Telnarian Histories 01, The Chieftain

The Telnarian Histories Trilogy

The Telnarian Histories (1991-1993) are a series of three space opera novels which express philosophical messages consistent with those of author John Norman. Its individual components:

1. The Chieftain 1991 2. The Captain 1992 3. The King 1993

The Telnarian Histories were critically and popularly regarded as an unfortunate deviation from the Chronicles of Gor, perhaps due to a combination of Norman's unconvincing attempts to be a futurist (directly introducing a large number of Imperial Roman social customs and names of early Germanic tribes into his account of a declining galactic empire, for example) and his departing from many of the conventions of his already established Gor legacy.

The Chieftain (The FIRST book in the Telnarian Histories series) (1991) A novel by John Norman

June 2009 : Paperback Title: The Chieftain (The Telnarian Histories, Vol 1) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 1585867179/ 9781585867172 (USA edition) Publisher: e-reads.com

September 1991 : Paperback Title: The Chieftain (The Telnarian Histories, Vol 1) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 0446361496 / 978-0-446-36149-1 (USA edition) Publisher: Warner Book The Telnarian Histories

The Chieftain John Norman *** This book is dedicated to all who disapprove of blacklisting. ***

PROLOGUE "In this year war was carried on with the Aatii." —The Annals. The above entry is not untypical of the dark and troubled times to which I should like, in what follows, to devote my attention. I suppose one might distinguish between history and chronicle, though the distinction must surely be one of grades, or shades, rather than of kinds, for there is seldom a history which does not clearly contain chronicle, nor a chronicle which does not, at least implicitly, recount a history. We do not know, incidentally, who kept the Annals. Quite possibly they were set down by a succession of individuals, men who occupied remote, fortified places, places within which the most precious of the treasures of Telnaria might be kept safe, the ability to read and write. "In this year war was carried on with the Aatii." This entry, with which I have begun, surely approximates to pure chronicle. There is doubtless an explanation for this. The men of the remote, fortified places had, for most practical purposes, turned their backs on history and the world. Such matters had little left in them to interest them. They had little to do with their studies, and the pursuit of their personal salvation, to assure which they may have withdrawn from the world. Also, they probably knew very little about the world they had left, perhaps some gossip, some remarks, picked up from

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merchants or traders. Yet they did keep the chronicles. Indeed, were it not for such sources we would know much less than we do about the dark and troubled times. "In this year war was carried on with the Aatii." If one listens carefully, perhaps one can hear, beneath this laconic sentence, the ships, the roar of the engines, the bursting of the shells, the blare of trumpets, the hiss of weaponry, the running feet, the screams, even the clash of steel. Not all entries in the Annals, of course, are so terse. I have chosen this one because, you see, my story begins in the year referred to in this particular entry, the year, one of several, actually, in which war was carried on with the Aatii. I have wondered sometimes why men tell stories. I suspect they have always done so. In the beginning perhaps they danced them, or drew them. A man is, after all, a story-telling animal. One needs no reason to tell a story, or to sing. Those are nice things about stories, and about singing. Perhaps the story, the song, like seeing, and thinking and breathing, if you like, is its own justification, its own reason. I shall, in what follows, speak in simple, familiar terms, for these are the terms in the light of which we live and understand ourselves, and the worlds, both those without and those within. I shall ignore then the terrors of distance, the puzzles and paradoxes of time, her crevices, the clashing and grinding of her walls, the opening and closing, like the coming and going of tides, of her gates. Though these figure in our story they have little to do with it.

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It is raining outside. Water runs down the casement. It gathers on the sill. I think the vastness of it is what is most frightening. Perhaps, in the corner of some droplet of water, perhaps even one at hand, one lingering on the sill of the casement, some tiny, infinitesimal creature, one in which has just arisen the first glimmering of consciousness, trembles at the awesomeness of his universe. And perhaps we, ourselves, and all our time and space, and our history, and all the vastness of our own universe, those plenitudes before which we tremble, lie only upon another sill, inhabiting merely another droplet, somewhere. But the magnitude of man is not measured in the quantity of his being, that he lingers for such and such a time in such and such a place, a small time, in a small place, or that his frame contains so many cubits or less, but in his heart and soul, as tiny, as foul and dark as they may be. He, in his tiny place and time, may do deeds, and in these deeds he stands among the loftiest, farthest of stars. A smile, a gesture, an upraised fist, a laugh, a song, with these things, seemingly so small in themselves, he exceeds dimensions, he challenges all time and space. Greatness, you see, is not measured in size. The magnitude of man is not measured in cubits. We must understand that, in the dark and troubled times, the billions of worlds met, in the course of their turnings, their billions of mornings and evenings, and seasons came and went, as usual, and vegetations waxed and waned, as was their wont, and so, too, men, and other

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creatures, some like men and some not so like them, came to be, and suffered and died. Those times, you see, were not so different from our own. I have not written this history to edify or instruct. I have not written it to praise or blame. I have not even written it, really, to explain, or understand, for who can, truly, understand such things. My purpose, rather, is a simple one, merely to tell what happened. Early in the dark and troubled times the wings of the Telnarian empire still spread over galaxies. My story begins on the provincial world of Terennia, in an arena.

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Notes pertaining to manuscript 122B Valens: 1. The Chronicler: We do not know, at this time, at any rate, the identity of the chronicler, or historian, responsible for this particular version of the Telnarian histories. This, however, is common with the various manuscripts. It is interesting to speculate on this. Perhaps, when they sang, or wrote, they knew well who they were, and it did not occur to them that their names might be lost, blown away in the winds of time. Perhaps they thought their names would stand forever. Indeed, how many

founders

of

cities

and

nations,

occupants

of

thrones,

commanders of armies, wielders of scepters, discoverers and claimers of worlds, have not subscribed to a similar delusion. In most cases, we do not even know who named the planets in our own system. How many immortals have died, how many imperishable gods, and peoples, have perished! But one suspects that the reasons lay elsewhere, that the investment of the time, and toil, the pain and love, was not to procure the glory of their own names, but to make a thing of meaning, of beauty and significance. These are not the men to whom "I made this" is all-important; rather they are the men to whom "This has been made" is all that matters. It is not even clear whether the chronicler, or historian, here is a single person, or more than one person, nor whether the manuscript was written rather at the same time, or has been added to, and glossed, at different times. Clearly the chronicler, or chroniclers, had at

their disposal

various manuscripts, and

documents, which, as far as we know, are no longer extant. Some scholars, and commentators, from various details, have speculated that the narrator's relationship to the story may be more intimate than

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appears upon the surface. This seems to me unlikely, but much is obscure. 2. The manuscripts: We have known of the existence of the Telnarian histories for several hundred years, but, initially, only in virtue of some references, which seemed quite clear, and several seeming allusions, less clear, more disputable, in certain classical authors, notably Asclepiodorus, Singer of Olrion; Chi Tung, to whom is attributed the founding of the imperial academy at Hinan; Umake, counselor of Kreon, lord of Corathon; Philip, count of the Taurine Marches, who apparently composed his works in exile; Regius, tutor of Urik, tyrant, and third elector, of Kash; Leland, courtier of Lemanthine; and Heiband, the Benellian, who once served as secretary to Loren, prince of the Rosterdam Gates. The first actual Telnarian histories, or fragments thereof, came to light four hundred years ago, when a cache containing them was accidentally opened by workmen engaged in the construction of the Andirian Canal. As sometimes happens, once the existence of such things is indisputably established, and authenticated, a serious search was undertaken in numerous archives, libraries and treasuries. To the embarrassment of scholarship more than forty versions of the histories, or fragments thereof, were found cataloged, and apparently forgotten, in almost as many locations. The manuscripts, of course, were derivative, being copies of copies, and so on. One of the puzzles concerning many of these manuscripts is why their existence was not more clearly established, and understood, earlier. The various versions are clearly of different ages, and different hands. It is not as though

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they were written at the same time, or copied at the same time, or even cataloged, at the same time. Perhaps original documents, suggested by the classical references, were forged, but, if so, why were these "forgeries" not brought to light, that their perpetrators might then attempt to reap what profits they might? Some of these fragments tend to reciprocally authenticate one another, and yet others seem utterly independent. It is almost as if these various manuscripts were placed, in one century or another, in one location or another. Their origins remain obscure. Perhaps, somewhere, in some dim archive, other such manuscripts exist, remaining to be found. It is difficult to say. The current manuscript is that known as the Valens manuscript, because it was found in the ducal library of the district of Valens, one of the minor duchies of the Talois Confederation. It is known as 122B, following the system devised by the collegium of Harcourt, to which institution the original trove, consisting of more than one hundred manuscripts, primarily fragments, was referred. This particular manuscript, portions of which I have prepared for the press, is unusual among the manuscripts, as it deals on a personal level with affairs of states, movements of men, the destinies of nations and worlds, such matters as seen by individuals involved in them. In such a sense the vast pageants involved, the sweeping biographies of empires and peoples, are only dimly hinted at. What a tiny particle of space and time falls within the brief purview of any individual! We are but specks on a cosmic sea. In this manuscript one discerns, and this seems precious to me, not so much the vast tides of time and space, the configuration of those awesome seas, understood in terms of

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charts of currents and winds, but what it was, at a given time, to be embarked upon them. The manuscript may have been glossed. I have, in certain places, set certain materials in italics. These italicized portions of the manuscript almost invariably provide background information without which certain actions and events in the story would be obscure. Some regard the glosses as interpolations by an independent hand, to supply later readers

with

political,

historical

and

religious

background.

My

hypothesis with respect to such passages is that they are by one, and the original, author, and constitute glosses, if they are even to be understood as such, which seems to me unlikely, on his own work. Certain statistical studies of a linguistic nature support this theory, that of the single author, both in the more narrative and in the more expository or explanatory remarks, without which the narrative passages might seem less intelligible. 3. Telnaria: There seems no reason to doubt the existence, at one time, of Telnaria, and her empire. Too many records, too many allusions, too many stories and legends, too many ancient place names, too much linguistic

evidence,

embedded in

current

languages,

too

much

archaeological evidence, now-silent beacons, debris, claiming stones, coins struck by barbarous kings bearing the devices of an empire perhaps even then little but a memory and a legend, support the hypothesis. In the legends Telnaria seems mythic to us, but, indubitably, at the

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bottom of such myths there once lay a far-flung, bright, formidable, perhaps even terrible reality. The location of the empire in time and space remains obscure, as do those modalities of being themselves. It is usually assumed that Telnaria has fallen, and long ago. But this is not actually clear, even in the manuscripts. Perhaps the empire has only drawn back a border, that it will later fling forth again, with a hand of iron. Some think that the Telnarian world lies before us, that it is our own world, others think that it was once our world, others that it recurs, coming again and again, perhaps as our own might, in the cycles of nature, in years so large and meaningless as to baffle our comprehension. Some speculate, interestingly, as suggested above, that the empire never fell, but survives, that it exists even today, and that we are but a lonely, isolated world, forgotten, or neglected, for a time, and that one day the ships will return, demanding their claiming stones, their taxes, their tribute. Who knows. Perhaps Telnaria lies at our elbow, and at that of other worlds, as well, our sleeves perhaps brushing, now and again, a column, unnoticed, in a temple not antique but one fresh and golden, consecrated but a moment ago. Can you not see the processions of robed priests, detect the bells, hear the chanting of the choirs, smell the incense? Universes, you see, might not be parallel, or fully so. Perhaps, now and then, they touch one another, and a corridor, as sudden as the snapping of an electric spark, forms a crossroads between realities, perhaps intersecting for a moment, or perhaps longer, perhaps forever, at certain points. Are there such portals, such gates? Let us believe that Telnaria is past, for I would not care to glimpse the pennons of her fleets upon the horizon, nor hear the tread of her legions in the night. In our own small galaxy there are more than a billion stars, and for

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each of these stars, another galaxy can be glimpsed beyond. Sometimes one is afraid. Which of us, at one time or another, has not heard the cry of a distant voice? Which of us has never heard a footfall behind him? Once, long ago, you see, when I was very young, for the briefest instant, my sleeve did brush such a column.

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CHAPTER 1 It is odd, sometimes, how one notices little things, the way a step is splintered, the eleventh, rather at the corner, on the climb to the platform, how a cloud, over the rooftops, seen from the height of the platform, moves in the wind, like a flag, how a board is stained near a block, how the patterns of dryness and dampness, and, here and there, a bead of dew, appear on the fiber of the rope, and exactly how it hangs from the hook, slack, bent a little, not yet straight, not yet taut. One supposes such things are there to be noticed always, the lie of a pebble, the way a blade of grass bends, such things, but often one does not notice them, nor, I suppose, generally, should one. There is not much economy in doing so. Often other things are more important, much more so, the shadows cast by the great stones, the scent of a cat in the wind, the hum of an engine, far off, in the darkness. But when one has nothing much else to do, and one must choose how to spend a last handful of perceptions, one, or at least some, grow curious about little things, a splinter, a stain on a board, a drop of dew on a rope. It is surprising to realize just how meaningful, and beautiful, such things are. Too, at such a time, one sees with great vividness. At such times, life gleams. It had been some thousands of years since the skies had come alive. Oh, there had doubtless been sightings even before that, long before that, the detections of the scout ships, not known for what they were, and such, but records of those sightings, if, indeed, they had been made, were now lost. Some things will not be seen for what they are. One refuses to understand them. One looks upon them but refuses to

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see them. The defense mechanism is a familiar one, common to the rational species. And so the day the sky came alive came as a surprise to the old world, one far from this one, as it had to hundreds of other worlds before. Evidence, later clear, had been understood in terms of misleading categories of interpretation, old categories, comfortable categories, categories more acceptable. The hints had been neglected, save by some fanatics. Sometimes, of course, only the insane can see a certain form of truth, one which is beyond sanity, as it is then understood. But even so, one does not listen to the insane, and one always hopes that a truth, like some of the cats, not looked in the eye, will go away. The deep archives, later ransacked by historians, unwilling to accept the abruptness of the advent of the ships, were silent. But all that took place long ago, and much in it, even today, remains obscure. He knelt in the deep, warm white sand. It was late afternoon. The sun was warm on his back and shoulders, as in the fields. He was a large man, unusually so, particularly for one who had been raised in a festung village, one of the villages in the vicinity of a high, fortified place. He noticed the sand, as one might on such an occasion. Light sparkled here and there among the grains, flashing from some tiny crystalline surfaces, suitably oriented to the sun. An ant, as we shall call the tiny social insect, came within his view, going about its

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business, trekking its awesome hills and valleys. He watched it, with interest. He had never really considered such creatures before, except to remove them from his tunic or blankets. To the ant, he supposed, this day was no different from a thousand others. He could also detect, what he had never noticed before, the shadow of the ant, moving with it, hurrying a little before it. Many worlds, of course, had, long ago, offered resistance to the ships. The ships had not won their worlds, or many of them, with ease. In many cases steel had met steel. Had it not been the case the ships might have come centuries earlier. Sometimes the issue had been genuinely in doubt. Long ago, you see, the ships had not their reputation of invincibility, casting centuries before them their image of power and terror. There was a time when standards stood against standards. There had been the wars with the Valeii and the Torinichi, that with the system of Aurelian, those with the Genteii, and their systems, and, later, with the federation of the thousand suns, and, even later, entire galaxies became battlefields of unimaginable scope. Ships, in vistas of spinning, clashing millions, thousands of navies, wrought out the destinies of universes in silence. Armies, bred on millions of worlds, over thousands of years, beached on millions of worlds. Planets swam in blood. Boundaries extended now, it was said, beyond the territories of the former Hermidorian and Vincenzian alliances, beyond the 712th, the 808th, and the 1161st galaxies. The claiming stones of the ships, some vestige of a primitive rite, the origins of which were lost in time, had been set on innumerable worlds, the claiming beacons within a thousand galaxies. This had not taken place, of course, in a short while, not in a rotation of gigantic Cyline 7, nor even within an orbit of the Comet of Hilbreth, but it had

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taken place. For more than a million years the ships had left their orbits, burning forth in the quiet night of space. In the beginning, it was said, there had been only one world, a primitive world, and only a few ships, ships which could not, at that time, even traverse galactic space. Then there had been seven worlds, and then others, and others. There seemed no obvious reason why that particular world, a seemingly insignificant world, not particularly endowed with resources, not much different from millions of others, rather than any other, or any world, should have accomplished what it did. Many were the historians who sought, lengthily, unconvincingly, to penetrate the secret of its success. To be sure, ruthless conquest had been followed by surprising consideration, bewildering the prostrate and subdued, by lenient levies and tributes, by invitations to alliances, in dozens of forms and, in some cases, eventually, and more later than before, in the extension of the citizenship itself. Much was the iron gauntlet of war feared, in all its merciless, bloody weightiness, and rightly so, but when that heavy fist opened, it held, more often than not, to the amazement, gratitude and consternation of the defeated, the branch of tolerance, of friendship. For the most part the ships left behind them not enemies but friends, grateful, loyal allies. To be sure, it was not always so. Some planets were riven to the core, even their tiniest stones atomized; others were ruined, thousands of square latimeasures burned black and desolate; in some entire planetary populations were placed in chains and transported to processing worlds, for shipment to the markets of ten thousand worlds, their world itself then itself reduced to no more than an orbiting cinder, a monitory instruction to passing ships. Such object lessons, dark and obdurate, in their subtle,

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unspoken delicacy, were not easily ignored. It was speculated that they had their role to play in the programs, the policies, of intergalactic power. Kneeling in the sand, he watched the ant, the tiny, nine-legged insect, blind, the odd leg like a walking stick poking quickly about before it. In the myths it was said the claiming stones flowed in meteor rivers as far away as the sunless worlds of Sheol, that they reached even to the lofty halls of Kragon, the long-forgotten god of war. He watched the insect. It was having difficulty climbing a small hill, no more than an inch in height. It slipped back, again and again. Certain it was that they had, only a century ago, extended to the molten deserts of Saritan, first born of the yellow star, Nobius, to the plains of Gurthan, to the seas of Hysporus, to the Odonian forests, even to the remote ice mountains of tiny Durniak 11. He was, at this point, kneeling docilely in the sand. His limbs were not encircled with bonds. The ant, or its people, doubtless claimed all the sand within their purview. But there was a great deal of sand on this world, and even in this small provincial arena. How many grains of sand were there in this arena,

or

on

this

world?

Less

than

there

were

galaxies,

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demonstratively. He had learned that from the teaching of the brothers. They were wise, the brothers. And the shadows of the ships fell upon worlds, and upon galaxies, more than a thousand of them. But there were other worlds, and other galaxies, surely. How vast was the domain of the ant. And how fixed, and eternal, was the Imperium, the Empire, the power of Telnaria! It was the world, or all the worlds which counted, the others not mattering. Oh, there must be other worlds,

other

galaxies,

but

they

were

far

away,

beyond

comprehension, beyond belief, beyond the stones. They did not count. They could not matter. Telnaria was the world, the Empire was fixed, it was of steel, it was eternal, it was civilization. Within it was peace, outside it was nothing. Not bound, he reached out and, with one finger, furrowed the sand, bemusedly smoothing the way for the small creature. It hurried down the track. It was not thought necessary, generally, incidentally, to bind those who had been raised in the shadow of the festungen, even those from the schizmatic festungen. That was why he was not bound at this time. To be sure, several events might have turned out differently had they not bound him later, had they left him free, as he was now, only within his own bonds, the worst and most terrible bonds, the invisible bonds which had been put on him long ago, bonds he was not, even certain he wore. Then, you see, he might have held himself, for it is quite possible he was weak enough, or strong enough, at that time, to do so. Of course, he might not have held himself. It is hard to know what would have happened. Perhaps it was wise to have had him bound, as was soon done. It is hard to say about such things. It is always difficult to know the future. Even the readers of the mystic tables, the counters of the stars, the casters of the bones knew that. It

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was hinted that the tables guarded their secrets jealously. Certainly they were hard to read. Few could do so. And surely they spoke darkly, in riddles and paradoxes. And it was whispered by some that the living stars, for all their fiery, savage immensity, knew no more than men, that they, too, for all their size, their ferocity and beauty, were ignorant, or indifferent. And others admitted, in their cups, that at times the bones themselves could do no more than guess. He supposed that the ant, or its people, claimed the square yard of sand about his knees. But did not every wind, every passing foot, expose them to stirrings of a nature beyond their comprehension? He watched the ant scurry away, its path smoothed. It was the sort of thing the brothers would have wanted. He had wanted to please the brothers. The brothers were kind, and wise. He wanted to please them now, by submitting to death, if not joyfully, for his blood, a foreign blood, found that hard to understand, at least resignedly, as an intellectual matter, in deference to their teaching. "I should not have made the way smooth for the ant," he thought. "I should have let it go its own way. I should have let it succeed, or fail, by itself. I should not have interfered. I should not have adjusted its world. It may come to depend on such things. But they cannot be counted on." That was a strange thought, for one from a village in the vicinity of a festung. But such thoughts may come to one sometimes, ancient thoughts, thoughts from lost lakes and caverns, from forgotten fields and

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forests, from a time when a world was new, strange thoughts, strange understandings, that cruelty can be kindness, that kindness can be cruelty. It was at this time that he lifted his head, that he heard the blare of the trumpets. He has had many names, and in order that we may follow these matters

rather

as

they

developed,

without

anticipating,

and

understand them rather as men then understood them, we will call him, for the time being, by the name he bore in one of the high places, as a child, 'Dog,' to which he had been taken as an infant, by a warrior, or soldier, of the tents of the Heruls. The name of the warrior was Hunlaki.

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CHAPTER 2 The column was a long one. It was in the bitter winter of 1103, dated from the setting of the claiming stone, when time began in the galactic records for this world. To be sure, it remained a primitive world, a border world, left much to its own devices, the imperial administration located in the provincial capital, in the southern latitudes, at Venitzia, in one of the native tongues called Scharnhorst, in another Ifeng. The forces of the Imperium, after the time of the Tetrarchy, and the Barrack Emperors, when the empire had been torn for centuries by civil war, had been divided into the outpost, or garrison troops, and the mobile forces. The pay of the mobile forces, and the quality of the men, though it was forbidden to say this, was superior to those, generally, of the border troops, the outpost troops, the garrison forces, as they were variously known. The column made its way across what was then known as the plain of Barrionuevo, but which is now, in these later days, known as the flats of Tung. The mountains, bordering the plain on the east, however, as the river of Lothar does on the west, are still known as the heights of Barrionuevo. The name lingers. Too, the mountains were held. In the heights, or mountains, of Barrionuevo is found the festung, or fortress, or holding, of Sim Giadini, or, as we might sometimes say, thinking the translation, all things considered, to be justified, Saint Giadini. To be sure, Giadini is not to be found today in the calendar of saints, but things were more fluid in those times. The outcome of certain political and doctrinal struggles was not at that time determined, and it was

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not, at that time, yet decided who the victors would be, to whom the prerogative of pronouncing the defeated to be schizmatics would fall. Returning to our story, it was in the winter, that of 1103, in the chronology of the stone, in the coldest and most bitter of months, that of the god, Igon. The sky was dark, and gloomy, and laced with falling snow. The track of the column was a long, narrow, twisting, tortuous churning of thickened mud, more than a dozen miles in length, fraught with crystals of ice, melted for the moment here and there by the warmth of passing feet, many wrapped in rags, some bare, those of captives, cut by the wheels of the carts and wagons, pressed down, and churned, by the tread of the soldiers, those of the foot, and by the claws of the mounts, of those of the saddle, or riders. We shall call these mounts 'horses,' as that term seems suitable. There had been some four or five thousand in the raiding party. It was a large one. Usually the Heruls came only in their hundreds. One supposes that their crossing of the Lothar had not been expected, and certainly not in the month of Igon. Their raids usually took place east of the Lothar, against the villages and fields near the river, and in the spring and summer. This was when they brought their herds into the plain for pasturage. Many tents had been summoned. It is said, too, that the Heruls had been joined by their allies, the tents of the Hageen. This matter is not clear in the annals. The column continued to cross the plain.

