be it only a bit of cloth or some rag or other. In this latitude, however, and in this season, I would have to see to the slave's garmenture. I looked back at the discarded clothing on the grass. She could take none of that, of course It was no longer proper for her. It was the clothing of a free woman. That sort of thing was now behind her. I could have her fashion something from a rough blanket perhaps, and find her something to wrap her feet in. Too, I might be able to find her something, which might function as a cloak. That she could clutch about her head and shoulders.
'Do you know how to heel, Feiqa?' I asked.
'Yes, Master,' she said. She was a Gorean woman, familiar at least superficially with the duties and obligations of slaves. To be sure, as a recently free woman, she might perhaps find herself astounded and horrified at some of the things that would now, even routinely, be required of her. I did not know. Certain things which are not only common knowledge to slaves but, even a normal, familiar part of their lives seem to be scarcely suspected by free women. These are the sorts of things about which free women, horrified and scandalized, scarcely believing them, sometimes whisper, fearfully, delightedly, among themselves. Some Earth-
