'That,' I said, 'I would hear from the mouth of the Tatrix herself.' Dorna stiffened at the rebuff.
After a time the Tatrix, who had resumed her throne, spoke. Her voice was quiet. 'Sometimes, Stranger,' she said, 'it is hard to be First in Tharna.' I had not expected that answer.
I wondered what sort of woman was the Tatrix of Tharna, what lay concealed behind that mask of gold. For a moment I felt sorry for the golden creature before whose throne I knelt.
'As for you,' said Lara, her mask glittering down upon me, 'you admit that you did not steal the coins from Ost, and in this admission you admit that he gave them to you.'
'He thrust them in my hand,' I said, 'and ran.' I looked at the Tatrix. 'I came to Tharna to obtain a tarn. I had no money. With Ost' s coins I could have purchased one and continued my journey. Should I have thrown them away?'
'These coins,' said Lara, holding the tiny sack in her hand, gloved in gold, 'were to buy my death.'
'So few coins?' I asked skeptically.
'Obviously the full sum would follow upon the accomplishment of the deed,' she said.
'The coins were a gift,' I said. 'Or so I thought.'
'I do not believe you,' she said.
I was silent.
'What full sum did Ost offer you?' she asked.
'I refused to be a party to his schemes,' I said.
'What full sum did Ost offer you?' repeated the Tatrix.
'He spoke,' I said, 'of a tarn, a thousand golden tarn disks and provisions for a long journey.'
'Golden tarn disks — unlike those of silver — are scarce in Tharna,' said the Tatrix. 'Someone is apparently willing to pay highly for my death.' 'Not your death,' I said.
'Then what?' she asked.
'Your abduction,' I said.
The Tatrix stiffened suddenly, her entire body trembling with fury. She rose, seemingly beside herself with rage.
'Bloody the yoke,' urged Dorna.
Thorn stepped forward, his blade raised.
'No,' screamed the Tatrix, and, to the astonishment of all, herself descended the broad steps of the dais.
Shaking with fury she stood before me, over me, in her golden robes and mask. 'Give me the whip!' she cried. 'Give it to me!' The man with the wrist straps hastily knelt before her, lifting it to her hands. She snapped it cruelly in the air, and its report was sharp and vicious.
'So,' she said to me, both hands clenched on the butt of the whip, 'you would have me before you on the scarlet rug bound with yellow cords, would you?'
I did not understand her meaning.
'You would have me in a camisk and collar would you?' she hissed hysterically.
The women of the silver masks recoiled, shuddering. There were exclamations of anger, of horror.
'I am a woman of Tharna,' she screamed, 'First in Tharna! First!' Then, beside herself with rage, holding the whip in both hands, she lashed madly at me. 'It is the kiss of the whip for you!' she screamed. Again and again she struck me, yet through it all I managed to stay on my knees, not to fall.
My senses reeled, my body, tortured by the weight of the silver yoke, now wrapped in the flames of the whip, shook with uncontrollable agony. Then, when the Tatrix had exhausted herself, by some effort I find it hard to comprehend, I managed to stand on my feet, bloody, wearing the yoke, my flesh in tatters — and look down upon her.
She turned and fled to the dais. She ran up the steps and turned only when she stood at last before her throne. She pointed her hand imperiously at me, that hand wearing its glove of gold, now spattered with my blood, wet and dark from the sweat of her hand.
'Let him be used in the Amusements of Tharna!' she said.
Chapter Twelve: ANDREAS OF THE CASTE OF POETS
I had been hooded and driven through the streets, stumbling under the weight of the yoke. at last I had entered a building and had descended a long, swirling ramp, through dank passages. When I was unhooded, my yoke had been chained to the wall of a dungeon.
The place was lit by a small, foul tharlarion lamp set in the wall near the ceiling. I had no idea how far below ground it might be. The floor and the walls were of black stone, quarried in giant blocks of perhaps a tone apiece. The lamp dried the stone in its vicinity, but, on the floor and most of the walls, there was a dampness and the smell of mold. Some straw was scattered on the floor. From where I was chained, I could reach a cistern of water. A food pan lay near my foot.
Exhausted, my body aching from the weight of the yoke and the sting of tha lash, I lay on the stones and slept. How long I slept I didn' t know. When I awoke, each of my muscles ached, but now it was a dull, cold ache. I tried to move and my wounds tortured me.
In spite of the yoke I struggled to a cross-legged sitting position, and shook my head. In the food pan I saw half a loaf of coarse bread. Yoked as I was, there was no way to pick it up and get it to my mouth. I might crawl to it on my belly, and if my hunger were great enough, I knew I must, but the thought angered me. The yoke was not simply a device to secure a man, but to humiliate him, to treat him as if he were a beast.
'Let me help you,' said a girl' s voice.
I turned, the momentum of the yoke almost carrying me into the wall. Two small hands caught it, and struggling, managed to swing it back, keeping my balance.
I looked at the girl. Perhaps she was plain, but I found her attractive. There was a warmth in her I would not have expected to find in Tharna. Her dark eyes regarded me, filled with concern. Her hair, which was reddish brown, was bound behind her head with a coarse string.
As I gazed on her she lowered her eyes shyly. She wore only a single garment, a long, narrow rectangle of rough, brown material, perhaps eighteen inches in width, drawn over her head like a poncho, falling in front and back a bit above her knees and belted at the waist with a chain. 'Yes,' she said with shame. 'I wear the camisk.'
'You are lovely,' I said.
She looked at me, startled, yet grateful.
We faced each other in the half darkness of the dungeon, not speaking. There was no sound in that dark, cold place. The shadows of the tiny tharlarion lamp far above flickered on the walls, on the face of the girl. Her hand reached out and touched the silver yoke I wore. 'They are cruel,' she said.
Then, without speaking more, she picked up the bread from the pan, and held it for me. I bit two or three voracious mouthfuls of the coarse stuff and chewed it and gulped it down.
I noted her throat was encircled by a collar of grey metal. I supposed it indicated that she was a state slave of Tharna.
She reached into the cistern, first scraping the surface of the water to clear it of the green scum that floated there, and then, in the palms of her cupped hands, carried water to my parched lips.
'Thank you,' I said.
She smiled at me. 'One does not thank a slave,' she said.
'I thought women were free in Tharna,' I said, gesturing with my head toward the grey metal collar she wore.
'I will not be kept in Tharna,' she said. 'I will be sent from the city, to the Great Farms, where I will carry water to Field Slaves.'
'What is your crime?' I asked.
'I betrayed Tharna,' she said.
'You conspired against the throne?' I asked.