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It did not do so in silence. Overhead, birds circled and screamed in the dark, cold sky, impatient. Sometimes, eagerly, they would alight. In places one could see only the birds, in jostling heaps near the columns, black, like living dung, beating their wings, climbing over one another, squawking. Sometimes a soldier, in passing, for the soldiers knew no love for these things, might rush out, and thrust at them with his spear, or whirl at them the stone, the spiked ball on its long chain, and they would squawk, and flutter, and then return, some with broken wings, flopping awkwardly, protesting, doomed, not knowing it, to their business. There was the sound of the wheels creaking, turning in the half frozen mud, the sound of the feet, the growls of the horses, the snarls of the dogs, half-starved, crested beasts of war, which ran with the Heruls. They served in battle, simple, merciless, fearless, eager to be set on enemies. They herded animals, and slaves. They guarded camps. Their howls gave warning. Too, as was common with primitive folks, they could be eaten in time of need. Sometimes the dogs left the column. The birds would not challenge them. They would alight yards away, in the frozen grass, hunched up, their heads buried in their shoulders, watching, waiting until the dogs were finished. There were other sounds, too, with the column, the clanking of chains, the groans of men, captives, struggling under the burdens of

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their victors' loot, often their own household belongings, or treasures, on their backs, and the lamentations of women, laden with plunder, serving, too, as beasts of burden, roped by the neck to the backs of wagons, some half-naked, barefoot, even in the month of Igon. Some of these women, too, were heavy with child. More than one, screaming, trying still to follow the wagon, had gone into labor, and then, the cart or wagon drawn to the side, her rope freed from the back of the cart or wagon, had been thrown to the ground, and there, screaming, weeping, thrashing, her neck rope still in the hand of a captor, had delivered herself of a child, in the mud to the side of the column. These children were dragged forth, hot and bloody, tangled with their afterbirth, and discarded, thrown to the side, left for the birds and dogs. The screaming woman was then dragged to her feet and fastened again to the vehicle. Weeping, screaming, her legs covered with blood, reaching out futilely for the child, she was turned about by blows, those of spear butts and whips, and, once again, as the wagon rejoined the column, returned to the march. Many died. Of those who died, they, too, were left beside the column, for the birds, for the dogs. The Heruls did not care for the cubs, the litter, of their captive women. It was not as though they were the female offspring of prize slaves, who might bring a good price in Venitzia. Too, if we may offer a partial extenuation for the behavior of the Heruls, and of what might otherwise appear to be an unusual harshness, it might be remarked that it was their custom to put to death the old and the weak, even those of their own tents. Those times, you see, were not the same as now. You may judge them as you wish, for that is the prerogative of each age. Be advised, of course, that you, too, in future ages, may be judged, as well. Will

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you be convinced that you were wrong? But it is not my role to judge, but merely to relate. As I have indicated, my task is an unambitious one, a simple one, merely to tell what happened. Hunlaki, a horseman, a warrior of the tents of the Heruls, was at this time a member of the rear guard. It had not been so three weeks before. At that time he had been one of the first who, at night, testing the ice on the Lothar, had taken his horse across, in a place hidden by trees, and a bend in the river. The raid itself had taken several days. The many clusters of cabins, the small wooden huts of the villagers, had been encircled, one by one, that none might escape to warn others. The territory had been scouted earlier by Hageen merchants, welcomed by the men and women of the villages. To be sure, as is always the case, some had eluded the nets of the horsemen, doubtless men returning to the villages, finding them burned, the occupants slain, or missing. The claw prints of the horses of the Heruls, the marks of blades on timbers, an occasional arrow in the soil, the marks on the bodies, the unmistakable print of the stones, the parts of bodies, the impaled bodies, made things clear enough. Indeed, perhaps the Heruls, in their roving patrols, dark against the snow, had been noted, the conical helmets, the furred cloaks. Most of the villages near the edges of the forests, west of the Lothar, had been found deserted. The villagers had vanished into the forests. Neither the Heruls, nor the Hageen, would follow them into the forests. On the other hand, some of the villages near the edges of the forests, west of the Lothar, had been defended, or, perhaps one should say, certain high grounds, certain dirt hills, held as keeps, surrounded by a palisade, had been defended. One digs a deep ditch about a small hill

Page 23

and adds to the hill the dirt from the excavation. One surmounts the hill with a palisade. In such a way a tiny fort is constructed. The hill makes it difficult for the horses, and the foot, to gain a footing. At such times and places the Heruls would content themselves with burning the village. Heruls did not engage when it was not to their advantage. Hunlaki had looked back at the Lothar. His leggings and boots were wet. He had, with the others, swum his horse back to the east bank. The ice, you see, had broken in the recrossing some days ago. Hunlaki's beast itself had had the ice break beneath it, and it had howled in fear, clawing and scratching at the gigantic, suddenly sloping plate of ice, unable to gain purchase. Then it had slipped backwards, and, twisting, had fallen to its side in the icy water. Hunlaki had almost lost his seat. Then, rolling with the beast, rising dripping from the water, he had struck it savagely about the snout. Thusly, by inflicting sharp pain upon it, by recalling it to itself, did he calm its panic, did he reassert his control of the mount. Then, blood from the beast's nostrils trailing in the water as it swam, he gained the opposite bank. That had been a terrible crossing for the captives. Many had crossed on the ice, it breaking under them. Many of them had been drowned. Others had been swum at the stirrups of captors, ropes on their necks. Others drew themselves across on a rope stretched from bank to bank. Horsemen moved about in the water downstream to slay any who might lose their grip on the rope. The foot of the Heruls formed for themselves, and for certain forms of loot, rafts, from the charred timbers of the riverside villages. Some prisoners, too, were permitted to cling to these rafts in passage. Some of the younger and more attractive women were put on these rafts bound, for the

Page 24

Heruls, recognizing their value, did not wish to risk them in the current. The column had its vanguard, of course, and its rear guard, in which Hunlaki now had his place. It also had its flankers, as would be expected. A moment may be spent in mentioning the practices of the Heruls in such matters. These remarks serve, in effect, for the arrangements for the defense of the column. Long ago the Heruls, a nomadic people, had noted the seemingly uncanny ability of certain large, broad-winged scavengers to locate weakened, isolated animals on the plains, a lost flock animal, a lame herd animal, a wounded man, such things. Within minutes there would be one such unwelcome visitant in the sky, and then, a little later, three or four, and then, yet later, eight or ten, and then, in a few minutes, several. It was gradually understood that the birds, with their keen eyesight, which could detect the scurrying of the dab from a distance of more than a mile, patrolled given territories, patrolled them from a great height, one which brought more than a quarter of a latimeasure within view. These birds also were spaced in such a way that a given bird could just detect the position of the adjacent birds in their own, respective territories. When one bird left its position other birds, noting this, and perhaps curious, moved toward its position, and other birds, shortly thereafter, toward the newly vacated positions, and so on. In this way a large number of birds, from diverse positions, from diverse directions, could come together quickly, assembling in the vicinity of a find. The aspect of this practice which much impressed the Heruls was the principle of regularized, predictable contact, and the absence of this contact constituting the signal for the initiation of the assemblage behavior. Elements of the Herul vanguard, flankers and rear guard

Page 25

then maintained regular contact with the column, riding long loops between the outriders, the point riders, and the column. The absence of a predictable contact then triggered a twofold response, one of the contact riders investigating, the other returning to the column, or to his next contact rider, to report the failure of the contact. In this way, in a short amount of time, the column was apprised of possible difficulties with the outriders. In this way, the elimination of, say, a point rider, of a small squadron, to take a simple case, was not likely to expose the main force to the danger of a surprise attack. This is most effective, of course, in open country, of the sort favored by the Heruls. This practice is not unknown among certain other tent peoples as well, for example, their allies, the Hageen. We shall refer to the broad-winged

scavengers,

mentioned

above,

whose

behaviors

suggested these practices to the Heruls, as "vultures," as the word will be a familiar one. After the crossing of the Lothar, Hunlaki had turned his horse about, it shuddering and shaking the cold water from its fur. Such mounts did not care for water. The east bank was a sea of mud now. There were cries of misery, grunts, the sounds of blows, as the prisoners were herded together. There were children among them, some clinging to mothers. Two men were slain at the edge of the water, one who had lifted his hand to fend a blow. Hunlaki considered one of the women on one of the rafts. She was half-naked. Her hands were tied behind her. Her ankles, too, were tied, a mere thong more than sufficient for the purpose. She looked away, not meeting his eyes. She was slender and well curved. Her skin was very white. Such looked well where they belonged, at the feet of warriors.

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Then Hunlaki looked away from her, back across the river, where were the remains of one of the villages. The fallen timbers, those of sheds and cabins, charred, blackened from the flames, were now partly covered with snow. The remains of the village seemed very still, and very cold. They reminded Hunlaki of a woods in winter, where trees have fallen, of the edge of the great forest, where the Heruls had stopped. Snow, too, had drifted about the remains. Snow was falling even now, settling on the far bank, disappearing in the river. Hunlaki

again

considered

the

female.

Her

ankles

had

been

unthonged. She had been conducted from the raft, the aft portion of which was still in the water. She was conducted up the bank. She fell once, her naked flank muddied. She was kicked. She cried out in pain. She was on her knees, in the mud. She seemed bewildered. Perhaps she was trying to understand what had become of her. She was dragged to her feet and conducted to the back of a wagon. A rope was now being put on her neck. She looked back at Hunlaki. The rope was tied to the back of a wagon. Her feet were ankle deep in the mud. Hunlaki looked away from her. A large floe of ice, from upriver, moved slowly past, turning in the current. Some yards away, half in the water, caught in the frozen, matted rushes, was the body of a man, that of the prisoner who had dared to fend a blow. The trunk of a tree was turning, too, in the water. A rider circled it, thrusting about, under it, with his spear. Hunlaki heard a cry of pain nearby, a woman's cry, but he did not think it was the girl. It was another female. She had presumably felt the knout. It is useful in the control of horses and dogs, and women. Hunlaki wondered how many of the women could survive the march,

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the weeks of the return to the tents. His thoughts strayed to other women, women of which he had barely heard, the soft women of the civilized worlds. He did not think such would fare well on the march. What were they good for, he wondered. He thought of them hurrying about, barefoot, bangled, on the deep, soft rugs in the tents, in their silks, warming the golden vessels with their bodies. Yes, they, too, in their collars, or locked wristlets, or anklets, with their delicate flesh, imprinted with the slave mark, had their uses. Hunlaki was saddened, in a way, on the bank, as he looked across the river. The fighting was ended. It was over now. Hunlaki, you see, lived for the fighting, in which one became so alive, the terrible game, that with the highest of all stakes, and for the spoils of the fighting. There are such creatures, such beasts, if you like, such as Hunlaki, and also such races, and the Heruls, you see, were among them. But Hunlaki was not now pleased. It is one thing to meet the shock lancers in battle. It is another to ride down farmers, and burn villages. The earlier parts of the column had begun the march an hour ago. He could now hear, behind him, the beginnings of movement, that of the rearward portions of the column, the sound of arms, of chains, of wagons. It takes a long time for a column to move, particularly when it is large, when there is no cadence, when it is encumbered with baggage, and prisoners. Hunlaki, and the riders with him, waited at the river for better than an hour.

Page 28

There were dark clouds in the sky. There would be more snow. He listened to the sound of the river. He watched the ice, pale in the dark water. His horse growled and clawed at the earth. Breath from its nostrils hung about its snout like moist, cold smoke. Hunlaki noted an occasional branch, dark and leafless, flowing slowly past, an occasional piece of debris. He noted that the body which had been caught in the frozen, matted rushes, that of the prisoner who had dared to fend a blow, had been loosened, and washed free. He saw it, half-submerged, moving downstream with the ice. Hunlaki then heard the sounds of horses, the rhythm of the heavy paws striking in the cold turf, audible in the winter air. He turned about. He could see, from the left and right, the approaching riders, like small dark clouds, the breath of the mounts trailing behind them. The side riders had now returned. The east bank of the Lothar was now clear, for better than five miles on either side of the crossing point of the column. Hunlaki then, with the newcomers, turned about, and began to follow the column. Hunlaki was not now pleased. He did not joke with Mujiin, who, riding beside him, later left him to his own thoughts. Hunlaki, you see, was not at all sure that his weapons had been worthily bloodied.

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One need not be a warrior of the tents of the Heruls to have done what he had done.

Page 30

CHAPTER 3 "Women wish to belong to men," she had said, leaning on one elbow, in the tangled covers. "You held me, as a master." "You did not make me pay," he said. "I had thought I would," she mused, "but in your arms I found myself a slave. Slaves cannot charge. They own nothing. They have nothing. It is they who are nothing, it is they who are owned." “I do not understand," he had said. "You are not a woman," she said. "All are the same," he said, for he had heard this from the brothers. "No," she said, "we are different." "That is heresy, is it not?" he asked. She turned white, and was silent. After a time, she turned to the wall, and said, "I hate you." "Why?" he asked, puzzled. She had seemed to be pleased but moments before, weeping, crying out for more, begging, subdued, ravished.

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"Because you do not put a collar on me, and make me walk behind you," she said. "I do not understand," he said. "But this is not such a world," she said. He did not respond. "Too," she said, "you do not know who you are." He looked up from his boots. "That is why you hate me?" "Yes," she said. "Who am I?" he asked. "A man," she said. He shrugged. "It was so from the first joining of the gametes," she said. "What are gametes?" he asked. "You are not educated, are you?" she asked.

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"No," he said. "Can you read?" she asked. "No," he said. "From the beginning,” she said, "you were a man, or a male, from the beginning. It was so in the chromosomes." "And you, in such things, whatever they may be, were female, or woman?" "Yes," she said, "from the beginning, totally that, not other than that, never to be other than that." "Interesting," he said, for he, though not educated, had an inquisitive mind, a lively mind. That there should be two forms of being, and in his own species, was surely worthy of note. This was not, of course, the first female he had held in his arms. There had been others, Tessa, and Lia, and Sut, or Pig, who had put themselves in his way, who had surprised him in the fields, at troughs, in the hay sheds, who had lain on the wooden floors of the varda coops, their smocks thrown off, the slatted shadows of the lath bars falling across their vital, waiting, beautifully curved bodies, an interesting symmetry. His favorite had been Pig. But there had been trouble. "What is your class?" she asked. "I am of the humiliori," he said, "but I am not a serf, nor a colonus."

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The coloni were tenants, under the protection of wealthy landowners. "What is your class?" he asked. "I, too, am of the humiliori," she said. "Do you think I would be here, as I am, a pay woman, in this small room, with the single, tiny window, on this bed, over a wretched tavern, were I not of the humiliori?" "I am of the peasants," he said. She turned back, quickly, to face him. "You do not have the body of a peasant," she said. "It is not deformed for the hoe, the plow." He stood, belting his tunic. "And what sort of body have I?" he asked. She slipped from the bed, and came to where he stood, and then she knelt before him, holding to his legs, looking up at him. "Linger," she said. He looked down at her, regarding her. "There are masters and there are slaves," she said. "Each must learn which he is." Oh, he had intended, even before the trouble over Pig, to leave the festung village. Having come of age, and having refused the garb, the habit and hood, he might leave. Too, this was practical, for on the

Page 34

world in which stood the heights of Barrionuevo, and the festung of Sim Giadini, now far away, the villagers had not yet been bound, or the guilds, or the coloni. "You speak well," he said, "You are highly intelligent. Can you read?" "Yes," she said. "You were not always of the humiliori," he speculated. "I was once the daughter of a senator of a local municipality, on another world, one far away," she said. "You were then of the honestori," he said, impressed. "Yes," she said." "But now you kneel naked," he said. "It is said that women such as I make the best slaves," she said. He supposed that much would depend upon the woman, whatever her class or background, on her capacities for love, her unbridled sexual needs, on her uncontrollable passions, which put her so helplessly at the mercy of masters, on her capacity for loyalty, for diligence, for service, such things. The more intelligent the woman, it was said, the less the need for taming and training. Such, it was said, arrived the most quickly at the deepest understanding of themselves, and were the first to yield themselves up wholly, helplessly, to the

Page 35

fitting raptures of their bondage. "Beat me," she said, "Master." "You are not a slave," he said. "Do not say such things." It was a saying of slaves. It was not that they wished to be beaten, or seldom was it so. It was rather a way of professing to the master their slavery, that they understood their situation, that they were owned, that they acknowledged his punishment rights over them. The saying is useful, too, in reminding a slave of her bondage. The usual response of the master is the issuance of some innocent command, but the slave knows what might have been done. To be sure, it is a rare slave who does not long, at times, to be reminded of her bondage, that she is truly a slave. "Where is your father?" he asked. "He is dead," she said. "He was ruined, the taxes. He died of drink." "And you fled?" "Yes," she said. "And so became of the humiliori?" "Yes," she said. On many worlds, many of the humiliori class had been bound, the soil

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workers to the soil, to given fields, the members of guilds, and their offspring, to their crafts. Even the captains of ships, of merchant ships, and the bakers, and carpenters, the masons, the armorers, and those of many other crafts and occupations, even the members of actors' guilds, had been bound. This stabilized the population, holding it in place, that given taxations might be efficiently exacted. Many of the landlords, particularly the less wealthy landlords, those who could not afford the bribes to governors and prefects, and who did not have groups of armed retainers, feared by the tax farmers, at their disposal, and even the senators, of local municipalities, had been made responsible for the collection of taxes, due on their lands, or in their districts. Shortages in the collection were expected to be supplied by these unwilling deputies. Many were ruined. The father of the pay woman, we may surmise, was one. The population, you see, fleeing judicial and economic oppression, as presumably the pay woman had done, had tended to be fluid, too easily slipping away. The binding, to craft and locality, too, of course, made things easier for the tax farmers. These individuals, usually rented in gangs from certain wealthy entrepreneurs, licensed by the governors and prefects, were the usual instruments of tax collection. The tax farmers were to collect the due taxes plus a percentage thereof, as their commission. It was well known, however, that they normally collected far more than the due taxes and the commissions, the gang bosses, and entrepreneurs, pocketing the rest. Also, one might note, in passing, in speaking of taxes, the existence of various forms of munera, taxes paid in service, for example, manual labor on local roads and bridges, supplying free bread to local troops, gratis transport of goods on behalf of governmental commissaries, such things. A common form of munera was that of the peasant, required to donate military service some

Page 37

weeks in the year, expected to work in his lord's fields and vineyards at various times, such things. The humiliori, it must be understood, however, were free men. They were not slaves. A distinction was drawn between them and slaves. Indeed, on many worlds, slavery, or, at least, open slavery, was illegal. It was not that many of the humiliori were slaves; quite otherwise; it is only that they were bound. It had been too easy before, you see, on thousands of worlds, for, say, an extorted, despairing, overtaxed peasant to load his wagon and abandon his fields, disappearing into the wilderness, there to sow new fields, harvesting there his own crops, and not those of others. But the binding, for most practical purposes, stopped this sort of thing. Its value was obvious. It was instrumental in stabilizing the population, and the occupational groups. The Imperium had presumably not adopted such measures without thought. Indeed, perhaps they were necessary. Certainly the empire, for all its seeming eternality, its solidity, and such, was wracked by fiscal crisis, exacerbated by centuries of civil war. Worlds had been devastated; there had been frequent famines, these often consequent not upon natural causes, such as shifting patterns of precipitation, or soil exhaustion, but upon the literal, forcible disruption of agriculture, reduced or suspended in the dislocations of the wars, and sometimes from climatic changes consequent upon literal alterations in the rotations and axes of worlds, the effects of the impact of weaponry; and there had been plagues, in particular those of the second, the fifth and ninth dynasties; some blamed them for much; some worlds had been isolated, quarantined; others had been disposed of; bounties had been placed on the heads of individuals from such worlds; where found they were exterminated; mines had been exhausted; deficits in trade had drained bullion to the outer worlds; too, there was little doubt but what there must be some

Page 38

truth to the rumors of grievous mismanagement, of speculation, of broadcast corruption in high places; were there not stories of the pleasure worlds of emperors, entire planets devoted to their delight; it did not seem that frugality and nobility, so conspicuously absent on so many minor worlds, in the local halls of government, in the municipal offices, in the courts of the bishops, in the headquarters of the civil and military governors, would be likely to reign in the high palaces of power themselves. The bindings also introduced, in their way, a new social order. In any event, the taxes, those in coin, and those in munera, were now easier to collect. One might also note, in passing, that with the binding, and the shortage of free currency, resulting in part from the taxes, that an economy of barter, and kinds, was becoming more widely spread. Even before the binding, many peasants had lost their lands to taxes, and become coloni, tenants on the lands of others. The landlord, often with his troops, provided protection to the peasants. This was particularly true of the large, powerful landlords, the sort who managed to acquire the lands of others, the sort who throve in such times. This matter of protection was not a negligible consideration. Brigandage was prevalent in many places, it itself in part doubtless a result of the ruin of many small farmers, and the flight from the land. When the bindings took place the lives of the coloni, the tenants, did not much change. Most remained where they were, though now legally bound, by imperial edict, recorded in the pandects, to the soil, and, in a sense, to the lord, who owned it. In this way, on many worlds there came to be what we may speak of as a manorialized economy, a largely agriculturally

based

economy,

relatively

self-sufficient

peasant

communities clustering about a given holding, a given stronghold, or manor. This thing, on many worlds, became increasingly widely spread

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with the collapse of the cities, the desertion of urbanized areas, the ruin and decay of thousands of small, once thriving municipalities, the breakdown in order and policing, the general falling into disrepair of roads and waterways, the disruption of commerce and communication, the gradual isolation and ruralization of the vast majority of the population. To be sure, such things take a long time. On some worlds they were more advanced than on others. There was, to be sure, one statistically minor countertrend, minor at least, on the whole, to these rather general developments. That was the tendency for large numbers of the ruined, the destitute, and impoverished, as well as the curious and ambitious, the eager and adventurous, as always, rather than placing themselves under the protection of local lords, bosses, captains, and such, to seek out certain major cities, there to seek their fortunes. It was said that many embarked, in the holds of cattle ships, even for the worlds of Telnaria itself. There was some security in this, of course, provided the journey could be successfully accomplished, for in certain of the larger cities, and in the capitals, and in the worlds of Telnaria, too, one supposes, the state provided a dole of grain, and games. The situation thus, in some respects, was paradoxical. While thousands of towns and smaller cities fell into ruin, and the great majority of thousands of populations became increasingly isolated and ruralized, certain other cities, particularly metropolises, and the seats of governors, prefects, bishops, and such, places already overcrowded, experienced additional, unwelcome influxes of population. These frustrated, seething masses, idle and unproductive, demanding food and amusement, constituted a force to be reckoned with, an expensive, explosive, difficult-to-control, dangerous urban proletariat. Most were citizens and, accordingly, the dole was their right. It was the duty of others, the responsibility of others, those of other places,

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of other worlds, you see, to feed and care for them, to entertain them, and such. The support of these unproductive megapopulations in certain large urban areas, it was speculated, further drained the resources of the empire. Worlds were set aside to feed and clothe them. Worlds were combed to find oddities, exhibits, animals, performers, and such, to entertain them. This influx to the major cities, incidentally, was considerably slowed by the stabilization edicts, the binding laws, and it is not hard to suppose that that might have been one of the elements of their rationale. But, of course, the cities were already overcrowded, even before the bindings, and their populations were continuing, in one way or another, to increase. On Terennia, incidentally, the world on which we now are, the bindings had not yet taken place, but it was rumored they were imminent. To be sure, in the cities there was not so much to fear from the bindings, particularly if one did not have a trade or craft. Too, one could always have a riot, and kill and steal, and stone the palaces and houses of the rich, and destroy public buildings, and such, and thus doubtless, in time, win for oneself an exemption from strictures more generally applied elsewhere. It might be noted that the peasant could not well be bound here for here he had no land and here he was no tenant. The pay woman might have been bound, perhaps, but then she was, in a sense, in virtue of her loss of status, her new class, her profession, and such, already bound. "I must go," said the peasant. The warm, moist lips of the pay woman pressed against his thigh. It was a kiss, such as might have been that of a slave to her master.

