'A magician?' he asked.
I smiled.
'The Delta Brigade,' he asked, 'the two of us?'
'I think there are more,' I said.
He looked at the delka, scratched on the exterior wall of the shop.
'You are curious as to its meaning, and its power?' I asked.
'Yes,' he said.
'So, too, am I,' I said.
'I am afraid,' he said.
'So, too, am I' I said.
'And what of this?' asked Marcus, indicating the chest on the street, near us. 'Bring it along,' I said.
'What are we going to do with it?' he asked.
'You will see,' I said.
'You saw her mouth was uncovered,' he said. 'She belongs with other lewd women in the loot pits of the Anbar district, awaiting their brands and collars.'
'With other needful women,' I said.
'She is a slave slut,' he said.
'And will perhaps one day find her rightful master,' I said.
'What are we going to do with her?' he asked.
'You will see,' I said.
We then went to the chest. 'Help me lift it,' I said.
In a moment we had it in hand. It was a bit bulky to be easily carried by one man, but it was not heavy.
We felt its contents more within it.
12 The Countries of Courage
'Put it down here,' I said.
We were in a deserted alleyway, about two pasangs from the shop, rather between it and the Anbar district. It might well appear that we had been on our way to that district.
'Over her, more,' I said. Marcus and I put the chest against one wall, that it might not move further in that direction. I then stepped back a bit and forcibly, with the flat of my foot, with four or five blows, kicked back the side of the chest, forcing it some inches inward, breaking it muchly from the ends, tearing it free of the nails and the lid. I delivered similar blows to the two ends of the chest, splintering it loose of nails and the back. the girl within cried out in misery. I then, with my hands, seizing it, now muchly freed, flung up the lid, revealing her within, and she cried out again, and hid her head, putting her hands over it. She lay there, terrified, among the splinters and nails, the sides and ends muchly loosened, collapsed about her. I then turned to the shambles of the chest to its side, spilling her to the stones of the alley. Shuddering she was on her belly to us and crawled to my feet, pressing her lips to them.
'She desires to please, as a slave,' observed Marcus.
'Do you object?' I asked.
She now pressed her lips similarly upon the feet of Marcus.
'No,' he said. 'She is obviously a slave, and is both comely and desirable. Too, she is of Ar, and all of the women of Ar should be slaves.'
She then knelt before us, the palms of her hands on the stones, her head down to them, as well.
'Doubtless she has seen slaves kneel in such a way,' said Marcus.
'Probably,' I said. It was a common position of slave obeisance.
'She is a slave,' he said.
'She is frightened,' I said.
'She is a slave,' he said.
'That, too,' I granted him.
'Look up, girl,' said Marcus.
She looked up, frightened.
'Are you a slave?' asked Marcus.
Her lip trembled.
'She is legally free,' I pointed out.
'Are you a slave?' pressed Marcus.
'Yes,' she whispered.
'Yes, what?' he asked.
'Yes, Master,' she whispered. I suspected she had used that word to men before only in her imagination, or speaking it softly to her pillow in the night. 'Legally free,' he said, 'but still a slave, and rightfully so?' he asked. 'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Lacking only the legalities of the brand and collar?' he asked.
'Yes, Master!' she said.
'Yet she is young to be a slave,' I said.
'Do you think we cannot be slaves?' she asked.
'Some men enjoy them,' said Marcus, 'squirming in the furs, panting, begging for more.'
The girl closed her eyes, and sobbed. I wondered if she understood these things. 'She is young,' I said.
'Do you scorn me for my youth?' she asked. 'Do you think we do have feelings? Do you think we are not yet capable of love, that we are not yet women? You are wrong! How little you understand us! We are young and desirable, and ready to serve!'
'You are young,' I said. 'Your surrender cannot be the full surrender of the mature woman, the woman experienced in life, the woman who has come to understand the barrenness of the conventions by which she is expected to abide, who has discerned the vacuity of the principles to which she is expected to mindlessly subscribe, who has learned the emptiness of the roles imposed upon her by society, roles alien to, and inimical to, the needs of her deepest self. You are not such a woman, a full, mature, knowledgeable, cognizant woman, a woman profoundly in touch with her passion and deepest self, one who has come to understand that her only hope for true happiness and fulfillment lies in obedience, love and service, one craving the collar, one yearning for a master.'
'No, no, no!' she wept. 'I am young, but I am a woman, and alive! Do you think that intelligence and maturity are prerogatives only of such as you! No! I am quick at my studies! I am alert! I think much! I am dutiful! I want to make a man happy, truly happy, in the fullest dimensions of his being, not a part of him, leaving the rest to hide, or shrivel and die! I cannot know my bondage if he does not learn his mastery! Why should his birthright be denied to him, and mine to me? As the master needs the slave so, too, the slave needs the master! I was taken aback by her words. I recalled how quietly she had lain in the box, that her veil had been disarranged when first the guardsmen, and Marcus and myself, had looked upon her. She was undoubtedly of high intelligence. Such is valued considerably, of course, in a slave. It makes them much better slaves. How much more tactful, sensitive and inventive are intelligent slaves! Indeed, the intelligence of some slaves blossoms in bondage, seemingly at last finding the apt environment for its flowering. To be sure, when a girl knows she may feel the lash for a mistake, she tends to become considerably more alert. 'What have we here,' asked Marcus, 'a little scribe?'
'I am no stranger to scrolls,' she said.
'You are still young,' I said.
'That does not mean I cannot feel,' she said. 'That does not mean I am stupid.' I had no doubt that in time she would make an excellent slave. Indeed, I could well imagine her, even now, serving in a house, deferentially, with belled ankles.
'I heard one speaking earlier,' she said, 'of the loot area in the district of Anbar.'
'Can you not wait to be shackled and thrown into the loot pits with other women, to await the collar and