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The peasant stepped back from her. "Return to the bed," he told her. She obeyed, and knelt there, her knees half lost in the bed covers, watching him. "You do not seem like the other women of this world," he said. "How so?" she said. "They seem vain, cold, sluggish, petulant, inert," he said. He found them not of much interest. He did not know who could. "They are equals," she said. He did not contest this. He did not even, really, understand it. What did it mean to be equal, really? He thought them superior in some ways to men. Certainly they were more beautiful. "Legally," she explained, "by law." "How can law make what is so exquisitely different the same?" he asked. "It cannot," she said. "You are not like the other women here," he said.

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"No," she said. "I am not like them." "I wonder if they are really women." "They are women," she said. "It is only that they are sleeping." " 'Sleeping'?" he asked. "It is only that they have not yet met their master," she said. He regarded her, not speaking. "Every slave needs her master," she said. "She is incomplete without him." The peasant, not understanding these things, drew shut his cloak, and picked up his sack, that with the long straps, by means of which he could carry it on his back. When he had taken ship at Venitzia, it had carried several loaves of bread. Only part of a loaf was now left. "You are not from this world," said the pay woman. "How do you know?" he asked. "From the way you handled me," she said. "I have a coin," he said. "Are you certain that you will not accept it?" "Keep it," she said.

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His staff was by the door. "If you are questioned," she said, "tell Boon Thap that you have paid." "But I have not," he said. "Tell him so, anyway," she said. "I do not lie," he said. "He will have gone by now, anyway," she said. "I am sure of it." In time, of course, the peasant would have left the vicinity of the village, one of those within the tithing fields of the festung of Sim Giadini. He was strong, and ambitious, and curious, and wondered about the world, and worlds, beyond his village, and the ships that came and went each month at Venitzia, accomplishing their periodic rendezvous with what, to him, seemed no more than a star moving in the sky. It was said to be a vessel, a vessel which could fly like a bird between worlds. Often Brother Benjamin had pointed it out to him. Brother Benjamin, it seemed, had never really expected him to stay. In any event, the peasant would not have taken the hood, and habit. That had never interested him. Too, his decision to leave the village had been hastened by the trouble over Pig. Gathron had struck him with a post. The post had then been broken in two over Gathron's back. It had taken Gathron no more than two minutes to die. He had died squirming, gasping, eyes bulging, staring, at the peasant's feet.

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The peasant had watched this intently, for he had never seen a man die before. But he had seen animals die, of course, and had killed many of them, and then butchered them. So, too, had other young men of the village. He, and the others were familiar with blood, and killing. It was part of their way of life. They thought little of it. Perhaps it is well to make that clear. It may then be easier to understand part of what follows if that is not forgotten. We are not speaking of present times. We are speaking of other times, and other places. He had watched Gathron. It was not much different, Gathron's dying, from that of the garn pigs, some seven or eight hundred pounds in weight, whose head he and he alone of all the men of the village could snap to the side with his bare hands. The blow was delivered with the flat of the hand, the animal's neck held in place by the left arm. Still, this was, perhaps, one of the most dangerous, and fearful, things about the peasant, his temper. It would come, in time, to be feared by armies. "Have you money?" called the pay woman. She had now belted about herself a short smock, not too much unlike, save for its length, that of the peasant women of the village. "Of course," said the peasant. She smiled. "How much?" she asked. "Five pennies," said he. We shall use the term 'penny' for the coin of lowest denomination on Terennia, and certain other worlds, which seems practical. Too, this suggests what was the case, that the peasant had very little in the way of funds. He had left the festung

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village with some seven pennies given to him by Brother Benjamin, who had been his mentor from childhood, those and a sack of bread on his back. He had walked to Venitzia, staff in hand, bread on his back. For the most part, he lived off the country. In this way he conserved the bread as long as possible. It is not hard for a given person, or a small group, to live off the country, at least for a time, if one can distinguish between what is edible and what is not edible, and is not squeamish. To be sure, he did stop at two villages, where he cut wood for his supper. At Venitzia, some days later, he, and some others, arranged to work their passage to Terennia, caring for cattle on the transport. The crew of the transport did not care for this work which was time-consuming and foul. The peasant, however, and some five like him, did not object. The smells, and the sights and sounds, were not, on the whole, unlike those of their villages. "Wait," said the pay woman, and, going to a covered bowl, one on a nearby shelf, and removing the lid, she drew forth a silver darin, which would be the equivalent of twenty pennies. She thrust the darin into his sack, which he had slung on his back. She looked into his eyes, and then, suddenly, stripped from her wrist a silver bracelet, doubtless worth considerably more than the darin. This, too, now not looking at him, she thrust into the sack. "You will need money," she said. "You can sell the bracelet." He protested, but she would hear nothing of it. Indeed, she turned away from him. "Go," she said. He had then turned and left.

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CHAPTER 4 "Ho," said Mujiin, turning his horse. "There," said he, "one follows." At the same time he removed his lance, black, long, slender and resilient, from his back. "It is a boy," said Hunlaki, too, turning his mount. "You are sure?" inquired Mujiin. "Yes," said Hunlaki. Hunlaki had seen him before. He had rather hoped that Mujiin would not. But Mujiin, too, was sharp-eyed. It was not just any whom the Heruls used as their outriders their flankers. And one looks often to the rear. And there was not much cover here, on the plains of Barrionuevo, here, away from the river. "He is mad," said Mujiin. "Perhaps," said Hunlaki. He did not free his own lance. Hunlaki had hoped the pursuer, a ragged, blond-haired lad, perhaps no more than fourteen or fifteen years of age, one who moved unsteadily, who was perhaps lamed, or ill, who carried a staff, would drop back, would fall back, would think the better of his pursuit, before Mujiin saw him. "I will guess birds with you, or clouds," said Mujiin. "One thrust?" asked Hunlaki.

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"Let the birds, or the clouds, decide," said Mujiin. On the plains, in the long hours on horseback, the Heruls had found many ways to pass the time, to while it away while keeping the herds together. There were the poetries, the songs, the games. Some of them had marvelous memories, and could call songs which took more than two days to recount. They were fond, too, of stories, as well as women, and war. Also, they were fond of gamblings of diverse sorts, horse races, the fights to the death of matched war dogs, such things. In the guessings of birds and clouds it was not fair to look behind one, not until the time was called. "Birds," said Hunlaki. Mujiin looked at him, expectantly. "Even," said Hunlaki. "Done!" said Mujiin, and they both turned their mounts. The tip of Mujiin's silver-tipped lance traced the arc of the gambling field, earth and sky. Hunlaki sat back in the saddle. Within the circuit traced by the tip of Mujiin's lance, as though looking through a window, one could detect three birds. They then turned their mounts, again, to watch the figure stumbling

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toward them. "One thrust?" asked Hunlaki. "Ten," said Mujiin. In such a way, usually with prisoners, loosed in an open field, the Heruls honed their skills with the lance, skills which could mean life or death in battle. "He is only a boy," said Hunlaki. "Ten," said Mujiin, "and the tenth to the heart or throat?" "To the heart," said Hunlaki. The thrust to the throat was a difficult one. It required often to be followed by at least one or two further thrusts. Death came usually more quickly, more mercifully, with the thrust to the heart. "To the throat!" insisted Mujiin. "To the heart," said Hunlaki. "There is less sport then," said Mujiin. "It is only a boy," said Hunlaki. The lad had stopped now, in the tracks left by the column, an hour or more in advance of them.

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The two riders, Mujiin and Hunlaki, began to ride slowly toward the boy. Mujiin did not wish to frighten him. Perhaps two matters should now be made clear, one having to do with the raid across the Lothar, and the other with Hunlaki's lack of ease. The object of the raid, or invasion, if you like, and the crossing of the Lothar, was the extirpation of a people, the extermination, the uprooting, of an entire folk. The strategic point of this action was perhaps to secure the plain of Barrionuevo, east of the Lothar, for the flocks, and the herds, of the Heruls. The Heruls, you see, as I have mentioned, were a nomadic people. To be sure, as has been made clear earlier, many of the Heruls' intended victims had eluded them. Some had successfully resisted them in the homely forts within the villages, and many others had managed to slip away, into the forests, into which the Heruls, and the Hageen, if they were truly with them in this action, did not care to follow them. It is very difficult to obtain numbers, or percentages, in matters of this sort, but it has been conjectured variously that some seventy to ninety percent of those attacked by the Heruls in this action, both west and east of the Lothar, but more to the west, were killed or taken prisoner. Mujiin and Hunlaki now stopped, some fifty yards from the boy, who had also stopped. He backed a bit away from the black track of the column, onto the snowy grass. There was better footing there. Fifty yards is a good charging distance. It gives the horse time to

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obtain a high speed, if that is desired, and it is long enough, if one proceeds more cautiously, to assess the likely movements of the target, to provide an opportunity for adjustments in the advance. The people who had been attacked were a forest people, and related by blood to another people, who had once been a forest people. A historical note is in order, for without it much of what follows will be more difficult to follow. Long ago, on a world far distant from this one, that on which Mujiin, Hunlaki and the lad are now, there was a given people, let us call them, for the time, the tribes of the forest, the forest being one such on that far world. These people were barbarians, surely, that must not be denied, merciless primitives with rude ways and savage customs. They lived in small villages, established in clearings within the forest. They were hunters and farmers. These people, these tribes on that far world, had, it was claimed, once resisted even the might of Telnaria, and, within the darkness of those vast, leafy forests, with smuggled arms, supplied by outer worlds, had more than once trapped and massacred expeditionary forces, the loss of which the empire at the time, pressed on many sides, could not well afford. Eventually, as the forces of the empire conquered many enemy worlds, of the sort so often sniffing and prowling at its frontiers, so often intruding across them, it had time to return its attention to the tribes of the forest. Various wars, over generations, took place. These tended to be bloody and merciless. There were diverse alliances and such, but, in the end, the tribes of the forest, as we have called them, and there were several such, were overwhelmed. Various treacheries and betrayals, and such, figured in these matters but, clearly, such tribes, isolated, deprived of support, sometimes divided against themselves, with their inadequate resources and armaments, were no

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match for the empire. In some cases, habitats were literally destroyed. The piteous remnants of the tribes, largely disarmed, were scattered about various worlds, in some cases to render various services to the empire, in particular, to supply selected forms of produce. These remnants, it should be noted, did not have the status of federates, barbarian peoples permitted to remain within the domain of the empire, for which privilege they were expected to supply the empire with given quotas of recruits for the auxilia, the auxiliary forces on which the empire, eventually, would come so much to rely, this tending to compensate for the gradually increasing disinclination of citizens to concern themselves with military responsibilities. Some of these barbarians would come even to high offices in the regular forces. The military of the empire, it might be noted, once raised largely from its own militias, a universal military service once being a requirement for citizens, was now much separated from the common citizenry. It was now, on the whole, for most practical purposes, a professional mercenary force. It was now largely independent of the senate and state. Its political power was considerable. Its favor had to be courted. It was capable of making and unmaking emperors. The boy stood now in the snowy grass, grasping the staff. He seemed half-starved. He could not stand straight. His clothing, tattered, mostly in rags, blew about him, whipped in the wind. Some remnants of two of the tribes of the forest had been brought to this world, and the boy was of one of these. The Heruls had, only months ago, in the spring, and early summer, met the other of the two tribes in lengthy, and terrible, battle, in a series of engagements which

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had taken more than five weeks. That had been war. For that other tribe, you see, had had horses, and had changed their way of life to resemble that of the Heruls, changing to riders, to herdsmen. It was inevitable that they should clash, and they had, first, far to the east, even beyond the heights of Barrionuevo, where the plains of Barrionuevo began, and then later in the north, on those plains themselves. Hunlaki admired the riders, though the Heruls, in their vaster numbers, with their better mounts, bred for centuries for the chase and war, their superb skills, of horsemanship and war, honed by centuries of revered tradition, their swiftness, their forced marches, their encirclements, had defeated them. The king of that tribe had been slain in battle. His queen, heavy with child, with certain others, had eluded capture. It was not known where she had gone. No drinking cup had been made from the skull of the defeated king. Rather he had been burned on a pyre, worthy of a Herul chieftain. Hunlaki, and others, on horseback, had lifted their lances in salute as the smoke had wafted upward in the then summer sky. "To the right forearm," said Mujiin, kicking his heels back into the flank of his mount. In a moment Hunlaki heard the boy's sharp cry of pain. There is some controversy concerning the name of the tribes of the forest, several of which had been placed on various worlds, two on this very world. 'Vandals' may be the original name. That is not known for certain. It is conjectured by some that, considering the current connotations of the name, they may have received it only later, in the writings of their enemies. It may, however, be the original name. In

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the beginning, it may have been simply a name, perhaps associated with 'Vanland,' which is "forest land." But, as I said, it is not really known. Another derivation is from 'Vanganz,' a word for a ritualized form of vengeance. We know them in history, of course, as Vandals, and I shall so refer to them, trusting that the reader will not allow himself to be misled by any inessential accretions which might now adhere to the name. Their like, you see, may not be unique to our own reality. Too, I do not presume to judge, leaving that for those who feel entitled to do so. My office, in this matter, as I have indicated, is a simple one, merely to tell what happened. "The left forearm!" called Mujiin back to Hunlaki. There was another cry of pain from the boy. Mujiin was skilled, almost as much as Hunlaki. Hunlaki wondered if Mujiin was showing off. Then Hunlaki surveyed the snowy plains about them. It would not do, of course, if the lad were a sacrifice, to distract the guard, while pursuit slipped past them, or might even be prepared to fall upon them. Later Mujiin would learn to be thoughtful about such matters, but Mujiin was young. He was easily distracted by blood, and the sport. There was another cry of pain from the lad. Hunlaki unslung his own lance. It was not that he wanted to participate in the sport. It was only that the lad seemed too much weakened by the thrusts he had received. Surely he had not lost so much blood.

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The boy cried again. This time he was struck in the left upper arm. That was the fourth strike. One begins on the right, assuming the target to be right-handed. To be sure, one can be mistaken about such things. Hunlaki moved his mount a little closer, crossing the narrow track of the column, where the ground had been cut, like a wound in the grass. Mujiin then struck the shoulders, the right, then the left. The right thigh, and then the left, would be next. In that way the target can still stand, either for the final blow to the throat or the heart. It would be to the heart, as Hunlaki had had his say in that. Sometimes, if one wants to bring the target to its knees, the seventh and eighth blows are to the back of the leg, behind the knee. As Mujiin had called "ten" the ninth blow would be to the right side of the chest, just enough to draw blood, not enough to throw the target from its feet, then the tenth would be the driving of the lance tip through the ribs, to the heart. The blade of the Herul lance is smooth to the shaft, to facilitate its withdrawal. Else it would be too easy to lose it in combat. If Mujiin had called a "nine," the last blow would simply be to the heart. Or, if he had called "nine" and "the neck," the ninth blow would be to the back of the neck, attempting to sever the vertebrae there. The boy reeled back, again. That had been the ninth thrust, that to the right side of the chest, little more intended than to turn and bleed the target.

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Mujiin wheeled his mount. The lad wavered. Surely he would fall. Surely Mujiin must hurry! "Beware!" cried Hunlaki. The boy suddenly, raising his staff, as the lance sped toward him, struck it to the side and slipped to the side of the horse, and then thrust up with the staff, brutally into the ribs of the horse, which howled with pain, and the lad then struck the mount twice more, with terrible jabs, and it squealed, moving suddenly, awkwardly, trying to avoid the stick, the pain, to the side, and it lost its footing, and Mujiin, his foot caught in the stirrup, went down with the horse, his leg pinned under it, and looked up to see the boy, wild-eyed, bleeding, over him, raising the staff, but the blow did not fall for Hunlaki rode him down, his lance piercing the boy's back, under the left shoulder blade. Mujiin, cursing, rose to this feet, his horse having scrambled up. Hunlaki drew his lance from the boy's back. Mujiin was furious. He kicked the inert form of the boy. His horse stood some yards off, its eyes wide with pain. It shook the snow from its fur. "Are you all right?" asked Hunlaki.

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"Dog! Dog!" cried Mujiin, kicking the boy. Hunlaki fetched Mujiin's mount. Mujiin checked the girth strap on the horse. Then he ascended to the saddle. Hunlaki surveyed the prairie about them. It was still. Then he looked again at the form of the boy. "He was brave," said Hunlaki, "to follow us." "He is a dog!" said Mujiin. "But he is a brave dog," said Hunlaki. "Yes," said Mujiin, "he was a brave dog." "They are all brave dogs," said Hunlaki. "Yes," said Mujiin, "they are all brave dogs." "Worthy enemies," said Hunlaki. "Yes," said Mujiin. Then, looking behind them from time to time, they returned to the track of the column. In a few moments they saw their contact riders

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approaching.

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CHAPTER 5 The peasant descended the narrow stairs, leading down to the main floor of the tavern. It was late in the afternoon. "Hold," said Boon Thap, from behind the counter, to the left, past which one must move to reach the door. The peasant stopped. Two others, nearby, looked up. They sat at a stained table to the right of the door, one of several. These were the only others on the main floor of the tavern. They had drinks before them, on the circled tabletop. They had been playing cards, Tanleel. The flat, revolving counterboard, with its pegs, was between them. Boon Thap, who was the proprietor of this establishment, drew forth from under the counter a shallow, copper dish. He placed it on the counter. In this dish were four or five coins, pennies. "Pay," said Boon Thap. The peasant recalled the dish upstairs. It was in that dish that coins for the pay woman would be placed. He was from far away, from another world, indeed, but it was within the empire. He knew that much.

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"Why?" asked the peasant. "Pay," said Boon Thap. "I have not eaten here. I have not drunk here," said the peasant, slowly. Boon Thap gestured toward the stairs with his head. "Was she any good?" "Yes," said the peasant. That was certainly true. She had juiced well. Too, in the beginning, she had shown him things he had not known, things he had not dreamed of in the village. But in the end, after an hour, she had been merely his, helpless, uncontrollable, begging, crying out, as had been Tessa, or Lia, or Sut. In the end she had been not an instructress, only a mastered slave. "Did you like her?" asked Boon Thap. "Yes," said the peasant. "Pay," said Boon Thap. "I have not eaten here. I have not drunk here," said the peasant. "You pay here," said Boon Thap, pointing to the copper bowl.

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The two fellows at the table slid their chairs back and came toward the counter. Then they were standing a little behind the peasant, one on each side. "You must not make trouble," said Boon Thap. "I am not making trouble," said the peasant. He did not want to make trouble. He did not know this place, or these people. He was a stranger here. Too, he did not want to disappoint Brother Benjamin. Brother Benjamin, in his recent admonitions, had been very explicit on such points. Brother Benjamin had come down all the way from the festung, down to the road, by the village, to bid him farewell. The peasant had knelt in the road, his head bowed, to receive Brother Benjamin's blessing, administered in old Telnarian, given with the sign of the device. Brother Benjamin had never really expected him to stay in the village, for some reason, it seemed. In his journey the peasant realized that he had sensed this before, that he had known it, somehow, for years. Others had been there, too, to bid him farewell, others with diverse feelings. Doubtless some would miss him. Others were perhaps relieved that such as he was leaving. He had towered among them. He had not seemed to be like them. Too, he was dangerous. His temper was unpredictable, and violent. And he could break the neck of a garn pig in his bare hands. "Who am I?" the peasant had asked Brother Benjamin, once again, before he left the village.

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"You are 'Dog,' " had said Brother Benjamin, "of the festung village of Saint Giadini." Then the peasant had left. The peasant felt his sack taken from his back by one of the men behind him. He did not interfere, or resist. He was a stranger here. He did not wish to disappoint Brother Benjamin. It was put on the counter. His staff was removed from his hand by the other man, and leant against the counter. "I will tell you what you owe," said Boon Thap. "How much did you pay upstairs?" The peasant was silent. "What did you give her?" asked Boon Thap. "Nothing," said the peasant. "Nothing?" said Boon Thap. "She would not take anything," said the peasant. "Liar!" said Boon Thap. The peasant noted the resemblance of Boon Thap to a garn pig. "Do you think she is a contract woman, kept in a brothel, chained by

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the neck to her bed, with a slotted coin box bolted to the bed?" "No," said the peasant. He had heard of such things, and many more, he and the others who had worked their passage to Terrenia, from the sailors, when they were not on watch. The coin was put near the box, which was locked, in order to prove that the customer possessed the means wherewith to pay for his pleasure. Afterwards the coin would be placed in the box or not, according to whether or not the customer had found the services of the contract woman satisfactory. As a record was kept of the customers and the rooms to which they went, it was a simple matter, after undoing the locks on the boxes, after business hours, to count the coins and see if the amount of money in the box was correct, if it matched the number of customers. Sanctions, of course, were imposed on the contract women if the funds were short. Sometimes they were beaten, as though they might have been slaves. In such ways are the women encouraged to please the proprietor's customers, or clients. "You are a thief," said one of the men behind the peasant. "I am not a thief," said the peasant. "If you did not pay her, then you will pay me, double," said Boon Thap. "No," said the peasant. "She is my employee," said the proprietor.

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"No," said the peasant. "She pays you rent." "I will beat her," said Boon Thap. "But she is a free woman," said the peasant. He was not sure of these matters. Were free women in cities to be beaten? He did know that the fathers in the village would sometimes beat their wives, and their daughters. Certainly Tessa, and Lia and Sut, had been beaten, sometimes for having been seen with him, but this had not stopped them from coming back, from arranging to meet him secretly, behind the hay sheds, in the varda coops. But he had heard that on Terennia women were not to be beaten, whether they deserved it or not. That was perhaps why the women of Terennia seemed so spoiled. But there seemed no reason to beat the pay woman. She had done nothing to be beaten for. She had been kind, and loving. Too, she was not, as far as the peasant knew, the proprietor's woman. Too, this was Terennia, and she was free. It was not like she was a slave, who must expect to be punished if she is the least bit disobedient, or has not been in some way fully pleasing. "We will see what you have here," said Boon Thap. He jerked loose the fastenings of the sack and turned it over, depositing its contents on the counter. "He has money!" said one of the men behind the peasant. "Look, a darin!" said the other. "Ahh," said Boon Thap. "Look!" He lifted up the silver bracelet.

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"He is a thief," said the man to the peasant's right. "Yes!" said Boon Thap. "No," said the peasant. He gripped the counter. He must not yield to the rage, not, at least, to that sudden, blinding, scarlet rage. There were rages among rages, of course. There was the scarlet rage, so sudden, so uncontrollable, like the breaking open of the bowl of the sky, as you could see, from the shattering, the lines of splitting and cracking. One could do little about that. One scarcely knew, until afterward, what one had done. You learned that, only later. It was this rage which the villagers had most feared. Then there were the rages you sensed coming, the rages which so sharpened the senses, which transfused one with such power, how eagerly you sensed them, like knowing a cat was about, then waiting tensely for it to spring up, somewhere, from the grass. And you were he who sensed, he who waited, and you were the cat, too, eager to spring up, that for which you waited. And then there were the cold, merciless rages, the most terrible of all, rages which the peasant had not yet learned, the rages as implacable as winter, which taught one patience, a patience colder and more cruel than ice. "You must fight these things, my son," Brother Benjamin had told him.

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"The bracelet is stolen," said Boon Thap. "I will keep it." "And the darin," said the man to the peasant's left. "We will keep this sack, these things," said Boon Thap. "Now, get out." "They are mine," said the peasant. "Get out," said Boon Thap. The man to the peasant's right suddenly seized the peasant's staff. He lifted it. "Get out," said Boon Thap. The staff suddenly descended, smiting the peasant on the shoulder. It then struck him on the side of the head. The peasant felt blood at the side of his head. The man with the staff seemed surprised that the peasant was still on his feet. "You must learn to control your temper," had said Brother Benjamin. Again the staff whirled toward the peasant, but the peasant reached up and caught it, in flight. He then wrenched it away from the man. The man backed away.

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"If one strikes you," had said Brother Benjamin, "give him your staff, that he may strike you again." The peasant handed the staff back to the assailant. The man looked at him, in wonder. Then he laughed, and so, too, did the other, who had backed away, and Boon Thap. "Go," said Boon Thap, smiling. The peasant, his staff and sack left behind, left the tavern. Hot tears burned down his cheeks. He went to the curb, outside the tavern. There he sat down, and put his head down, in his hands. Then he raised his head, and howled in misery, to the sky between the buildings. He then reentered the tavern. Boon Thap and the others were seated at the table, that at which the two men had earlier been playing Tanleel. The counterboard was still on the table. Drinks were before them. The peasant took his staff and drove it through the diaphragm of the man who had struck him. This was done with considerable force. It tore through the body, and the backbone. It punched even into the wall behind the man. The peasant then seized Boon Thap, breaking his neck, as if he had been a garn pig. The other man fled, screaming. His exit was not contested. Then the peasant, after retrieving his staff and gathering together what he could of his belongings, once more left the tavern.

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CHAPTER 6 And so the wagons rolled and creaked, and the men cursed, and there was the sound of chains, and, sometimes, the weeping, the lamentations, of the captive women, tied by the neck to the back of wagons. Two days after the encounter with the youth on the snowy plains Hunlaki and Mujiin had returned to the column, their duties completed pending further assignments. Hunlaki did volunteer for further service at that time, but his request, quite sensibly, was declined. It was understood that he had been, for most practical purposes, in the saddle for days. Accordingly he was doing little now but riding with the column. Mujiin had not found Hunlaki much in the way of good company of late. He had, accordingly, for the last few days, left him much alone. Hunlaki seemed too often lost in his own thoughts. Indeed, he had been acting a bit strangely ever since the re-crossing of the Lothar. But Mujiin, who was very fond of Hunlaki, was patient. Heruls tend to be a patient folk. Hunlaki would doubtless come back to himself, as he always had before, after some of the simpler, more routine actions. Mujiin had no fear, incidentally, that Hunlaki would tell others about his embarrassment, that little contretemps, with the boy on the prairie, how he had been tricked, as though he might have been on his first raid, of how he might have been injured, or worse, if Hunlaki had not ridden to his succor. Mujiin did not fear this, for Hunlaki was not only of the tents of the Heruls, but one with whom he rode. Indeed, some years later, Mujiin would tell the story himself, as a joke on

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himself, and as a warning to young riders, about how Hunlaki had saved him, when he was new to the ways of war. They had been on the march for several days. Hunlaki, in this time, rode usually on the right side of the column. Sometimes he patrolled it, riding its length, back and forth. The wagons, and the foot, moved slowly, and the prisoners, far too slowly for the taste of Hunlaki. Hunlaki looked up. The birds still followed, and their patience, as the days wore on, was less and less often disappointed. Many were now so swollen with food that they could not fly. Sometimes the dogs caught them. Bones littered the track of the column. Many of the more attractive women had been given rags to wrap about their feet, that they might not, in the cold and snow, lose their toes. Such a loss, as trivial as it might seem, would considerably reduce their value. To one side dogs fought over a body. Hunlaki was himself well aware that things were not as usual with him. He had for two nights chewed on the fermented curds, and in the morning had had to tie himself in the saddle.

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He had, several times, at night, when the column had stopped, and the fires were lit, made use of captive women, chained under certain of the wagons, put aside for the purpose. To be sure, as a rider, he could have his picks marked, a disk with his mark on it, tied about her neck, under the rope, reserved for him in the evening. The foot would make do with what was provided for them, not that some excellent women were not picked out for them. Sometimes Hunlaki used the women under the wagons as Herul women, but often, because they were women of an enemy, he put them in the pig position, even some very attractive women whom he had picked out earlier, whom he had put his disk on, reserving them for the evening, that they might understand that they belonged to the Heruls, and what was in store for them, the long days of tending flocks and, in the evenings, the contenting of masters in the furs. To be sure, some of these women might be sold in Venitzia, some to the soldiers there, others to be put on the ships, to be sent far away, to distant markets. The soldiers at Venitzia had flame spears, which could burn a rider from a thousand yards. The Heruls did not attempt to penetrate the strange fences about the towns. They had seen animals lying dead across the wires. Hunlaki recalled the riders he had fought against in the spring and early summer. That had been war. The folk they had just raided, those in the vicinity of the Lothar, mostly west of it, near the forests, were said to be related to them. Hunlaki supposed it was possible. But the two peoples seemed very different. Hunlaki looked up. The birds were about.

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They had been about, too, on the plains of war, far to the east, even beyond the heights of Barrionuevo, and then in the north, on the plains of Barrionuevo, when those of the tents of the Heruls had met the riders, those related to the folk near the Lothar, in the spring, in the early summer. Too, here and there, the birds were on the ground, sometimes almost at the edges of the column, feeding. Hunlaki did not care for the birds. Hunlaki turned his mount suddenly to the right, uttered an angry cry, kicked back into the flanks of the beast, and charged at a heap of birds, clambering about food. They squawked, and fluttered wildly to the left and right, and Hunlaki, angrily, wheeled his mount back, to the left, to rejoin the column. When he looked back he saw that one or two of the bolder birds had already returned to their feeding. Hunlaki, like most warriors, hated the birds, the patient ones. The dogs had been at it first. The column was now in the vicinity of the heights of Barrionuevo. Hunlaki saw a woman to his right, several yards from the column. It would have to be a woman of the people near the Lothar, for no Herul women were with the raiders. One would take the women, the children, in the wagons, when one made the long journeys. But one

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would not take them on raids. Sometimes one had had to fight, on the long journeys, even before they had found the sweet, grass-fresh plains of Barrionuevo. One tried to keep between the enemy and the wagons. Before battles, and at night, one put the wagons together, forming closures, sometimes rings of defense, the cattle, the animals, the women, the wealth, inside. No, of course, it was not a Herul woman. Hunlaki moved his horse toward her, circling her rather, that he might have her between himself and the column. In a moment or two, the horse moving slowly, he saw that she had, indeed, wrapped several times about her neck, a rope. She had been gathering hineen, presumably for the cooking pots of the wagon driver, that behind which she would normally be marched prisoner. Hineen is somewhat rare but there were patches of it in this area. It is a pretty plant, coming in several colors. It is a spore bearer and blossoms, or, perhaps better, colors, in the cold. It sustains certain ungulates throughout the winter, which paw for it when the snow is heavy. Some of these animals come from dozens of miles away to find it. The spores of the hineen are carried about, partly by the hoofs of the ungulates. Heruls and the folk of the Lothar could also eat it. She was holding up the front of her skirt, which she had used as a basket, into which she had placed the hineen. It was very pretty, all the colors in the skirt. It seemed to be full now. Why was she dallying? And she was too far from the column. Did she think to run? Her calves were not without interest. She turned white, seeing Hunlaki approaching her. He had already freed his knout from the saddle ring. Swiftly she knelt in the cold grass. She put her head down and unlooped the free end of the rope, which

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she had wound about her neck, the end tucked in, that by means of which she would normally be tied to the back of a wagon. She then, her head kept down, lifted the free end of the rope toward Hunlaki, the other end remaining, of course, knotted about her neck. It was a placatory gesture, offering him, in effect, her leash. Hunlaki, from the saddle, looked down upon her. The wind moved her hair a little. The hineen had been spilled before her, before her knees, the skirt emptied. "Look up," said Hunlaki. She looked up. She was trembling. She did not lower the leash. "You are far from the column," said Hunlaki. She was perhaps some fifty yards from it. "I was gathering hineen," she said. Hunlaki's hand tightened on the knout, held across the saddle. "You are far from the column," Hunlaki repeated. "Yes, Master," she said. "Do you wish to be brought back on your rope?" he asked. "No, Master," she said. "You have learned already to call Heruls 'Master,' " Hunlaki said.

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"All free men, Master," she said. "You may lower your hand," said Hunlaki. She did so. "Rewind the rope about your neck, as it was," said Hunlaki. She complied. "Gather up, again, the hineen," he said. She bent to the task and, in moments, had replaced the spilled hineen within the basket of her skirt. She still knelt. One could now see her knees. "Rise up," said Hunlaki. "Return to the wagon." "Yes, Master," she said. She turned away from Hunlaki, and began to proceed toward the column. Hunlaki followed her. He was a little behind her, on her left. Doubtless she was much aware of him there. "You were thinking of escape," said Hunlaki. "Forgive me, Master," she said.

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"There is no escape," said Hunlaki. "I do not want to be marked," she said. "I do not want to wear a device." "In the lands of the Heruls," said Hunlaki, "such things are not necessary. Do you think we do not know who is slave, and who is not?" She sobbed. "There is no escape for you," said Hunlaki, "no more than for the branded, collared girls of the civilized worlds." She was then near the column, and she stopped. She looked back at Hunlaki. "There would have been no escape," said Hunlaki. "The dogs would have come for you." "I am afraid!" she said. "That is fully appropriate, as you are a slave," said Hunlaki. She looked up at him. "Do you know what you must fear most?" asked Hunlaki. "No, Master," she said.

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"That you might not be found fully pleasing," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Turn about," said Hunlaki. She did so. She shuddered, not looking at him, as he, leaning down from the saddle, put the knout gently to the left side of her neck. "Do not think again of escape," said Hunlaki. "No, Master," she said. "Hurry now to your wagon," said Hunlaki. "Hope that you will not be beaten." "Yes, Master," she said. Hunlaki, his knout restored to the saddle ring, followed her, slowly, some yards back, until he saw her at her wagon. The hineen was placed in a hamper. He then saw her tied to the back of the wagon, where, already, there were two others. She looked back once, but Hunlaki turned his mount, and retraced his steps. A light snow had begun to fall.

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Somewhere, ahead, he heard the cries of a woman in labor. Birds screamed overhead, circling. "Ho," said Mujiin, riding up. "I saw you with a woman. You are feeling better?" "I am all right," Hunlaki assured him. "I saw you had her away from the column," said Mujiin. "Did you knout her suitably? Did you make her kick well for you?" "I did not knout her," said Hunlaki. "I did not make her kick." "Did you put your disk on her, for this evening?" asked Mujiin. "No," said Hunlaki. "She had good calves," said Mujiin. "I saw. I will know her when I see her. I will put my disk on her for the night." Hunlaki shrugged. "You do not mind?" asked Mujiin. "No," said Hunlaki. "How shall I use her?" inquired Mujiin.

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"As you wish," said Hunlaki. "She is a slave." They were, as I have mentioned, at that time, near the heights of Barrionuevo. Indeed, in the late afternoon of the morrow's march, one might be able, from the track of the column, if the weather were fitting, to see the festung of Saint Giadini. It was shortly thereafter that the column halted for the night. During the night some children were born, and cast to the side of the march. They were dead shortly thereafter, and the dogs, and then the birds, had them. Hunlaki that night dreamed of the actions of the spring and early summer. In the morning the fires were quenched with snow and the beasts harnessed. That day began like most days on the march, not muchly different. Hunlaki remembered the boy he had killed on the snowy plains, days ago, only days from the Lothar. And he remembered the riders. He had admired them. He admired the riders, and the boy. It was too bad, he thought, that such a people must perish.

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It was such thoughts that were in his mind when he rode past a newly born infant. It lay to one side, in the snowy grass. He had ridden well past it, when he suddenly wheeled his mount and rode back. "Away!" he called to one of the dogs, smelling at the tiny, living thing. Hunlaki looked down at it, from the saddle. It was tiny, and reddish, lying to one side, on bloody, pressed-down grass. It was a few feet to the left of the wagon ruts, if one were looking toward the rear of the column, to the right, if one were looking toward the front of the column. It was bloody. Mud, too, had spattered upon it, from the wheels of the passing wagons. It had been born, Hunlaki surmised, but minutes before. The dogs had not yet had it. The cord which had bound it to its mother was still with it, and a mass of bloody tissue, to which it was attached. Hunlaki saw one of the large birds alight nearby. Hunlaki dismounted and examined the infant. It seemed sturdy. It was crying. Hunlaki did not really know why he had turned back or why he had dismounted. It felt very warm, which seemed strange to Hunlaki, as it was lying in the pressed-down, cold grass. Its small limbs flailed about. Hunlaki did not care for the crying. "Be quiet," said Hunlaki. Another warrior, mounted, stopped nearby. "Stand aside," said the warrior, "and I will trample it." Hunlaki did not respond. "Let

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us play the game of lances," suggested the other warrior. Sometimes the infants of the enemy were used in the game of lances, instead of the cloth ball or melon. Hunlaki waved the warrior on. Two other warriors rode

by, looking at

Hunlaki

strangely. Then

Hunlaki,

embarrassed, remounted, to continue on his way. He saw the dog move a little closer. Its mouth was open. Its tongue was out, and moved about its teeth. The crest was back flat on its neck. Even the bird, which we shall call a vulture, moved forward a little, awkwardly, as such things move on the land. Hunlaki looked down, again, at the infant. Then he looked at the dog, and then at the bird. Then a second bird alit. Hunlaki had seen living infants drawn about by afterbirth, across the prairie, being fought for by the dogs. He had seen them torn to pieces, too, by the birds. Hunlaki again dismounted. He crouched down beside the small body. Curious, he put his hand to the afterbirth. It still retained warmth. The blood, the fluid, on the matted grass was still sticky. To be sure, it was cold, and that would slow its drying. But clearly the child had been born but shortly before, perhaps only minutes before. Hunlaki wiped his hand on his cloak. He then looked about, at the dog, and the two birds. He drew his knife. He put one hand on the infant's head to hold it steady. He put the blade to its throat. He withdrew the blade. He cut the afterbirth away, leaving enough of the cord to knot, which he did. He then resheathed his knife and lifted the small life in his hands, looking down at it. He stood up, holding the child. One could see the mountains quite clearly from where he stood. Looking down he was surprised to see something he had not noticed before. Near where the child had lain, almost under where it had lain, thrust under the matted grass, as though it might have been concealed there, bloody, was a medallion and chain. They seemed of rich stuff. Hunlaki took this chain, with its medallion, and

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slung it about his neck. In a little while he had rejoined the march. The infant, within his cloak, warm against his body, was asleep. Later in the day Hunlaki found a wagon in which rode a bitch with her pups. At the teat of the bitch, with her pups, the infant eagerly suckled. Late that afternoon, from the track of the column, in the distance, looking like part of the mountain itself, partly lost in the clouds, could be seen the festung of Saint Giadini. "What have you there?" had asked Mujiin, curious, riding up to Hunlaki earlier in the day. Hunlaki showed him. "That is not a Herul," said Mujiin. "No," said Hunlaki. "Kill it," said Mujiin. "No," said Hunlaki. "It may grow up to kill you," said Mujiin. "That is true," granted Hunlaki. Toward evening he rode alone up the high, narrow, treacherous path to the festung.

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"If we do not accept this," said Brother Benjamin, "what will you do with it?" "I will leave it on the plains, for the dogs," said Hunlaki. "We will accept it," said Brother Benjamin. "It has suckled on the teat of a dog," said Hunlaki. "If you have dogs, a nursing dog, it can feed." "There will be nursing women in the village," said Brother Benjamin. "What is its name?" "I do not know," said Hunlaki. "It has suckled on the teat of a dog?" asked Brother Benjamin. "Yes," said Hunlaki. "Then it must be a little dog," said Brother Benjamin. "We call it 'Dog.' " Hunlaki touched the infant with an exploratory tentacle, and then placed it gently into the webbed fingers of Brother Benjamin. "Oh," said Hunlaki, "this was with it." He removed the medallion and chain from about his neck and put it with the child, in the arms of Brother Benjamin.

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"Do you know the meaning of that thing?" asked Brother Benjamin. "No," said Hunlaki. "I will keep it for him," said Brother Benjamin. Hunlaki then remounted and rode down the long trail to the plain, leagues beneath. By the next morning he had caught up, once more, with the column.

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CHAPTER 7 He lay in the white sand, on his side, his senses reeling. For a moment he had blacked out. His body felt numb, shocked, paralyzed. He had seen them approaching, the two guards, and the petty, officious officer of the court. He had remembered her from the hearing. He had watched them approaching across the sand, between the kneeling, waiting men. She wore now not the somber blue of the court, but a belted clingabout of white corton, a garb suitable for a holiday, for the games. He was surprised that she was dressed so, for, on this world, as he had noted, men and women, save in the lower classes, in the squalid, impoverished areas, dressed much alike, that seemingly to show their sameness, and their superiority to sex. That garment, lengthy and opaque as it was, would doubtless precipitate some scandal in the stands. He did not doubt but what many women there, hidden in their mannish garb, would find it daring, and offensive. How resentful they might be, how envious, how jealous! Who did she think she was! Was she not familiar with the proprieties? Surely she must know such attire would attract attention in the stands. Indeed, was she not publicly coming across the sand, even now. Who then could not but notice her? He could hear the ripples of outrage in the stands. But what had she to fear? She could claim that she was acting to rectify an oversight, that she had come forth onto the sand in the line of her duties. Too, what need she care for the opinions of others? She could be indifferent to them, for she was of the honestori. Too, he sensed she might relish being the object of such attention, even of scandal. What had she to fear? She was of high family. Indeed, her mother, who was the judge who had sentenced him, was in the mayor's box. She was high judge in the city. He saw the mother

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turn to the mayor, and speak with her. The guards coming across the sand with the officer of the court, the daughter, were in uniform. One of the guards held some loops of rope. They both carried stun sticks. He was now familiar with such things. It was by means of them that he had been taken into custody. Such weapons, and others, others still more dangerous, were scarce on this world. They were almost entirely in the hands of authorities, but, of course, not altogether. The population then was largely at the mercy of two groups, not always unallied, authorities and criminals. This was common on many worlds within the empire. Indeed, the manufacture of weaponry, at least legal weaponry, was on many worlds a monopoly of the state. Weapon makers, on many worlds, those who had possessed such skills, had been among the first bound. He had watched the three of them approaching. The sand was deep. It came well over the ankles of their boots. She, too, wore boots. This suggested to him that she had planned to cross the sand, before dressing for the day. Her presence here then was not an unplanned one, resulting merely from detecting some unexpected oversight. She had wanted to appear on the sand, before the assembled crowds, doubtless. He could see the prints behind them, where they had disturbed the sand, raked after the prisoners had been knelt. The attendants might not be pleased with that. They took their work seriously. The sand would be disturbed soon enough, though, given the beginning of the first amusements. Then the guards, and the officer of the court, the daughter of the judge, had stopped before him. He had looked up at them, from his knees. She pointed at him, grandly, rather for the crowd, he supposed. "He cannot be trusted," she said. "Rope him, rope him well." He did not doubt but what the men would obey her. Indeed, what power had she, if the men did not obey her? They would obey her, of course. They had been

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trained to adhere to the rules, not question how the rules had come about, or the utility of the rules, their ultimate consequences. Her face wore a haughty expression. She was fairly complexioned. Her body seemed cold, and tight. Her dark hair was tied back, behind her head, severely. Yet for all the neurotic coldness, and tightness, about her, he did not think she was utterly unattractive. He had even looked upon her, and watched her, and considered her, when he was sitting in the prisoner's dock, guarded by men with stun sticks, in her court garb. He now again considered her, in the white clingabout. To be sure, it muchly covered her. He wondered what she looked like, naked. One of the guards laughed. "Be silent!" she chided the guard. Doubtless the pupils of his eyes had dilated, as he had looked upon her. They had performed such a test on him before the hearing, when he was being held. A female prisoner had been brought in. His reactions had been noted. They had also been referred to, explicitly, in the hearing. "Rope him!" she said. The guards looked at one another. Then one lifted his stun stuck and pulled the trigger once, and then, as he had not fallen, twice more. As he lay in the sand, his body ringing with shock, muchly paralyzed, he felt the ropes being put about him, tying his arms to his sides, his hands behind him. "Make them tight!" she said. The ropes were drawn tight. They were knotted. He was then put again to his knees.

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She slapped him twice, angrily. She could not hurt him. She did not have the strength. But the blows stung, and they were humiliating. He did not care to be struck, particularly by a woman. One could kill a man. It did not seem right to kill a woman. If he struck her he might have broken her neck. She glared down at him. There was laughter in the stands. She was furious. She stepped back from him. In the stands there must have been many who realized that she, an officer of the court, the daughter of the high judge herself, had been viewed with dilated pupils. But what did she expect, going down on the sand, clad as she was, standing before one who had chosen death to "true manhood," as it was defined on this world, to the improvement, the smoothing? He had struck a woman only once before, Tessa, who had first slapped him. He had slapped her back. Must she not expect that? But it seems she had not. She had looked up at him with awe, from where she had been flung by the force of the blow, on the floor of the varda coop, to his left. She had then crawled to his feet, begging his forgiveness. He had used her on the floor of the varda coop. After that she would meet him when and where he told her. With what fury the daughter of the judge regarded him! He looked away from her. His body was still numb. The stands were almost full now. The ropes about his upper body were tight. He could tell that. Still, oddly, it was hard to feel them, at least as one would normally have expected to feel them. It was almost as though they had been put on someone else. He wondered if Brother Benjamin were right, if he were

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not his body, as he seemed to be, but something else, hidden inside it. If that were so, it might explain why the ropes felt strange, because he was far within his body, far from the ropes. The body, in spite of appearances, its seeming to contain organs, and such, was really a shell, something within which he lived. Indeed, Brother Benjamin had told him that he was really invisible, the real him, that is, the one that lived inside the body, or somewhere. The real person was called the koos, an old word which had originally meant "breath." It was Floon, a rational

salamander,

or

salamander-type

creature,

of

the

predominantly reptilian world of Zirus, who had first taught, to the surprise of many, as the idea was then new, that the koos was eternal, neither coming into nor going out of existence, but staying right there, wherever it was. A consequence of this idea was that rational creatures could not die, an idea with considerable appeal to rational creatures. The fact that Floon died, and rather miserably, in an electric chair, did little to diminish the persuasiveness of his doctrine. It was discovered that he had not really died but had later appeared simultaneously on several different worlds, reiterating his teachings. His teachings, a generation or two after his apparent death, had been gathered together by followers. The teachings seemed in places to be inconsistent with one another, but inconsistencies may always be reconciled, by drawing suitable distinctions. Too, certain of the teachings, for one reason or another, were rejected as inauthentic. This was done by individuals who had never known Floon, and several generations after his apparent death. Dogs and horses, Brother Benjamin had taught, did not have a koos. He had found this hard to believe, as it seemed they felt pain, and pleasure, and such. Their insides, their organs, and such, were relevant to their life. It was only that this was not the case with the rational creatures, or at least

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certain of the rational creatures. Rational aquatic mammals were a disputed

point.

Brother

Benjamin

believed

that

Floon

was

an

emanation of Karch, but there was a great deal of controversy on this sort of thing in the worlds. I will briefly sketch the major positions. There was the illusionist position of Fingal, who taught that since Karch, who is perfect, and pain is imperfect, cannot know pain, Floon must have been an illusion, because Floon had apparently felt pain when he had been put in the electric chair. Some folks, of course, thought that Floon was merely a rational salamander, or salamandertype creature, no more, but a gifted, or inspired, prophet. That did not turn the trick, however, for many folks. One then became involved in whether Floon was truly Karch, or only a part of Karch, whether or not they were of the same substance, whatever a substance was, or different substances, or similar substances, or two substances united into one substance in one union, and such, the latter position, perhaps because of its inconsistency, or mystery, tending to become the most popular. In spite of the obvious verbalisms involved, the inability to provide empirical proof for any of these positions, and, indeed, the inability, even apart from questions of mere provability, to empirically discriminate among these various hypotheses, which was doubtless something of an advantage, many people took these notions very seriously. Indeed, many people were killed because of them, usually Floonians by Floonians. This was not unintelligible because it was natural that there would be serious competition for control of various dioceses, and the revenues, power and such, associated with them. Her eyes met his. "You need not have been here," she said. "The choice was yours."

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He did not look at her. What she said was true. The Floonians had been a joke for some generations in the empire, among the honestori, most of whom kept to the old ways, seemingly such a transparently infantile wish fulfillment, but then it had been noted that they, in their numerous sects, were becoming more and more powerful. That had given the empire pause. Even more alarming was the tendency among most of the Floonian sects to draw apart from the observances and customs, the traditions, of the empire. Knowing themselves in all their humility and self-effacingness to be superior to others, not that that was to their credit, as it was due only to the blessings of Floon, they consorted much with themselves, separating themselves from their fellow citizens. They declined military service. This hastened to some extent the barbarization of the military. They formed their own charitable societies, their own burial clubs. They were reluctant even to place laurel on the altar of the genius of the empire, which was understood by most as no more than a token of allegiance. The priority in their life tended to become not the welfare of their communities, or the empire, but of their own koos. To many it now seemed that the Floonian phenomenon, which by outsiders was commonly understood to be more uniform than in fact it was, was not only an arbitrary, ridiculous, egomaniacal aberration but a persuasion which was both dangerous and unpatriotic. To be sure, at this time, the empire had not realized the possibilities of turning the Floonian phenomenon to its own purposes. That would come later. The hierarchy of the Floonians, of course, would see in the alliance with the empire, as opposed to an opposition to it, a route to power not only within their own sects, but within the state as a whole, indeed, as a way to turn the empire to its own advantage. Later, you see, the

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Floonian phenomenon would become well aware of the advantages of a controlled secularism. Soon, as revelation was reinterpreted, or continued to unfold, or was better understood, it would be discovered that the faithful, for example, had not only a right, but a duty, to serve the empire, to take up arms on her behalf, and such things. But now, at the time of our story, the Floonians were outsiders. They were still regarded, by most, even of the lower classes, amongst whom they commonly made their greatest inroads, as no more than contemptible deviants. I am sorry to have taken time for these diverse doctrinal and historical allusions, but it seemed desirable to do so, as without them certain later developments, even in our simple story, would be very difficult to understand. I beg the reader to put aside his own prejudices, and to grant, minimally, that matters such as I have been discussing, as bizarre as they may seem, as remote from common sense and rationality as they may be, can be, at least at certain times and places, taken seriously by rational creatures. We will concern ourselves very little with them, except insofar as they may impinge upon our narrative. Certain last remarks, however, are in order. First, although many points here may seem eccentric and airy, even amusing, there is nothing eccentric or airy, or amusing, about imprisonment, persecution and torture. There is nothing eccentric, or airy, or abstract, or amusing, about the hideous deaths to which millions of rational creatures were subjected on account of them. It must clearly be understood, further, that powerful, unscrupulous men, in the prosecution of a savage Realpolitik, can seize upon such things for their own purposes, indeed, as they might have seized upon many

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things, perhaps even more likely, or promising, things, more visible things, such as differentiations among species. Secondly, in accord with the first point, and more pertinent to our story, the Floonian phenomenon was soon to be appropriated by individuals who saw in it, on one level or on another, on one level of consciousness or another, a route to attention, wealth, prestige and power. Indeed, had Floon chosen to return yet again to the civilized worlds it seems likely that that sweet, timid, gentle creature so fearful of death would have been one of the first seized and condemned, for the institution would have found him a dangerous embarrassment. Certainly the ritual, the practices, the organization, the bureaucracy, the hierarchies would have puzzled him. Would he not have gone his own way, puzzled, shaking his head, turning away from such things, content rather with his own simple beliefs and ways? Thirdly, although the empire occasionally saw fit to persecute Floonians, it never did so consistently or systematically. Such would have been uncharacteristic. It would have been in contradiction to, and a violation of, the general, accepted and long-sanctioned practices and policies of the imperium. Indeed, the policy of the empire was almost invariably one of tolerance, tolerance for the millions of faiths of the millions of worlds. It was only later that this changed, when the Floonian phenomenon, which had for the most part been allowed to flourish within the empire, in accordance with the general policies of imperial toleration, became allied with the imperium. Things then changed. The Floonian hierarchy, having been permitted to rise to power in virtue of its own having been tolerated, now, once it was in a position to do so, repudiated toleration, no longer needing it, and instituted practices of consistent, systematic persecution that would have amazed and horrified even the emperors of the civil wars, famous for their proscription lists. Again, I

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do not wish to anticipate, but I will remark that the Floonian phenomenon may not have quite the same future in this reality as it might have had in others. Not all realities, you see, are identical. Indeed, our protagonist, and others like him, may have had something to do with that. "Do not dare to look upon me," she chided. "It is hard to feel the ropes," he said, puzzled. "That is because of the shock of the stun stick, you barbarous dolt," she laughed. She then turned about and, followed by the guards, recrossed the sand. She would ascend to the mayor's box by the throne gate, that which led to the privileged seating. It was called that because the seats of honor were reached through it, including the high seat, or throne, in this town occupied by the mayor. "So," he thought, "it may not be then that Brother Benjamin, dear Brother Benjamin, was right. I may only seem to be somewhere inside my body because I cannot feel as I normally would. It is because of what they did, something which has to do with the sticks." He found it hard to understand how a stick could strike him without touching him. But he had heard of such things from the sailors on the cattle vessel. Indeed, he had pressed them relentlessly, for hours at a time, for stories, and facts, and customs. He wanted to understand the world, and worlds. He may have been illiterate, and a soil worker, and from only a festung village, but he was not stupid. He had an active mind, a

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very active mind. The sailors had enjoyed telling him things, relishing his eagerness, his wonder, his astonishment, and most of what they told him, interestingly, was even true. One of the things they did not think to tell him much about was the ship. They took it so much for granted. To him, of course, it was the greatest wonder of all. He saw the throne gate opened, and watched her ascend to the high seats. The guards, within, parted from her. They took up positions at opposite ends of the closed box. Sometimes citizens took the opportunity of the games to press petitions into the hands of the civic authorities. Too, more than one governor, and emperor, even, it was said, had been assassinated at the games, though usually in the court outside the wall, or in the tunnel leading between the box and the street. He looked at her taking her seat beside her mother, the high judge, who herself sat on the right hand of the mayor. He did not think he was a dolt. Too, he was no barbarian, surely. He was a peasant, from a festung village, from one of the Imperial worlds. It even had a provincial capital, Venitzia. He had watched her cross the sand. Women did not move the same way as men. There was a difference in their walk. Too, it seemed that, for this world, the movement of that woman, despite the severity of her demeanor, and such, was unusually female. Many of the other females on this world, as far as he had been able to determine, attempted to conceal their natural gait. But she had not seemed as concerned to conceal it. There had been a murmur of female protest from the stands, but she had thrown her head back and continued to

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the throne gate. She was of the honestore class. It was supposed by him that she had mixed feelings toward her sexuality. He wondered if there were worlds in which women did not have such feelings, worlds on which they accepted their sexuality and rejoiced in it. He had heard that there were worlds on which some women were slaves. They were dressed for the pleasure of men. Their gait, and their garmentures, left them, and others, in no doubt as to their womanhood. The trumpets blared again, and he saw side gates open, and the dwarfs, better than a score of them, some with high, flat measuring boards, taller than themselves, others with hooks and baskets, rushing out. There was music then, and cheering. Following the dwarfs, from under the stands, came several large, bulky, rather soft fellows, naked, save for an apron. Each carried a barang, thick, wide, singlebladed, some three feet in length, with a handle about a foot in length, so that it might be gripped with both hands. It would probably weigh about twelve pounds. The peasant moved a little inside the ropes. They were tight. The wiry strands dug deeply into his arms. He could feel them now. His sensibility had much returned, long before it might have been expected to have done so. He supposed that he might have remained kneeling, if only for Brother Benjamin, or as a matter of honor, or, say, of disdain for those of the town. But he did not care to be bound. Did they not trust him to remain there quietly, waiting for his koos to take flight, innocent, and unharmed? After all, they could not hurt a koos. That was part of the teaching. But perhaps he had no koos. What if he did not have a koos! What then? What if he were himself, and not a koos, really, which he had never seen, nor had anyone else, as far as

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he knew? Perhaps they were right not to trust him. But what could he do, run about, now, bound, while the dwarfs pursued him, with their hooks, to pull him down, while the crowd laughed, while the large, soft creatures waited the signal to rush up, wielding the weighty barangs? He moved inside the ropes. They were heavy, they were tight. The guards, and the officer of the court, it seemed, had decided to take no chances with him. Such ropes would contain a garn pig, even if it were agitated, doubtless even a sacrificial bull, snowy white, with gilded horns, hung with beads, the sort still said to be slain by honestore officiants on the Telnarian worlds. The attendants had now entered through the dead gate, with their rakes. They stood about the edges of the arena. There were several spectacles slated for the afternoon. The current portion of the entertainments was intended to be little more than preliminary. Indeed, there were still some empty seats in the stands, though the arena was a small one, suitable for a small provincial town. Not everyone came on time. Some did not mind missing the first events. Some of the men kneeling about him, unbound, began to pray aloud, usually to Floon and Karch, but sometimes to the intercessors, as well. He detected no prayers to Saint Giadini, but that was doubtless because Giadini had been an emanationist, a schizmatic. Who would dare to pray to such a one, at such a time? Various events were scheduled for the balance of the afternoon, songs and dances, footraces and competitions, beast fights, hunter-

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and-beast fights, gladiatorial combats, acrobats, rope dancers, brief dramas, mythological enactments, and such, and the program was calculated to last until twilight. The arena was lit only by the sun. Had something been scheduled for the evening, it would have been localized in a relatively small area, and illuminated by torches. On this world, certain forms of energy were now quite scarce, and tended to be reserved for the use of the empire, and its licensees. On the other hand, there was the light of the local star, or sun, and the winds, and the tides, such things, and certain reliable, renewable resources, precious things, such as wood and grass. Worlds made what adjustments they could, and, beyond the sky, reassuring them, in all its solidity and eternal strength, lay the empire. He pressed against the ropes. They could hold a garn pig, a sacrificial bull. He saw the mayor rise up, before her chair. She, like the judge beside her, was dressed in the concealing, sacklike, mannish garb affected by so many of the women he had seen in the town. Such garmenture was quite dissimilar to the white corton clingabout of the judge's daughter. To be sure, the judge's daughter was not the only woman so clad in the stands. Too, he could see some colored garments, here and there, in particular, yellow and red. Some of the women even wore necklaces, or bracelets. The female prisoner who had been used in the testing of him, when it had been determined that he was not a "true man," had been put in a necklace, and then, forced to stand straight before him, her shoulders back, weeping, had

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had her garments pulled down about her hips. The optical device had clearly

registered

his

response.

The

evidence

had

been

incontrovertible. The mayor lifted her hands to the crowd. There was another blare of trumpets. Many of the men about him began to sing a hymn to Floon. He did not sing the hymn, as he was not of the adherents of Floon. Behind her chair and to the left, as he was facing it, was a small altar. Doubtless a tiny fire had been kindled there. The mayor took a packet from an attendant and shook the contents of this packet onto the flame, which spurted up, and then a long wreath of yellow smoke rose upward toward the sky. He smelled incense. It was an old custom, a Telnarian custom, much like the libations, an offering to the old gods, though few, he thought, now believed in them. The strains of the hymn to Floon, though they seemed small, and weak, were clearly audible in the arena. He watched the smoke drift away. The mayor now stood again before her chair. She lifted up, in her right hand, a scarf, or handkerchief. "Let the games begin," she called, using a formula whose origins were lost in

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antiquity. She released the scarf, or handkerchief, the cloth she held, that used for the signal, and it fluttered to her feet. There was then another blast on the trumpets, but their sound, renewed, was almost drowned in the anticipatory cry of the crowd. It leaned forward, eagerly. The large, soft men then whipped their aprons away from their loins and turned before the crowd, their arms uplifted, the barangs brandished.

The

crowd

applauded.

They

were

"true

men,"

as

understood on this world. When they turned about, again, to those on the sand, he, the peasant, could scarcely believe his eyes, though his vision was extraordinarily keen. He blinked. He shook his head. Could it be some trick of the glare, from the white sand? No, there was no mistake. It was as his senses had told him, and his mind, for an instant, had refused to believe. Then he turned his head to the side, sick, he who had lived with blood and butchery in the village, and threw up in the sand. They had been improved, smoothed. Doubtless many had requested this smoothing, that, emasculated, in this way most

effectively

devirilized,

the

mental

techniques

not

always

sufficient, they might prove more pleasing, more acceptable, to the women of this world. Many had doubtless requested this improvement, not only as a route to moral excellence, but perhaps, too, in their own best interests, economic and political. "You need not have been here," the officer of the court, the daughter

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of the judge, had told him, rather angrily, he had thought, but moments before, on the sand. Surely it had been true. The judge had made that clear to him. She had been prepared to be merciful. Too, there were quotas of soil workers to be obtained, somehow, given the flight from the land in the vicinity of the town, largely a consequence of the newly imposed imperial taxations on provincial worlds. Binding, too, was imminent, as the judge, the mayor and other officials knew. But he was dangerous. He was masculine. He was the sort of man women feared. He might have been simply executed. Certainly the guards had him within their power. There were the stun sticks, and other weapons, more dangerous, which could burn through bodies like a gas torch through paper. On the other hand, the judge was subject herself to various pressures, in particular, from the township, it, itself, reacting

to

imperial

prescriptions.

Soil

workers

were

needed

desperately. Too, the binding was imminent. Accordingly, she was inclined to be merciful, sparing him. Let him be remanded to one of the town farms, that as his sentence, and before the sentence had expired the binding would be safely in effect. He would then be bound there, for his life, to the soil. But the judge could see only too clearly that he was large and strong, unusually so. Too, she knew that he was dangerous. Too, she could sense, a part of his dangerousness, to her uneasiness, a powerful masculinity in him, a masculinity like that of an animal, a masculinity as rude, as simple, as primitive, as natural as rain and sunlight. This masculinity was not unique with him, of course, though we may conjecture, from certain events which followed, that it was unusually powerful with him. It was, on the whole, a masculinity of the sort which was not uncommon among the males of the illiterate peasantry. It had not been diminished by devirilizing teachings, by an emasculative

education,

by

a

thousand

subtle

negative

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reinforcements. The isolation of the peasantry, and their grueling labors in the field, gave them little opportunity or time for subjection to certain devices of pathological civilizations. Too, it was not obvious that the devirilization of the peasantry was in the best interests of the educated, urbanized communities. The peasants were needed, and, educated,

subjected

to

programs

of

emasculative

conditioning,

devirilized, they would not breed as well. In a sense, however, we might note, as it is relevant to our narrative, his masculinity transcended that of the simple peasantry. It had within it certain other elements, as well, the intellect, authoritativeness and uncompromising aggressiveness of a different, more complex form of life. This form of life would be that of the warrior. The occurrence of these elements in one who was obviously a mere peasant was surely surprising, and seemingly inexplicable. "I have here the results of the pupil-dilation test," had said the judge, lifting papers from before her. He could not see what was on the desk before her, because of the construction of the desk, also its height. "In the test situation your pupils clearly dilated." The peasant had not said anything. He was not sure what the judge even meant. "Do you understand what I am saying?" she asked. "No," he said. "You looked upon a woman, and saw her as a female," explained the judge.

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"She was a female," said the peasant, puzzled. "You are not on some barbarous world," she said. "You are in a civilized community, with civilized laws. Here men and women are the same, persons. But you looked upon the woman as though she were different from a man.” "Yes," admitted the peasant. "These are dangerously antisocial tendencies," she said. The peasant was silent. "It is a violation of moral and civil law." "Not on the world from which I come," he said. He could remember that he, and some of the other young men of the village, Gathron, and others, had often gone to watch the girls wading in the small lake, netting fish. Sometimes he regretted having had to kill Gathron, but he had had no choice. Gathron had first struck him. At such times they would have their skirts hitched up. They knew the boys were watching, and were very vivacious, very pretty. Later he had caught Lia in her own net and drawn her back among the rushes, half on the grass, half in the mud. She was the first woman he had had. How she had kicked and laughed, and kissed at him, helpless in the strands. He had then, amazed at the incomparable pleasures he had experienced, turned her over to Gathron, who was his friend. She had not much cared for this, but then she was helpless in the net and could not resist. Gathron,

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too, was muchly pleased. They had released her later. Then he and Gathron, arm in arm, had returned to the village. He had that day first truly understood how incomparably valuable women were and how natural and understandable it was that on certain worlds, as he had heard, they could be bought and sold. Surely they would look lovely chained at one's feet, owned, yours to do with as you pleased. He had wondered what Lia would have brought on a slave block, and certain others, whom he now, as of this afternoon, saw in an entirely new way, such as Tessa and Pig. Gathron had been a good friend, for years. They had often worked together, and hunted together. Then one day Gathron had struck him. He had then killed Gathron. This incident, doubtless, had its effect on him later. He was unwilling, it seems, to let anyone close to him again, not truly close. Gathron had been close. It was dangerous to do so. It was not that he did not laugh and drink, you understand, and was not hearty, and a good fellow, at the feasting tables. It was only that he was unwilling, it seems, to let anyone close to him again, truly close. It is possible that he may have wanted friends, and love, but that he was afraid of such things. We do not know. On the other hand, he may have been above such things, beyond them. Too, such things, clearly, ill consorted with the medallion and chain. For whatever reason, or reasons, he would keep much to himself, in the deepest sense, muchly guarding inner secrets and feelings. Few could tell what he thought. Few could claim to know him, even his women. It was dangerous, he doubtless felt, to let anyone close to him. Gathron had been close. Too, such things ill consorted with the obligations of the medallion and chain. But then, again, who knows? Perhaps he was not so weak, was not susceptible to such matters, matters such as might concern lesser men. Or perhaps such things were simply of no interest or importance to him.

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But rather than speculate on such matters, which is commonly fruitless, let us continue with our narrative. Our concern here, as we have said, is merely to tell what happened. "If you did not want me to see her as a female, why did you have her bared before me?" he asked. The judge regarded him, with fury. "And put a necklace on her, first?" he asked. "Be silent," said the judge. "Was she not a person?" he asked, not quite sure what that word meant. It did not seem to mean anything, or, perhaps it meant "nothing," intentionally. He did not know. The guards had lifted their stun sticks. "She is a prisoner, a low woman," said the judge. "Not a person?" "No," said the judge. "It is all right for such as she to be looked upon with dilated pupils." "Then what is wrong with my having done so?" he asked. The judge reddened, angrily. She replaced the papers on the desk. He had then looked across the court to the officer of the court, in her

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dark blue robe. She was young, and quite attractive. He wondered what she might look like, if she had been put in a necklace and bared before him, as had been the low woman. Probably not much different, he thought. But then he supposed that such thoughts were improper. She was of the honestore class, perhaps even a minor patrician, surely no more on this provincial world. But she was a woman, surely. So what difference would it make? She, looking at him at this time, gasped, and then stiffened. Then, in fury, blushing hotly, she had looked away. The judge had not noticed this exchange. It may have been one reason, of course, why the officer of the court, on the day of the games, had worn the clingabout, and come even across the sand, to appear before him, and have him bound. Perhaps she had wanted, thusly, to taunt him, and then to show him her power, that men would obey her. "The court," had said the judge, which, under the circumstances, was herself, "is prepared to be merciful." He had been offered the choice between life, or life of a sort, and death. Certainly his crime had been heinous, theft of a darin and a silver bracelet, and, in the course of its commission, the cold-blooded, unprovoked murder of two upright citizens, one a respectable local businessman. There had been nine witnesses for the prosecution, five close associates of the businessman, who had witnessed the murders, and four policemen, who had apprehended the thief with the bracelet and darin in his possession. The defendant had not deigned to respond to the charges. Similarly, he had not chosen to explain how the darin and bracelet had come into his possession. It had been established, from the records of the customs search, that he had not had them with

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him at the time of his disembarkation. "You have been found guilty," announced the judge. "Do you wish to beg the court for mercy?" "No," he had said. That response had not pleased the judge. But then the field quotas were to be filled. "The court, nonetheless," had then said the judge, not pleasantly, "in her generosity, and mercy, despite the gravity of these crimes, and the seemingly unregenerate resoluteness of their perpetrator, is inclined to be lenient. After all, the moral welfare, the reformation, of a culprit, even one so undeserving of consideration, is a gratuitous but legitimate object of a justice with vision. Though a lifetime of penitence and labor is surely no sufficient compensation for the wrongs heretofore wrought, that some repayment to society is better than naught is a consideration which need not be neglected." The peasant understood very little of this. "There is a way," she said, "to reduce the energy, the power, the unacceptable aggressiveness, of your nature." He did not understand. "Too, you understand, of course, that genes such as yours, so

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antisocial, so dangerous, are not to be propagated," she continued. He did not know what genes were. It was soon made clear to him however that he had two choices, one was to be smoothed, and then remanded for an indefinite time to the public fields, and the other was to be remanded to the arena. The judge, who hated and feared men such as he, in her pettiness and vanity, had thought it amusing to give him this choice, in order that it might be he, himself, who would choose his own unmanning. He would thus do her will, humiliating and demeaning himself, by his own will. But he had said, "No." There had been gasps, whispers, consternation in the small court. The judge herself had been for the moment struck speechless. "You leave me no choice," she had then said, in inexplicable fury. He was remanded to the arena, into the keeping of its master. "Take him away," she had said. Then the officer of the court, her daughter, in her dark blue robe, had stepped forth, with the guards, and he had been conducted from the courtroom. There was a cry from the crowd as the barang, gripped in both hands by one of the large, soft men, after some vicious, tentative feints, held

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back at the last moment, at last struck loose the first head, it flying from the body. One of the waddling dwarfs, comically exaggerating his gait, to the amusement of the crowd, rushed after it, having apparently missed catching it in his basket. He seemed much chagrined. He leaped up and down, as though in frustration. He hurried to the head, putting his basket down beside it. He picked up the head by the hair and wagged his finger at it, as though scolding it. He pointed to the basket. Then he put it in his basket. The body had remained kneeling, as they will, for a time, if the blow is swift enough, and clean enough. The arterial blood, stimulated by the terror of the victim, a terror artificially increased by the feints, spurts to an unusual height. If you have seen this, you will understand what I mean, what it is like. It is ugly to watch. It is a little like a fountain. It spatters about. If one is near, it is easy to be soiled. Dwarfs, with their measuring boards, marked heights on the boards. Other dwarfs, with their hooks, the body then fallen heavily into the sand, rushed forward, striking into the body with the hooks, then drawing it across the sand, in a bloody furrow, toward the dead gate. Another head then flew away, even farther than the first. A cheer rang out. There was betting here and there in the stands, on the height the blood would reach on the boards, on the distance to which the heads might fly, on whether or nor a head would be caught. To be sure, the large, soft men, it was rumored, could control such things, at least the distance and direction of the projectile, by varying the angle of the blow, by turning the blade a little, just at the last instant. It was

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rumored there was collusion sometimes, between them and gamblers, in the stands. The hymn to Floon, as thin, as frail, as pathetic as it might seem, was audible in the arena. There were, of course, far worse ways to die, at least with respect to torture, to pain, and such. There was the rack and, the pincers, the tongs, the knives, the pegs, the skewers, the knotted cords, the stake, the burning irons, such things, such devices, and many others, which would only later, much later, be brought to scrupulous perfection by the adherents of Floon himself, usually for application to other adherents of Floon, heretics, schizmatics and such. Indeed, such devices, on the whole, were seldom employed by the empire, which commonly tended to exercise a certain restraint, or taste, in such matters, given pause, seemingly, by scruples which would seldom deter the later adherents of Floon, but then the adherents of Floon would always possess, it would seem to the peasant, a certain petty, low-class vindictiveness, that of the little person into whose hands suddenly comes power. The most common device of the empire was the rack. It might even appear in courtrooms, where it was commonly employed in the extraction of testimony from slaves. Indeed, a slave was normally fastened on the rack before his testimony was taken, it being assumed that the veridicality of his testimony might be best assured by such a device. But there were the beasts, however. The empire was fond of them. Doubtless because of the spectacle they could provide. These beasts, ravenous, tortured by hunger, released into the arena, driven wild by the scent of blood and flesh, would lose little time in attacking, and feeding.

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No, decapitation was presumably, as such things went, a merciful death. It was quick. The head presumably did not think for very long, if at all, after it was cut off, and in the sand, or a basket. The stroke of the barang was doubtless superior to certain other deaths, such as those of the lingering, wasting diseases, or the cannibalistic diseases, in which parts of one's body seemed to devour other parts. Another head flew from a body. There was another cheer. Most of the adherents of Floon in the arena were citizens of the empire, at least nominally. That was quite possibly why the barang was being used. It was thought to constitute an honorable death, one acceptable for citizens. Too, of course, beasts were expensive, and had to be kept fed between shows. Some entrepreneurs transported them from world to world, in menageries, for various games, various spectacles. Sometimes they escaped on shipboard. But such rentals did not come cheap. Floon had not been a citizen of the empire. He had died in an electric chair, or in what we have spoken of as an electric chair, in order to use a term which seems sufficiently appropriate. The actual device is a sort of burning rack. The crime, if one may think of it along those lines, of the adherents of Floon in the arena, was the refusal to place a sprig of laurel on the altar of the genius of the empire, on the porch of the town hall. This small ceremony was usually performed by civic officials, on behalf of the town. It would commonly take place on the birthday of the current emperor, and on certain holidays, the day set aside, for example, to commemorate the acceptance into the empire of the federation of the thousand suns. Once a year each citizen was expected to come to the

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altar and place his sprig of laurel, or a pinch of incense, or a flower, even one plucked from the wayside, on the altar. This ceremony, as innocent as it seemed to most, at least those who were not adherents of Floon, was repudiated, at that time, by many of the adherents of Floon. The townships tended to ignore this matter, but it was of some concern to the empire. Sporadically an edict would emanate from the Telnarian worlds pertaining to the enforcement of this ceremony, it normally being construed as a touchstone for allegiance to the empire. When the empire felt most threatened it seemed it took such things most seriously. It feared, you see, as absurd as these fears might be, given the solidity and eternality of the empire, internal dissension, and even sedition. There may have been troubles at these times, too, troubles not clearly understood by most in the empire, about the borders, and their security. Sometimes one even heard absurd rumors to the effect that they might have been breached, that there might actually be barbarians, dangerous barbarians, within the territory of the empire itself. It was not always too clear just what might be occurring, so much might take place, so far away. Information, you see, was not always available, or reliable. Things then, you see, were not really so different from now. When it became clear that imperial officials were quite serious about this matter, most townships would collect a small number of the adherents of Floon, and request that they perform the ceremony. Many of them, sensibly enough, or so it seemed to the civic authorities, would do so, but some, of course, would not. This placed the civic authorities in the unpleasant situation of either enforcing or ignoring imperial edicts. Accordingly, from time to time, on many of the worlds, a number of the adherents of Floon, usually a small number, were fined, or placed in prison, or even consigned to the arena. The great majority, who tended to be quiet,

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law-abiding, productive citizens, were usually left unmolested, and might even be left free to visit their fellow adherents in prison. There was another swift stroke of a barang, and another head was lifted from its body, and this time one of the dwarfs caught it in his basket. There was a cheer from the crowd. Money exchanged hands in the crowd. "You need not have been here," she had said, earlier, having come across the sand, before the crowds, to point to him, to order him bound. "The choice was yours," she had said. It was true. He had chosen death to castration. The judge had not understood that, or, perhaps, given her fury, she had understood it only too well. He wondered if her daughter understood. He thought perhaps she did. He thought, perhaps, within her, there was a woman. One of the dwarfs, giggling, leaped up and down in the sand before him, waving his hook. It was an iron object, much like a poker, or grating tool, for stirring fires. It was an iron staff, with a point at one end, the hook some five inches below the point. It could thus stab as well as insert itself in objects, flesh, or canvas, to drag them about. He jabbed the object at the peasant, who drew his head back, angrily. This was doubtless to increase his heartbeat, to increase the circulation. The peasant suspected he might be saved for late in the sport.

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He saw one of the large, soft men drag the head of one of the adherents of Floon up by the hair, placing it so. For the best effect the target must be kneeling upright, its head up, this directing the arterial flow upward. Otherwise it is less impressive. It is then also, of course, difficult to measure. He looked up to the stands. The daughter of the judge was reading. Her mother, the judge, and the mayor were conversing. This portion of the sport, he gathered, was not of great interest to them. Perhaps they even found it, the slaughter of the simple, innocent, inoffensive adherents of Floon, sheeplike, tasteless, or boring, perhaps even oppressive. But he suspected that they might later return their attention to the sand. Perhaps even the officer of the court might at that time put aside her book, to watch. He wondered if they would bet on various matters. One of the large, soft men suddenly ran at him with the barang raised and then ran past him. The crowd laughed. He saw the dwarfs, by means of the hooks, dragging bodies toward the dead gate. One was kicking and rolling a head across the sand. Another bent down, seized up the head, and ran. The first pursued him, crying out angrily. It was amusing.

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But there were to be better things later, a beast fight, for a beast had been rented, and a gladiatorial combat, such things. One of the adherents of Floon seemingly found his legs and leaped up, running about the arena. There was booing. "No, brother," cried out his fellows to him. "Come, kneel with us! The koos cannot die! Do not betray Karch! Karch will protect you! Trust in Floon!" The fugitive ran to the wall of the arena. He tried to climb it, in one place, and then another, but there was no place to gain purchase. There was no need even for the poles and nets jutting from the height of the barrier above, to prevent certain agile beasts from leaping into the stands. Sometimes that had happened, on various worlds, and dozens of men and women had been clawed, several of whom died afterwards, sooner or later, of wounds and infection. The dwarfs, with their hooks, now swarmed about the distraught fugitive. He tried to defend himself, fending the blows, but, in the end, surrounded, struck again and again, he fell to the sand. Then he was dragged still living through the sand by several hooks, back before the privileged seats. He was thrust up, dying, and held in place by the points of the dwarfs' tools. Other dwarfs scolded him. A blow of a barang flung the head a dozen yards across the sand. "Courage, brothers!" called out one of the adherents of Floon to his

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fellows. Then they began again to sing, the hymn to Floon. The strains now seemed plaintive, desperate. One of the large, soft men approached him. He swung the barang toward him, but stopped it, only inches from his throat, and then turned away, and laughed. The heart of the peasant pounded. "Hold your head up," squealed a dwarf. One of the adherents of Floon turned to him. "Declare for Floon!" The peasant, wrapped in his bonds, regarded him, angrily. "Declare for Floon!" said the man. But then his head was lopped away. Others continued to sing. The peasant did not care to die in this fashion. Another of the large, soft men rushed at him, and, again, the blow was not struck. He then turned away, as had the other, laughing, lifting his barang to

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the stands. He did not see the peasant rise to his feet. Perhaps not many did, for two dwarfs were rolling about in the sand, fighting for the last head which had fallen, each wanting to put it in his own basket. First one would take it, and then another, putting it in one basket or the other, then the other stealing it, when the back of the other was turned. Such skits had been rehearsed. Even the mayor, the judge, the officer of the court, looked on, with amusement. "Kneel, kneel!" squealed a dwarf, running up to him, brandishing his hook. Then the dwarf was dead, its neck broken by the kick. Still, few, if any, took much notice of this. The peasant then put his strength against the ropes which bound him. The dwarf's hook lay in the sand. The peasant regarded it. It lay in the sand, half-covered. It had two points, the end point, which might be used for jabbing, and the point on the hook. It had no blade. A point might have been used, if there was time, to wedge into a rope. That might divide the rope but it was not likely, in a short time, that it would serve to break or cut it. If there had been a great deal of time, if he had been bound in a cell, left there, not observed, the hook might have been useful. A man of lesser strength, or a woman, might have been able to use it so, if there were time.

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Again the peasant pressed outward against the ropes. Again he tried to pull his wrists apart. Skin was torn from his wrists. He put his strength against the ropes. He looked upon the hook, in fury, in frustration. He was bound. He could not well manipulate it. It had no blade. There was little time. Again he bent against the ropes. He was, as I have indicated, unusually strong. All the sources agree on that point. Too, it seems to be borne out by what occurred. The ropes, to him, to a man of such strength, might have been more in the nature of tenuous cords to a lesser man. We do not know. The guards, the officer of the court, however, I believe, may be excused for not having understood this. After all, how, before the fact, could one have been expected to know such a thing? And would the ropes not have held a garn pig, a sacrificial bull? Then why not a mere man? But the peasant was not a mere man, or, perhaps better, he was not an ordinary man. But perhaps the ropes would hold him. After all, they had doubtless been chosen with care, and were supposedly such as might easily hold any man, even one of unusual strength, even one who was enormous, one who was extraordinarily powerful. Again the peasant strained against the ropes. Yes, the ropes would hold him. A dwarf came up to him, and watched him, curiously. Only that

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dwarf, at that time, seemed aware of the straggle which was taking place quite publicly, but yet unnoticed, at that point on the arena sand. The crowd, you understand, and the other dwarfs, and even the large, soft men, were more attentive to the antics of the performers before the privileged seats, those two with the baskets. The dwarf did not approach him closely. He was well aware of his fellow, lying in the sand, his eyes bulged, the head clearly wrong. The peasant again, half bent over, strained against the ropes. Wet now were the ropes with blood. A strand, stressed beyond the weight it had been woven to withstand, broke. Their mistake may have been to bind the peasant, as I have suggested. He might have held himself, perhaps being strong enough to do so, in the bonds of his own will, for the stroke of the barang. But, you see, the matter had not been left up to him. Presumably it had been taken out of his hands. The peasant had not cared for that. Decisions in such matters he would have preferred to make for himself. They did not trust him. The officer of the court had made that clear. And why should they have trusted him? They did not know him. In any event, we will never know what might have happened, had they not seen fit to bind him. And so he stood, struggling, in the sand, not much noticed in those first moments.

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The ropes might have held a garn pig, even one who smelled blood, and saw the ax; it is hard to say; the ropes might have held a sacrificial bull, a white bull, one fully grown, with gilded horns, hung with beads, perhaps even one who had suddenly sensed the meaning of the blade, and the large golden bowl. That is possible. We do not know. The peasant strained against the ropes. He felt, rising within him, the rage, the rage that one can sense coming. He felt the ropes cut into his arms. Blood ran beneath the ropes. Those ropes might, perhaps, have held a garn pig, or a sacrificial bull. Again, one does not know. Another strand broke. The dwarf, watching, its short, squat body spattered with blood, from the business of the day, was not aware of this. To be sure, it would not have been easy to notice. On the forehead of the peasant veins stood forth, like tortured ropes. His eyes seemed more those of a beast than a man.

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This was a consequence of the rage, you see. Even armies would come to fear his moods. The dwarf, who was an intelligent creature, knew itself safe. It knew it, at least, in some intellectual sense. After all, the peasant was bound. The dwarf, nonetheless, was uneasy, even alarmed. He stepped back a few feet. Another strand broke. Then another. Then the dwarf, even though he was farther away, detected a tiny brush of fiber, like a whisper of hair, standing out from the body of the rope, not bound in with it, not smooth with it. The dwarf was not certain if this were an imperfection in the rope, or if it were something which had occurred just recently, given the efforts of the peasant, standing ankle-deep in the white sand, it discolored here and there, from his struggles, with blood. It was not easy to hear strands break, not with the singing of the adherents of Floon. There was applause from the stands as the two dwarfs finished their skit, and bowed, and withdrew, carrying one basket between them, each with a grasp on one of the handles. It was at that moment that the dwarf who had been watching the peasant had cried out and fled toward the stands, pointing backward.

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The crowd rose to its feet. The large, soft men turned about. The peasant stood on the white sand, bloody, destroyed ropes at his feet.

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CHAPTER 8 The large, soft men had scarcely time to raise their barangs for the peasant, the hook seized up from the sand, that which had been dropped by the dwarf, he with the bulged eyes and awry head, who had felt the peasant's heel on the side of his neck, rushed upon them, like one of the large, maddened cats, the hook slashing. There were screams, some shrill, from the large, soft men, for the nature of their voice, its timber and such, had much do to with the age at which they had been smoothed. Such a hook, gouging, flashing toward the neck, can tear open the neck, under the ear; it can rip out the jugular vein, pouring its dull, ruby flow down the chest, not bright like arterial blood; it can strike into the optical cavity, as through a fruit, then breaking the front of the skull free from the skin; it can tear through the mouth, and the side of the face, dragging out the lower jaw and tongue. The large, soft men fled back, huddling together. The hook struck at them again and again. Vertebrae were pulled out, drawn back through the skin. Ribs like curved white sticks suddenly burst into view. There were many screams in the crowd. Dwarfs flung away their measuring boards, their baskets, some even their hooks, which might have been well to retain. Such objects were scattered about, mostly in the sand before the privileged seats. One of the large, soft men, turned about, white-faced, he who had first rushed at the peasant, and then passed by him laughing, grunted, the point above the hook piercing his belly. Another, he who had secondly threatened the peasant, feinting at him, then drawing away laughing, uncertainly, quaveringly, raised his barang over his head, it held with two hands. "Go away," he shrilled to the peasant. He did strike down at the peasant, but the blow was blocked with the hook. There was a ring of

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metal. Before he could draw back for another blow the hook had lashed out, catching him in the side. The peasant held him in place with his foot, the man turned sideways, looking wildly to the side, to free the hook. He then tore the hook free, shattering ribs, drawing it forth, with it lung and tissue. The tool then with which such havoc had been wrought left the peasant's hand. Like a knife it flew through the air. Another large, soft fellow cried out, he who had made the first killing in the arena, and looked down, disbelievingly, at the handle of the tool, coming somehow out of his belly. "He is disarmed!" cried the leader of the large, soft men, he who had led them forth into the arena. But he was not disarmed for he now held a barang in each hand. The large, soft men screamed and pushed back against the wall of the arena, below the privileged seats. Again the barang struck, and again. "He is mad!" cried men in the stands, who did not understand the nature of the peasant, that there could be such a man, or the nature of the rage. "Run, run!" cried the leader of the large, soft men, and they fled. The attendants, those who had been inconspicuously by the dead gate, with their rakes, had, shortly after seeing the peasant free, withdrawn through the dead gate, and locked it behind them. They were taking no chances that he might take advantage of that aperture as a route of escape. Some of the dwarfs had fled through it, too, with them. Others had not managed to reach it in time, and were still in the arena. One of the large, soft men pulled at the handle of the gate leading up the stairs to the throne box. But it had been locked behind the officer of the court, of course, when she and the guards had reentered it. Two of the large, soft men were cut down there, reaching through it, trying to pull loose the chains which secured it. Another man ran to the place where the adherent of Floon had run earlier, who had been caught on the hooks of the dwarfs and returned,

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dragged back alive on the hooks, to the area of the privileged seats. He leaped up, his barang discarded, tearing, scratching, at the wall. Then he turned about, and sank down there, his eyes bulging with terror, and it was there that the peasant, who had slowly, implacably pursued him, treading through the sand, slew him. The peasant looked about. Somewhere in the arena, surely, was he who had cried out when he thought the peasant disarmed, he who had cried out, too, for the large, soft men to run, even though many still retained their barangs, he who had led them into the arena, who had first lifted his barang to the mayor and those in the throne box. Aware suddenly of a tiny sound in the sand behind him the peasant spun about, his barang flashing. A dwarf then fell, as he drove the barang, lifted over his head, to the sand, the two parts one to each side of the blade. He then saw the leader of the large, soft men, rather toward the center of the arena. The large, soft man backed away from him. It seemed he could hardly hold his barang. The peasant trod toward him, wading through the sand. But then, rather behind him, he heard a terrible growl, and turned about. Entering the arena, released into it, coming through the beast gate, was a tawny vi-cat, not a large one, such as might have graced arenas in larger towns or on more affluent worlds, but an animal nonetheless dangerous, quite dangerous. To be sure, its pelt was shabby, and in places hairless and scabrous. Its ribs were prominent. Its head moved from side to side. "Kill, kill," cried the crowd. There are many forms of "beast fight." Commonly beasts fight each other, natural enemies placed together, dogs and vi-cats, serpents and ras apes, prairie cats and horned yamas, such things, or else territorial males of the same species, the eight-footed teino, hoofed sorits, arn bears and such; but sometimes the fight is between a beast and rational creatures; in such a case, it is sometimes called a

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hunt. But there were no hunters in the arena now. It was only the beast. Its head lifted, and moved, and its nostrils distended, seeing the air. Perhaps some incense hung still in the air, and that might have puzzled it. The peasant, however, could no longer smell the incense. The beast had green eyes. The pupils were now like tiny black points. The peasant stood very still. Men were not the natural prey of the prairie cat, as he knew from the village, and that was doubtless true of the vi-cat, as well. Such creatures, unless alarmed, angered or approached too closely, would seldom attack outside their familiar prey range, that which they had learned in their youth, unless they were old or weak, or sick. To be sure, this animal may have been trained. But probably not. The hunters might not, under such circumstances, have cared to enter the arena with it. In the wild the vi-cat might have turned away, particularly if it thought itself undetected, if eye contact had not been made, but here, in the confines of this tiny arena, it was already dangerously close. The peasant was reasonably certain that he was within the critical charging distance. The beast took a quick step forward. The peasant put one of the barangs in the sand. He gripped the handle of the other with both hands. He would need the strength of two hands, of his whole body, and that might not be enough. If the beast were with its hunters they could distract it, as was the technique, teasing it to one side or the other, weakening it with their darts, probably poisoned, then tangling it in their nets, and, when it was fallen, bled, sickened, scarcely able to move, finishing it with spears. No, the peasant was sure the beast was not trained. Indeed, it was doubtless a cheap beast, as such animals go, one only purchased for the slaughter. Still it was seven or eight feet in length, and might weigh some four to five hundred pounds. It seemed alert and agile. It had certainly not yet been drugged, as

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reputedly was often the case before such matches, when professional hunters were involved, those who had bought the animal in the first place, or had been hired by the owner, and not individuals condemned to the arena, criminals, and such. For what may have seemed a long time to those in the stands, but was perhaps no more than a few seconds, the beast and the peasant regarded one another. Then suddenly the beast charged and there was a cry of astonishment, and a thrill of horror, from the stands, for the peasant stood over the animal, and its skull had been split by the barang, back to the neck. Once before, when he was only fourteen, the peasant had slain a prairie cat in that fashion, though then he had had an ax. The men of the village had been hunting it for it had been taking cattle, and he, because of his youth, in spite of his size and strength, even at such an age, had been ordered to hang back, that he might be safe in the rear, but the beast had circled about. The men, hearing the noise, and rushing back, fearing the worst, had been amazed. Muchly had he been congratulated, and clapped about the shoulders. How proud and happy he had been, that night. He had given the skin to Gathron when he returned to the village, for Gathron was his best friend. The peasant spun about, and the large, soft man, he who had first led such into the arena, who had been approaching him surreptitiously from the rear, lowered his barang and fled back. A cry from the stands alerted the peasant to the entry of two hunters into the arena. They were dressed in the spotted pelts of the hanis leopard, indigenous to the savannahs of Lysis, sixth world of the massive star, Safa Major, or Greater Safa. Each carried a net in the left hand, a spear in the right. In their belts were the bleeding,

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weakening darts, like tiny, finned javelins. They spread out, one to each side of the peasant. They shook the nets, they cried out at him. Did they think he was a vi-cat, to be so distracted? He was a man, not some confused beast. He turned suddenly and charged the man to his right. One blow of the barang snapped his spear, the second took his arm off at the shoulder; the peasant spun about to cut the flung net in twain. With his left hand he caught the thrust spear and jerked the hunter toward him, he too tardy to release the weapon, onto the point of the barang. Behind him the other hunter, thrusting his shoulder into the sand, to stanch the blood, was screaming. He withdrew the barang from the body of the hunter who had been to his left. The man was still alive. The peasant then threw the severed cape of his own net over him, and, reaching through the toils of the net, withdrew five of the tiny javelinlike darts from his belt. He saw the tips were coated, as he had supposed. He then, one after the other, thrust them into his body. He then went to stand by the carcass of the vi-cat. He looked up to the stands. But there was silence only for a moment, and then it was broken by a blast of trumpets, and from the gate of fighters strode forth two gladiators, those who would have been matched against one another later in the afternoon. These men were matched, trained fighters. It was not likely that one would die, for it was a small town, and an unimportant arena. It is expensive to train and maintain a gladiator. Most matches would not be to the death. The crowd, on the whole, wanted only a good fight. A defeated gladiator, lifting his hand for mercy to the crowd, was commonly spared. The crowd would have its favorites. Some gladiators were famed on a dozen worlds. Some matches, extensively advertised, lavishly promoted, were anticipated for months. Some gladiators were rich men, with villas on various worlds. It was rumored there were tricks, too, the pellet which,

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bitten, could leak a scarlet fluid from the mouth, the animal bladder filled with pig blood, concealed under the tunic, such things. The discovery of such scandals commonly provoked exclamations of moral outrage among the aficionados of the sport. There had been changes in the rules on various worlds. On many worlds it was now required by law to drag dead bodies, and supposedly dead bodies, from the arena with hooks, such as were carried by the dwarfs. Such regulations, and their enforcements by dedicated officialdoms, had tended to restore integrity to the sport. But, all things considered, the sport was undeniably a terrible and dangerous one, in which many men died. One did not rise to the top by victories without kills. Most gladiators were associated with various schools, in which they were trained, and which, in effect, they usually represented. Gladiators were commonly condemned criminals or slaves, seizing on the opportunity to fight for freedom and wealth, but it was not at all unknown for free men, particularly of the humiliori, to enter the profession, which constituted one of the few opportunities for fame and affluence open to them. In later times many soil workers would see in the arena a way to escape the bindings. Others, perhaps for similar reasons, would enter the clergy, it offering freedom from the bindings and a possible route, if one were sufficiently ambitious and clever, to a wealth and prestige, a power, that might rival that of princes. Too, of course, there were occasional scions of the honestori themselves, jaded youth, destitute prodigals, and such, who would see in the arena an opportunity for thrills and fame, and even recouped fortunes. There are many forms of arena fighters, or gladiators, with different varieties of weapons, and different techniques, but such matters are not now germane to our account. The two who had just entered the arena were not of the superbii, the gladiatorial elite, nor were they exotics. They were, on

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the other hand, efficient, trained men, quite competent in their craft. Each had had more than a dozen kills. Interestingly, too, and I mention it because it is relevant to our account, they were both of the same school. This was unusual, for usually individuals, and teams, from different schools were matched against one another. Rivalries existed, of course, among the various schools, and some rivalries were famous ones. These two gladiators, from the same school, or house, in such an arena, at such a time, were expected to deliver little more than an exhibition of arms. Music began to play. The two gladiators, entered now into the arena, as had been the vicat, and the hunters, marched slowly about the small circuit of the arena. They were brawny men, in bootlike sandals. They wore helmets. They paused now and then, to lift their arms to the crowd, the sheathed left arm with its buckler, the right with the small, wicked blade. Some of the dwarfs, still in the arena, leaped up and down, cheering, as they passed. Applause came from the stands. "Kill him, kill him!" screamed the crowd. One of the gladiators turned to look at him, the one to his right, along the circuit of the wall. "Kill him," chanted the crowd.

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But there was no immediate concern about such matters on the part of the gladiators. They made the circuit, they kept the formalities, the tradition. The large, soft men had been despicable, better for little more than putting terrorized, sheeplike criminals, such as the adherents of Floon, to the sword. The vi-cat had not been a prime specimen. It may have been diseased. The hunters were poor stuff, and better for little more than torturing and murdering a confused animal. They, on the other hand, were of a different breed altogether. They were men of the sword, trained arena fighters, gladiators, in their way, steady, practical, experienced, competent professional killers. No longer need the crude, dangerous peasant be feared. The situation was now in hand. The two gladiators, we may suppose, were inordinately pleased at being relieved of the obligation to confront one another, even in what would presumably be little more than an exhibition. The crowd, even a provincial one, expects a show. And it is hard to control the blade, given the smoothness of the metal, the speed of the exchanges, the deflections of the parrying. The killing of a young, untrained peasant, a stranger, one raised in some

primitive

village,

one

from

some

half-barbarous

world

somewhere, would be no more than a moment's recreation for them,

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unless they chose to draw out the matter, lest the crowd be displeased, the sport too soon concluded. We may suppose that both had resolved to give the death stroke cleanly, however, as one might in butchering an animal, not torturing some hated foe, at whose hands one might have received an insult. They did not bear him ill will, no more than the butcher bears the pig or calf ill will. The two gladiators now made their way, one from each side, along the circuit of the wall, toward the privileged seats, within which was the throne box. The match, if there were to have been one, would commonly follow the salute. But there was to be no match, unless one might speak so of what was projected, a judicial butchery. "Wait!" called the peasant. The gladiators, before the throne box, turned to face him. It was hard to see their faces, because of the helmets. "Look!" cried a woman in the stands. Then there was applause. "He has come to join in the salute!" called another woman.

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The peasant solemnly made his way forward. "He wishes to show his respect to the empire, before he dies,” called another woman from the stands. There was applause. Such a gesture, its nobleness, its magnanimity, in one who might expect in a moment to die, had not been expected by the crowd, not in such a rude youth. There was more applause. Tears were in the eyes of more than one woman in the stands. As he came forward, barang in hand, he noted the throne box, and, within it, the mayor, the judge, and the officer of the court, the daughter of the judge. All were on their feet. "Do not salute the empire!" cried one of the kneeling adherents of Floon. "Repudiate the empire!" called another. "The empire is evil!" cried another. "Down with the empire!" called another.

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"Be silent!" cried men and women in the crowd. "It is only the koos which is important, and Floon!" cried another. "Repent!" cried another. "Declare for Floon!" begged another. "The forgiveness of Floon is available to all who request it." "Be good!" called another. "Kneel to die. Floon will protect you!" "Kneel, and commend your koos to the keeping of Floon!" wept another. "Silence, silence!" chided the crowd. But then the peasant had strode through the kneeling adherents of Floon, of which there were some fifteen to twenty left, not seeming to hear them. "Hail!" called the two gladiators, facing the throne box, their swords lifted, "hail to the emperor, to the empire, to all governors and prefects, to all who serve her!" The mayor, in her civic capacity, on behalf of the power of galaxies, lifted her small gloved hand, acknowledging the salute. The second portion of the salute was an ancient one, one which dated back to the early days of the empire, indeed, shortly after the

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dissolution of the republic, a consequence of the third civil war, and its replacement with the imperial dignity, and the efficiency of the imperial administration. I shall use a familiar salute, in order to achieve familiarity, for which I have striven in many cases in this narrative, but it is one which will convey, in my view quite adequately, the drift of the salute actually given in that small arena on Terennia, which was, indeed, the same salute which would have been given on a Telnarian world itself. "We who are about to die salute you." Such sentiments, you see, in such circumstances, tend to appear. A cry of horror rose from the crowd for the peasant, instead of joining in this salute, had smote away the head, and part of the upper body, of the gladiator to his left, these things tumbling, the head in the helmet, to the wall. There had been two reasons for selecting the gladiator on the left for the stroke. First, the peasant was right-handed and thus could bring his blade into play most quickly from that position, and, secondly, and doubtless more important, the gladiator to his right was right-handed, which meant that his sword hand was on the side away from the peasant. By the time the gladiator on his right had turned about, then, the peasant had returned to what, within his limitations, might be characterized as a defensive position. At this point the peasant began to back toward the center of the arena. He had few doubts about the likely talents of a professional arena fighter, and did not care to meet him there, blade to blade, before the privileged seats.

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The gladiator who had been to the peasant's right had spun about instantly, his buckler forward, his blade back. This was a matter of honed reflexes. He had reacted before he understood what had happened. It was almost like the movement away from a suddenly appearing snake, the sudden drawing of the hand away from fire, reacting, not thinking, only thinking later. The second gladiator did not immediately pursue him. He stood there now, breathing heavily. It was only then that he began to understand what had happened. It was only then that he was stunned. The blow, in itself, as it had taken part of the upper body away, and not merely the head, might have given anyone pause. It was a prodigious one, something that might have been done not by a man, but by the lateral stroke of some motorized killing blade, the sort functioning as appendages on gas chariots, used to keep order on certain of the farther worlds. Too, quite possibly, he was dismayed. He looked at the parts of the body, and the head, still muchly in the helmet. "Cortus!" he suddenly wept. "Cortus!" He knelt in the sand.

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It seemed he was shaken with disbelief. The two, you see, were of the same school, or house, and therein shared the same table. Often they had fought, on one world or another, side by side, sometimes back to back. There is often a bond, a sort of brotherhood of the blade, you see, among the men of the schools, or houses, though, to be sure, it is occasionally expected that they will, if matched, kill one another. "Kill him, kill him!" cried the crowd. The gladiator rose slowly to his feet. He regarded the peasant. The peasant, now, had retreated to the vicinity of the slain vi-cat, where it lay, and the hunters. "Kill him!" screamed the crowd. How outraged it was. The mayor, the judge and the officer of the court, the judge's daughter, were on their feet, as was the crowd. The judge's daughter seemed to waver. She had her right hand at her breast. "Wait for me," said the gladiator, his voice carrying across the sand. "Do not make me chase you about the arena."

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The peasant stood still, as though ready, bravely, to comply with the fighter's request. Or perhaps he was too afraid to run. But, as now seems certain, he was where he was, and stayed where he was, because it was in accord with his plan. "Kill him!" screamed the crowd. The gladiator approached him slowly, treading the sand with care, each step a sure one. "Stand where you are," he called. "I will make it quick." "Kneel to die!" cried one of the adherents of Floon. "Do not resist!" counseled another. "Floon will protect you," said another. "You have done enough!" said another. "Declare now for Floon, while there is still time," called another. Then the gladiator, half-stripped, his loins bound in heavy black leather, in the black, metal-crested helmet, with the darkly sheathed arm, and the black buckler, and the short blade, double-edged, was through the kneeling adherents of Floon, past them, and the strewn bodies about them. The leader of the large, soft men was to one side. He had now come

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away somewhat from the wall. He held his barang. Some dwarfs were near the dead gate. It was still bolted shut, from the inside. "Stand where you are," said the gladiator, the face muchly in shadow, beneath the jutting brim of the helmet. The peasant suddenly reached down and seized up the one net, that which was still whole, which had been brought into the arena by the first hunter, he on whom he had first rushed, he whose spear had been snapped by the barang, he whose arm had been smote away by the barang's second stroke. The net, like a swirling dark cloud, spun out, over, enveloping the gladiator. It was large enough, and strong enough to contain a vi-cat. Like a shadow of cords it had descended and the gladiator cursed and struck at it. The peasant, the barang thrust into the sand when he had reached for the net, darted to the net and slung it more about the struggling foe, and then, by means of it, pulled him from his feet, and dragged him back to the barang. The gladiator, cursing, was slashing at the cords. The blade thrust up, through the toils. Cords sprang from the blade. The gladiator twisted in the net, thrusting at him. The peasant leaped back, drawing his hand back from the barang. Nearby lay the vi-cat, and the two hunters, the one with the splintered spear near him. The gladiator struggled to his feet. He was between the peasant and the barang, the hilt of which, and some third of the blade, was visible. The gladiator was trying to lift the toils from about himself. He slipped, he went to one knee, then he raised himself again to his feet. More cords leapt from the blade. The peasant tried to reach for the barang. The small blade thrust out, cutting flesh, and the

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peasant felt blood hot on his arm. He looked about to see the large, soft man hurrying toward him, his barang raised. The crowd was screaming. The peasant eluded a second thrust. He seized the toils of the net and flung the encumbered foe again from his feet. He seized up the butt end of the splintered, snapped spear and raised it over his head. He thrust it down, driving it through the body of the gladiator, and even a foot into the sand, such being the power of this man. He then reached down and drew the barang from the sand. The large, soft man stopped short, lowering his barang. The large, soft man was shaking his head. Then he threw his barang down, and fled. The peasant followed him, of course. The large, soft man could no longer run when his right foot had been cut off, at the ankle. The peasant then, blood running down his own arm, thrust him, tottering and screaming before him, toward the center of the arena, where the vicat lay, and the two hunters, and the second gladiator, in the shreds of a net, dead, nailed in place, pinned to the sand by the shaft of a broken spear. The tracks of the large, soft man were unusual, the furrowed, dragging tracks of the left foot, and, to the right, the bright spots in the sand where the stump of the right leg had poked down, like a bloody post. The large, soft man, standing unsteadily, partly bent over, in the center of the arena, amidst the carnage there, lifted his hand piteously to the crowd. But the peasant brought the barang up smoothly between his legs, and he sank then to his knees. Glistening, smooth gut spilled from the body to the sand. The large, soft man reached down, trying to hold it in his body. Then the peasant positioned the large, soft man's head, dragging it up, by the hair. Then he smote it away. He then went to the head and carried it back, by the hair, to the vicinity of the body. He then lifted it up, holding it over his head. His own arm was bloody, and the blood of the severed head,

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too, ran down his arm. He turned about, slowly, the head lifted, exhibiting it to the stands. He then faced the privileged seats, the head held up. He then threw the head down, into the sand. The stands were silent. The peasant stood there, bloody. He was then aware of how hot the sun seemed. In such small arenas, on provincial worlds, you see, they could seldom afford the huge, silken canopies, billowing in the breeze like sails, flown on their poles and ropes over the sand. He also became aware, more than before, of the blood on his arm. He put his finger in it, and tasted it. He looked down at the body of the large, soft man, at his feet. It had been spattered with blood before, like that of the other large, soft men, and that of the dwarfs, from the adherents of Floon. Now, of course, it had its own blood on it, and about it, as well. The peasant looked to the body of the gladiator, some two feet of the shaft of the broken spear rising from his chest, the rest through his body, and in the sand. He, and his fellow, had been trained, and experienced. He himself was only an ignorant peasant youth, though one who was very large, and very strong, and one with an unusually active mind. He had little doubt that the man, the gladiator, and his fellow, as well, could have killed him, either one of them, in a different sort of fight. The adherents of Floon, those still living, some fifteen to twenty perhaps, were still kneeling in the sand. There were many bodies about. Some of the dwarfs, those who had escaped with the attendants through the dead gate, could now be seen in the stands. Others were still, some with their hooks, near the dead gate itself. He supposed it could be opened now. He looked to one side where the hunter lay whose spear he had snapped, whose arm had been smote away. The shoulder, without its arm, had been thrust in the sand, and

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it had been there when the man had died. The sand about it was drenched, and would require much raking. The body, about the shoulder, and the sand near it, were crawling with ants. He could see them, here and there, some making their way across the sand, toward that body, others returning, doubtless to a nest, bearing tiny burdens. It was then that the peasant realized how it was that such creatures were in such a place, as there would have seemed little promise in such an environment otherwise. But then who knew what tiny particles, of one nature or another, might lie in the sand, and under its surface, after it had been raked, between the tiny grains. Doubtless there were tunnels, and passages there, little communities, tiny civilizations, unsuspected perhaps even by the attendants. The other hunter, he whom he had drawn onto the barang, had been alive when he had removed the tiny, javelinlike darts from his belt, the bleeding, weakening darts, which were to have been used on the vi-cat, and thrust five of them, one after another, into his body. But he was not alive now. The skin was bloated, and run with purple streaks. The darts had been poisoned, as the peasant had suspected, from the coating at the tips. That poison was obvious in the relatively hairless body of the hunter, but it would have been concealed beneath the pelt of the vi-cat. To be sure, its presence might have been suspected from certain alterations in the beast's responsiveness. Too, it could be detected, after a few minutes, in the eyes. But this was hard to see from the stands and the eyes were usually closed by the hunters, after they had lifted their spears. In this way respect was shown for the beast. The sun seemed unusually hot.

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He was aware that the throne gate had opened, and several guards were emerging through that opening. There were perhaps ten of them. Each, drawn, carried a stun stick. The peasant looked once more at the vi-cat. It was a poor beast, but it seemed then to the peasant to be very beautiful. The men were approaching across the sand. They stopped, some yards away, taking care to remain well outside his reach. He regarded them. He thrust the barang down into the sand. He saw them level their weapons. He wiped his forehead with his right forearm. He spit into the sand. He then lifted his head and faced them. The emitted, charged fields, invisible, but suddenly disturbing the air, like waves of heat, distorting perception, enveloped him. He felt ringed with shock, gripped in the fist of some paralyzing current. He was

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unable to move. His body would not obey him. He sank down, into the sand. In a moment or two he heard someone ask, "Is he still alive?" Another person, crouching over him, put his hand to the side of his throat. "Yes," said that person, the one by him. He opened his eyes. He saw another stun stick leveled at him, but a hand pressed it down. "No," said someone. Then the peasant, though he could scarcely move, became aware that it was not guards, the police only, who were about him. There were others, too, and even more than the guards, or police, indeed, several more. These others seemed rude, brawny men, and they wore a different livery. "Put him in a blanket," said a voice. "Bring him to the house."

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CHAPTER 9 "Thank you, my dear," said Pulendius, the delicate, shallow, transparent bowl cupped in the palm of his right hand. He watched the fluid, ruby kana, in its narrow stream, no wider than a nail, descend to the bottom of the bowl, puddle there, and then rise up, smoothly, slowly, ascending the side of the bowl. "Enough," he said. Not raising her head she ceased pouring and backed away. "The captain is putting her up," said Pulendius to the table. " 'Putting her up'?" said a young man, somewhat askance, across from Pulendius, somewhat down the table. "Tomorrow evening," said Pulendius. "Of course," said the young man, in some confusion. "I think it is generous of him," said Pulendius. He lifted his glass to the captain, who sat at the head of the table, who acknowledged this salute with a dismissive smile. "The line is," said a man. "We are paying enough for the voyage," grumbled a fellow a few

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seats to the left of Pulendius. "I do not understand," said a young, dark-haired woman, sitting almost directly across from Pulendius. "As the prize, for the winner in the contest tomorrow evening," said Pulendius. "She is a human being," said the young woman, angrily. "They make the best prizes," said Pulendius. "Where humans are involved," qualified a man. "Of course," said Pulendius, graciously accepting this qualification. Behind Pulendius, who was an extremely rich man, and a lord of estates on Terennia, there stood two bodyguards, both huge men, half-naked, clad in leather, their arms folded across their chests. Their eyes roved about, to the door of the lounge, to other tables, to the table before them. These two men, his bodyguards, were both from his own school, on Terennia. They were gladiators, you see. This was not unusual. It was common, in spite of occasional prohibitions to the contrary, for rich men to retain such. Pulendius had originally been of the humiliori, and of the family of a shoemaker, but, an intelligent and ambitious man, he had managed to become rich, in the beginning in a variety of trading ventures, mostly having to do with the import and sale

of

sorbian leather. Putatively in

recognition

of

numerous

philanthropies, the repair of walls and aqueducts, the construction of

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bridges at dangerous crossings, and such, and in virtue of various donations and services, lavished on various towns in which he held important franchises from the governor, he had been raised to the honestore class. It was rumored that this was in particular a consequence of his friendship with the civil governor of Terennia, with whom he frequently exchanged invitations. It was hinted, too, that certain gifts, or antecedent remunerations, one might say, had preceded the honor of being raised to the honestori, not that he was not universally recognized as being fully deserving of that honor. Soon Pulendius had begun to accumulate land. His lands now constituted, in effect, a small state on the planet. Some four thousand coloni tilled his fields. He had a private army, as had many rich men in the empire, his consisting of some five hundred men. It was his men, of course, who had intervened in the arena, at the time with which the reader has hitherto been acquainted, when the peasant had fallen to the sand, stunned by the weapons of the guards, or police. It should be mentioned that the men of Pulendius, even those with him at that time and at that place, several times outnumbered the entire local police force. Such

men had things much their own

way

with local

communities and local administrations. They had little to fear except from imperial troops. One might think of such men, I suppose, if the analogies are not too misleading, as local "strong men," or "bosses," perhaps something along those lines. There were, throughout the empire, thousands of such. Indeed, some imperial officials feared them, and thought they were becoming too powerful. More than once there had been confrontations between such private forces and imperial troops themselves. To be sure, Pulendius tended to be a quite

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law-abiding individual, but then, one supposes, most are who can pretty much have the laws arranged, drafted, interpreted, and applied or not applied, at one's convenience. It might be mentioned that the tax farmers did not "farm" the estates of Pulendius, which may, indeed, be one reason that many coloni flocked to his lands. The reasons for this seeming oversight on the part of the tax farmers may not be altogether clear, but, whatever they were, they were not unique with Pulendius. The estates of such men, for whatever reason, were often exempt from such attentions. Indeed, it would be a bold collector, one supposes, who would attempt, without an army behind him, to enforce a collection on such a man. More than one, on more than one world, had disappeared. It was not clear what had become of them. Some, it was rumored, had been used as training objects in the various schools. Others, it seems, had been simply hung or thrown into eel ponds. It might also be mentioned, in this brief biographical account, that Pulendius, from his earliest youth, had been a zealot of the arena. He maintained one of the finest gladiatorial schools on Terennia. His men had fought on many worlds, sometimes even on the Telnarian worlds themselves. "Disgusting," said the young, dark-haired woman. One of the two bodyguards behind Pulendius, his arms folded, looked upon the young, dark-haired woman. She was well sheathed in a sleek, off-the-shoulder gown of white lim, quite other than would have been appropriate on Terennia, but then they were not now on Terennia. She was quite fairly complexioned. Her bosom, which was very white, was not without its suggestions of delights. Indeed, her figure, though one must hazard something of an estimate at this

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juncture, gave the suggestion that it would prove of interest, perhaps considerably so. To be sure, she was perhaps somewhat slender for the tastes of some, but there was, on the whole, little doubt that almost any man, even one of quite moderate virility, and she had known few of even that level, would have found it both stimulating and inviting. She had dared to wear both a closely fitting golden necklace, and clipped-on golden earrings. A golden bracelet on her left wrist completed this ensemble. The entire effect, of course, was elegant, and tasteful, or so I would think, but, on her own world, which was that of Terennia, it would have counted as being outrageously scandalous. How many men on her own world, looking upon her, as she was, even fully clothed, not even stripped to the hips, or ankles, could have looked upon her with normal pupils? Surely only the "truest of men," as her world defined such feeble creatures, could have looked upon her without dilated pupils. How cruel of her to torment men so, how insensitive, and unfeeling of her, to subject them to such temptation. How difficult it would be for any male to be a "true man" in the presence of such a creature, even tastefully and fully clothed as she was. Her hair, as I have mentioned was dark, even quite dark, and one might, had it not been bound so closely behind her head, had it been loosened, undone, have remarked its gloss and length. It might also be remarked that this woman was extremely intelligent, as this feature, in the view of some, adds considerably to the appeal of a woman. She was also, incidentally, of high birth, or reasonably high birth, and of secure social station. Had she not been, she might not have had the courage to appear at the table so scandalously attired, not that her attire was much different from that of other human females at the table. It was only that she was from Terennia. It was, however, substantially a cruise ship, a pleasure ship, and so a certain

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latitude in such matters seemed acceptable. The ship, the Alaria, which occasionally served on imperial business, the transport of ambassadors, and such, was registered on Tranos. She was now far out of the normal pleasure and commercial lanes. There was a reason for that. The bodyguard behind, and to the right, of Pulendius continued to regard the young, dark-haired woman. She was not entirely unaware of this, one supposes. More than once she had glanced toward him, and then, angrily, away. Even though such men were bodyguards, it seemed they might at least have worn pleasure robes, like the other men. But then, perhaps, those would have impeded motion had some emergency arisen. But was it necessary for them to be there, she wondered, such large, brutish fellows, halfnaked, girded in leather? She glanced again at the one guard, to Pulendius's right. Then she looked down, flushing. When she looked up his eyes were elsewhere, looking about the room. Perhaps he had been regarding her, merely as he had others. But she did not think so. Perhaps she had been mistaken about his attention. But she did not think so. What an arrogant, bold fellow. Perhaps she should call his audacity to the attention of his employer. But what if it were her imagination? Would it not then be suggested that it had been she, and not he, who had been looking, who had been concerned with such matters? Would that not be embarrassing? Would she not then seem the fool? An additional note might be offered here. There was a tiny bit of trim, purple trim, on the off-the-shoulder gown, it bordering the sheath, both at the bosom and the ankles, and, also, down the left side. From one point of view this bit of trim, like a small, folded ribbon, was quite inconspicuous, though it doubtless had some subtle role to play in accenting the gown. From another point of view, however, for those who could read such things, it indicated that she was, however

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far removed, of the blood itself. That color, you see, was legally worn only by those who were not merely of the honestori but of the patricians. She was, you see, a minor patrician. Indeed, her nobility, as tenuous, as small, as remote as it was, had much to do with her presence on the ship. Had she not been of that class, she would not have been where she was. She glanced again at the bodyguard to the right of Pulendius. Yes! He was looking at her! She looked to the captain of the ship, who glanced at her, not understanding her agitation. Then she dabbed at the dessert on her plate. She was frustrated on her own world. In her, like tides, like movements of the earth itself, there was a very strong sexuality, muchly starved, of course, given the world on which she lived. And so she sat at the table, uncomfortably, looking down at her plate. The bodyguard looked once more upon her. She flushed, seemingly aware of his glance. Was this, we wonder, from the unease, the heat or discomfort, of her own thoughts, or was it because she suspected that she might once more be the subject of his regard? Perhaps it was both. This minor patrician, who so subtly with the tiny purple stripe, that little bit of trim, called attention to her claims and her birth, far above, always, that of a lout like Pulendius, who could buy his way into the honestori, was, as we have suggested, white-skinned, dark-haired and well figured. She was young, beautiful and intelligent. She was, all in all, the sort of woman who, on many worlds, would have brought an excellent price. Too, on many worlds, the bit of trim on the gown, the purple, would not have saved her. On barbarian worlds, it would doubtless have improved her price, and perhaps so, too, in certain other markets, sometimes secret markets, on many of the allied and imperial worlds. Such women were prized, as they made excellent slaves.

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"What do you think of her?" asked Pulendius. The bodyguard, he on the right of Pulendius, to whom the question was apparently addressed, seemed startled. Pulendius nodded toward the girl who had been serving the table, she who had, but a moment ago, poured kana into the delicate, transparent, shallow bowl. The bodyguard turned his attention to the servant, as we shall, for the moment, think of her. She did not lift her eyes, or turn about, to look at him. Rather she was attentively, even as though she might not know herself now the center of the group's attention, pouring kana for a ship's officer, he to the captain's left. She was brownish-skinned, and exceedingly exquisite. The darkness of her skin was set off by the sleeveless, sparkling white serving gown. She was shorter than the young dark-haired woman from Terennia, whose height was closer to the average for a human female, she of patrician blood, however far removed, but both would have been tiny compared to, say, the bodyguard, he behind Pulendius, and to his right, he who had been addressed.

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"Of course," said Pulendius, "you will see her differently when she is on her knees, in a keb, cuffed, and chained to the stake." "Yes, milord," said the guard. "I do not understand," said the young woman from Terennia, irritably. Pulendius smiled, and looked to the captain. The young woman serving kana went to the next officer, who declined the refilling of the delicate bowl. She then went to the next, and, receiving permission, granted by an almost imperceptible movement of the head, accompanied by the proffering of the bowl, head down, poured. A comment or two may be in order with respect to the appearance of the current subject of the group's attention. The white gown was her single garment. Too, surprisingly, she was barefoot, her tiny feet almost lost in the luxurious nap of the carpeting of the lounge. On her left ankle, ringing it closely, was a golden band, an anklet of sorts, it would seem. One might take this, it would seem, as her single piece of jewelry. "Perhaps I may be permitted to explain," said the captain, a bit apologetically,

responding

to

the

encouragement

of

Pulendius,

addressing himself to the young dark-haired woman a few seats down the table, to his left.

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"Please, do," she said, icily. "Do you truly not understand?" asked one of the ship's officers. The young dark-haired woman did not take her eyes from the captain. There were several differences between the two women with whom we are now concerned, in background, in education, in appearance, and such. But one difference, one which is of importance here, is that the pourer of kana had learned to obey men, instantly, and unquestioningly, which the young dark-haired woman, she from Terennia, had not yet learned to do. "This is not Terennia," began the captain. "Yes?" said the young woman, coolly. "The line," said the captain, "here and there, acquires such, on certain worlds, for various purposes." " 'Acquires'?" said the young dark-haired woman. " 'Buys,' " suggested Pulendius. She looked at him, with horror. "On Terennia," said the captain, "it is my understanding that certain

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forms of relationship have been declared illegal." "Forms of relationship?" she asked. "Yes," said the captain. "Matters having to do with property, certain forms of ownership," volunteered Pulendius, helpfully. "Certain things on Terennia may be owned, but not others," said the captain. "Land, articles of clothing, such things may be owned, yes," said the young woman. "One thinks nothing of the ownership of animals on Terennia," said Pulendius. "Certainly," said the young woman. "One has a full and perfect right to own such." "But only certain sorts of animals," said the captain. "No," she said. "One can own any sort of animal." "Any sort of animal?" asked the captain, smiling. "Yes," she said.

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"Are you sure of that?" asked Pulendius. "Certainly," she said. "Are we not all animals?" asked the captain. "No," she said. "Biology, as I understand it, begs to differ with you," said Pulendius. "Very well," she said. "Certain forms of animals may be owned. Certain other forms of animals may not be owned." "Surely

you

recognize

the

arbitrariness,

if

not

the

literal

inconsistency, of that view," said one of the ship's officers. She looked at him, with fury. "You must know," said the captain, "that slavery is quite legal in the empire." "Yes," she said. "And on many of the barbarous worlds, as well?" "Yes," she said. "And on many of the most civilized, as well," he said.

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"Yes," she said, reddening. "On many worlds there is a body of property law, of considerable complexity and antiquity, pertinent to the matter," said the captain. "You are aware of the social utility of the institution, surely," said one of the ship's officers, "with respect to such matters as social stability, conservation of resources, population control, and such." "On Terennia," she said, icily, "slavery is illegal." "That is true," said the captain. "On Terennia slavery is illegal." "On Terennia," said a young officer in the imperial navy, one on leave, it seemed, who had not spoken before, some seats down, near Pulendius, to the captain's right, "it is the men who are slaves." "None are slaves on Terennia," she said, angrily. Then she flushed, aware, perhaps, of the gaze of the bodyguard upon her, he behind Pulendius, to his right. "Let us not spoil the evening by dispute on such matters," said the captain. "You know the law, of course," said Pulendius, "that if one should bring his property to another world within the empire, it does not cease to remain his property." "Of course I am familiar with the law," she said, angrily. "The principle is a simple one, familiar from basic jurisprudence."

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"Let us suppose," said Pulendius, "to take a purely hypothetical example, that you yourself were to become a slave, and were then to be brought to Terennia." "Yes?" she said, her body stiffening. "You would then still be a slave, would you not?" he asked. "Yes," she said. " 'Yes'?" he asked. "Yes," she said, rigid on her chair, "I would still be a slave." "Within the full rights of your master?" he asked. "Yes," she said, angrily. "And are you so sure," he asked, "that there are no slaves on Terennia?" "Certainly," she said. "Are you so sure?" he asked. "Perhaps in the wilderness," she said, "in rural areas, away from the cities." "And perhaps in the schools?" he asked.

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"Perhaps," she said, reddening. She looked at the bodyguards, particularly at he who was behind Pulendius, to his right, and then looked away, quickly. Such men, she suspected, though she was only from Terennia, might not only relish and desire women, but might actually need them, even crave them, desperately, like food and drink, quite otherwise than the "true men" with whom she was, to her boredom, more than familiar. "Who knows?" said Pulendius, pleasantly, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Are you telling me that this girl is a slave?” asked the young, darkhaired woman, indicating the pourer of kana. "We have not said that," said the captain. "Kana, milady?" asked the pourer of kana, pausing at the side of the young, dark-haired woman. "No!" exclaimed the young, dark-haired woman, drawing back. At a gesture from Pulendius the pourer of kana returned to her usual serving station, somewhat behind the captain, and to his left. "Who owns her?" demanded the young woman. "The line," said the captain, "at least until tomorrow evening."

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"After the contest," said Pulendius. "I do not believe she is a slave," said the young, dark-haired woman. "Surely such matters need not be made obvious," said the captain. "She is not a slave," said the young, dark-haired woman. "This is not a barbarian ship," said the captain. "Are you skeptical because she is not slave clad, and not collared?" asked Pulendius. The young, dark-haired woman tossed her head, angrily. "The collar is a lovely adornment, and

it has its purposes,

identificatory, mnemonic, and such," said Pulendius, "but it is bondage which makes the slave, not the collar. Too, how do you know she is not slave clad?" The young, dark-haired woman looked down, in consternation. "Is she slave clad?" she asked. The young dark-haired woman seemed agitated, enflamed. "Yes," said Pulendius. There was silence at the table. "She is not a slave," whispered the young, dark-haired woman,

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desperately. "Kana," said the captain, irritably, holding forth his delicate glass. "Yes, milord," said the pourer, hurrying forward to replenish the beverage. "Speak clearly," said the captain. "Yes, Master," she said. Then she raised her eyes to the young, dark-haired woman, and in that glance there was more than a hint of anger, of defiance, but then, swiftly, as though frightened, she put down her head and returned to her station. Such women, you see, are not free, but owned. They may not always do what they please. They are subject to authority, to punishment. Pulendius

regarded

the

young,

dark-haired woman,

she

from

Terennia, she who was the minor patrician, considering her, and then his eyes rested, as though amused, on the golden necklace, about a half of an inch in height, with which she had so closely encircled her throat. Self-consciously she raised her fingers to her throat, and then, hastily, returned them to the glistening cloth of the table. The necklace reminded him of a slave collar, of the interwoven-chain variety. To be sure, it was not as sturdy, and it did not have a lock. "Shall I send her away?" asked the captain, concerned. As the

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captain of a cruise ship he had not only the care of his vessel to consider, but his obligations to look after the comfort and pleasures of his passengers. The young, dark-haired woman did not answer. "More kana," said the young naval officer, he of the imperial navy, he of one of the imperial fleets, he on leave, it seemed. And so the pourer of kana remained present. Pulendius, nursing his kana, moving it about in the delicate, shallow bowl, looked upon the young, dark-haired woman. Pulendius was still a strong man, but he had, in these past years, grown somewhat corpulent, doubtless from the rich food, the softness of his life, the luxuries. He looked at the young, dark-haired woman. She seemed to him a fine, vital, healthy young animal. He wondered what sort of slave she would make. The bodyguard, too, one of the gladiators, he who was behind and to the right of Pulendius, also regarded her. He, too, wondered what sort of slave she would make. A junior officer approached the table. Shortly thereafter, the captain rose and, wiping his lips, and making excuses, took his leave from the table. Pulendius, and the bodyguards, watched him leave. So, too, did the ship's first officer. The naval officer, too, he on leave, as it seemed, seemed to note the captain's departure. "There seems an anklet of some sort on her ankle, a band of some

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sort," said the young, dark-haired woman, offhandedly. "Why, yes," said Pulendius. "So there does." "That is enough!" suddenly cried the young, dark-haired woman flinging down her napkin, and rising to her feet. The entire table regarded her. She pointed to the bodyguard, he whose presence, if not regard, seems to have made her uneasy throughout the evening. "He keeps looking at me!" she said, angrily. "Ah, my dear, but who would not?" said Pulendius, soothingly. "Or," he added, tactfully, "at our other charming companions, as well?" This addition clearly met with the approval of the other women at the table, who, to be sure, for the most part were not at all unlikely recipients of just such attentions. Reddening, the young, dark-haired woman once more took her seat. "It is not as though you were in a haik, my dear," said one of the women. This remark was greeted with laughter. The young, darkhaired woman again reddened, and looked down. The haik was a dark, cumbrous garment which would cover a woman from head to toe. Through a narrow aperture in the garment, that aperture itself covered with black lace, or black gauze, a woman might peer out. It was sometimes worn by the women of certain desert worlds, who would

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kneel behind their men, who spoke with other men of the things of men. One did not always know if the wearers of the haik were free women, fully clad within the haik, or collared, naked slave girls, waiting for the guests to leave. How embarrassed the young, darkhaired woman was. How like a fool she felt! "Kana, all about!" called Pulendius. The pourer of kana hastened to fill the transparent, shallow bowls. Even that of the young, dark-haired woman was filled. The pourer of kana did not meet her eyes, but then she did not meet the eyes of the other guests, either. "What is the nature of the contest of the morrow's evening?" inquired one of the men at the table of Pulendius. Pulendius grinned at the first officer, still at the table. "It is something of a surprise," he said. "Has it to do with the prisoner, who was brought on board at Tinos?" asked the young naval officer, sitting somewhat to the left of Pulendius. He himself, it might be mentioned, came aboard from the shuttle, from Tinos station. Tinos, as the reader may have suspected, given an earlier remark, was far outside the normal lanes of imperial shipping, let alone those of a cruise ship. It may be of interest to note, for what it is worth, if anything, that communication with Tinos station had

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been lost some four days ago. Such disruptions, however, were not unprecedented. Indeed, communication

between certain

remote,

diverse parts of the empire had tended, in the last few years, to become uncertain, even precarious. Certain imperial outposts had not been in contact for more than a dozen years. "You must wait and see," chuckled Pulendius. The young, dark-haired woman was looking at the gladiator, the bodyguard, to whom she had but shortly before, later to her embarrassment, called attention. He stood there, his mighty arms folded across his chest, at his station. He returned her gaze. He did so quite openly. There was nothing furtive, or even subtle, in it, as one might have expected, given her earlier outburst. Perhaps he felt himself secure in the favor of his lord, Pulendius. Or, perhaps it was merely that he did not fear the displeasure of any man. That is possible. That is sometimes the case with those who have lived at the edge of life, where it is coldest and brightest, where it is most close to death. And so he returned her gaze. But it seemed to her now that he did so not with the simple, candid forthrightness of his earlier regard, with its rather straightforward expression of keen interest, even of a strong man's lustful appraisiveness, but now with a subtle, almost imperceptible contempt. The mad thought crossed her mind that it would now be appropriate for her to be punished. Of course, as she understood now, she should not have risen up, and spoken out as she had. That had been a mistake. She had embarrassed herself. She felt a fool about that. But surely she had not been mistaken, not about his gaze, about its possible meaning, insofar as she could understand such things, or dared to understand them. And how he was looking on her

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now! Surely only a woman in a slave market should be looked upon in that fashion! And how dare he regard her, too, with that subtle contempt? Did he not know she was of the blood, of the original high families of Telnaria itself, that she was of the senatorial class, of the patricians, however far removed, that class from which the senate was to be taken, the senate, which must still, even after these eons of time, if only as a token of tradition, confirm the emperor? But what could such a lout, he, or Pulendius, that parvenu, that upstart, or the other guard, know of such things? But he saw her only as a woman, and perhaps, worse, as a certain sort of woman, and one for which he now seemed to feel contempt. The thought crossed her mind of a woman, not herself, surely, who, stripped at his feet, in the shadow of his whip, would hasten to do whatever he might want. Indeed, what choice would such a woman, not herself, of course, have? The mad thought crossed her mind, instantly rejected, with confusion, that she would envy such a woman. She looked up, again, at him. How he looked at her! How angry she was! "I am not naked, on a chain, turning before you in a slave market," she thought. And then she thought how she might, in an obscure part of her, in the deepest and most secret part of her, beg to be such a woman, thrill to be such a woman. She looked down at her plate. She felt feelings she had never felt before, at least not in this fashion, not to this extremity, not to this degree. She felt warm, uncomfortably so, confused, vulnerable, weak, suddenly, embarrassingly, extremely feminine. She decided she hated him. Then she saw that Pulendius, amused, was regarding her. It was at this point, to her relief, that the captain returned.

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"Is anything wrong?” inquired the naval officer of the captain. "No," said the captain. "It was nothing." "You are just in time, Captain," said Pulendius, lifting his bowl. "I am preparing to offer a toast." "Splendid," smiled the captain. He tapped the table once, next to the shallow bowl there, which had not been filled when the others had been filled, he then being absent, and the pourer of kana hurried forward,

returning

forthwith,

almost

unnoticed,

so

suitably

unobstrusive she was, to her station. "I offer this toast to our lovely fellow passenger," said Pulendius, lifting his bowl a little toward the young, dark-haired woman, who seemed startled. "Certain charming, revealing anomalies in your behavior this evening, my dear," he said, "have not gone unnoticed by your friends and fellow passengers." There was laughter about the table. "What

shall

we

say,"

he

asked,

"a

certain

nervousness,

or

distractedness, an occasional jitteriness, perhaps even an outburst, perhaps even an occasional uncharacteristic tartness, quite out of order?"

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She flushed, angrily. "And yes," he said, triumphantly, "just such surprising, delightful, quite broadcast, changes in complexion." The portions of her body not covered by clothing, her face, her throat, her arms, her shoulders, all such, suddenly blushed red. "Yes!" he said. There was laughter. "With your permission," he said, "I shall clarify matters for those at the table who may not be aware of the cause of these occasional, delightful manifestations." She regarded him, angrily. "You do not mind?" he asked. "No," she said. "It is no secret, I trust?" "No," she said. "Of course not!" "Our lovely fellow passenger," said Pulendius, rising to his feet, lifting his bowl, "is betrothed, and, even now, on the Alaria, an eager brideto-be, she hastens to the arms of her groom!"

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"Yes, yes!" said those about the table. "No wonder then," said Pulendius, "under such circumstances, that our charming fellow passenger, though an officer of a Terennian court, seems sometimes as nervous, as frightened, as confused, as a lass from a rural village, being led to the rope ring." There was laughter. The bodyguard found this a somewhat unlikely figure of speech. He was himself, you see, from a rural village, a festung village on another world, and he did not think many a rural lass would be particularly nervous or frightened, or confused, being led to the rope ring. Many would be the time they had tossed in the hay or in the rushes, by the lake, before getting to the rope ring. To be sure, he thought that certain urban daughters might be nervous, or frightened, at such times, not that rope rings were used in the urban communities, for such girls often knew little, particularly the middle-class girls, about sex, that by the intent of their parents, and the community. Some of them, on the bridal night itself, made discoveries which, for them, were quite startling. For those it might interest, as I have mentioned it, the ceremony of the rope ring was a rude form of marriage, in which the couple made their pledges, exchanging their oaths, within the circle of a rope, spread on the ground. At the end of the ceremony the lad would fasten one end of the rope about the lass's neck and then lead her thusly, publicly on his tether, about the village, and thence to his hut. It was understood in the village then that the lass was his. The ceremony was not regarded as completed until he had

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thrust her before him, the rope on her neck, he holding it, into the hut. The point of the display, leading her publicly about the village, is to give any who might object to the union a last opportunity to voice their protest. Various rude peoples in the empire had such ceremonies. This choice of a figure of speech may be excused on the part of Pulendius, I think, who was from an urban area, and on the whole, accordingly,

unfamiliar

with

the

ways

of

small,

isolated

rural

communities. On the other hand, the figure of speech, with due respect for Pulendius, who was a highly intelligent man, may not have been as unlikely as the bodyguard surmised. It is, after all, one thing to roll with a fellow in the hay, or near the lake, and another to be thrust into his hut, before him, a rope on your neck, knowing that you are then his, and that the entire village accepts this and will enforce it. It is natural that a bride should be apprehensive. After all, who is the man, truly, to whom she is married? It is a bit like a slave, who has been purchased. She does not yet know the nature of her master, only that she is wholly his, in all ways. "For what world are you bound?" asked Pulendius. "Miton,” she said. "It is within the first provincial quadrant,” she added. Miton was not one of the original Telnarian worlds. The young woman, who was, of course, the officer of the court, she whom we have already met, had not been eager to volunteer the name of the world.

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It was not one of the original Telnarian worlds, you see. "And who is the lucky man?" asked Pulendius. "Tuvo Ausonius," she said. She looked about. "Tuvo Ausonius," she repeated. "Of course," said Pulendius. "He is an executive in the finance division of the first provincial quadrant," she said. "Wonderful," said Pulendius. "He is of the blood," she said, suddenly, irritably. "Wonderful," said Pulendius. To be sure, the young, dark-haired woman was, to the knowledge of most at the table, the only person there of such birth. We may make an exception, however, given our privileges in these matters, for the young naval officer. He, too, was of the blood, and, if it must be known, literally of the ancient senatorial class itself, and by direct line. To be sure, none knew this at the time. We might mention two points about this officer. First, it was quite unusual that one of his high birth, which was quite as high as that of the emperor himself, in these days, would have undertaken the arduous and often unrewarding tasks of military service. Second, although he was putatively on leave, he had boarded the Alaria when she was in orbit at Tinos, and Tinos, in its remoteness, might seem, if one paused to give the matter thought, an unlikely venue for an

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officer's leave. To be sure, perhaps he was returning from leave, and his home was on Tinos. It is not likely that he was stationed on Tinos because on Tinos there was no naval base, or large-scale base, only a small outpost. "And can we hope," asked Pulendius, "that his blood is as high and noble as yours?" "It is higher," she said. This information was greeted with polite enthusiasm by the table. That Tuvo Ausonius was of the blood was not at all a matter of indifference or accident, incidentally, to the projected union. Indeed, it was the essence of the entire matter. If it must be known, many in the empire, particularly urbanites, often viewed with coolness, if not resentment, certain distinctions which seemed

to

them

unnecessary,

if not

arbitrary,

not

significant

distinctions, of course, like that between the humiliori and the honestori, or that between the citizen and the noncitizen, both of which were quite important for many reasons, or even, really, that between themselves and the high aristocracy, which was still regarded with a certain awe, partly as a matter of tradition, and partly, doubtless, because of its ancient, historic contributions to the republic, and then the empire, but between themselves and the minor aristocracy, the minor patricians, the members of local senatorial classes, and such, which they often resented as being officious, pretentious and of dubious value to anyone, including themselves.

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Such distinctions, as we have suggested, were not like those between the humiliori and the honestori, or, one supposes, even more importantly, between the citizen and the noncitizen. "In any event," said Pulendius, chuckling, tactfully shifting the group's attention to less sensitive matters, "now becomes clear the meaning of many of your delightful manifestations this evening, your unease, your unsettledness, your agitation, your confusion, your charming changes of hue, all such are merely consequences of your trepidation, yet eagerness, to fly to the arms of your beloved." There was laughter about the table. The young, dark-haired woman looked down, angrily. She had never seen Tuvo Ausonius, incidentally, nor he her, except in transmitted pictorials. The union had been arranged by the judge, her mother, in consultation with the mayor, also a minor patrician, she of the Terennian town in which the small arena was located, that in which certain events, hitherto recounted, as the reader may recall, had earlier taken place, the name of which town we shall learn later, when it will be more germane to our account. Although it is difficult to establish such matters with exactness it was thought that Tuvo Ausonius was related in the 103rd degree to the original Ausonii. The officer of the court, the young, dark-haired woman, was related, it was thought, to a comparable family, but only in the 105th degree. The projected union, thusly, was much to the woman's advantage, though obviously less so to that of Tuvo Ausonius. In this respect we can see that she was indeed fortunate, and that the heart of her mother and

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that of the mayor had every right to rejoice over the success of their arrangements. Who knew, perhaps the mother, and even her friend, the mayor, were she not left behind, not repudiated, might as a consequence of this union eventually rise to heights on other worlds, heights higher than might be afforded on humble Terennia. If the officer of the court did not seem sufficiently appreciative of the efforts put forth on her behalf by her mother and the mayor, we may perhaps attribute that, at least in part, to a certain skepticism on her part as to the selflessness of their motivations. We might note, too, that she seemed insufficiently grateful to Tuvo Ausonius for the honor which he had seen fit to bestow upon her, in spite of the deficiency of her rank. Indeed, perhaps that was close to the nub of matters. In spite of her protestation, at the table, under that duress, she speaking almost without thinking, that the blood of her intended was higher than hers, which was doubtless correct, in the genealogies, she was not truly prepared to admit that. Who was to say that the 105th degree, of her own family, was not superior to that of the 103rd, of the Ausonii? Too, for whatever defects, or waywardness, in her nature, she had hoped, first, for a higher match, regarding herself as quite worthy of it, and, secondly, to make matters far worse, had not been at all that enthralled with the pictorials of Tuvo Ausonius, who seemed to her to be a callow mediocrity. Too, she was decidedly not pleased, as she should doubtless have been, that his credentials, his test results, and such, had allayed any apprehensions on the part of her mother and the mayor that he might not be a "true man," as defined on Terennia. How furious she had been. How she had struggled to control her misery, her disappointment! Still were her deepest needs, her most hidden cravings, to be refused recognition? Already she held Tuvo Ausonius in an unreasoning, frustrated contempt. Already she despised

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him. Already she planned to make his life miserable, to dominate him, mercilessly. Who would wish to be the wife of such a one, spending her life as the spoiled, bored wife of a minor bureaucrat on a provincial world, spending, shopping, entertaining, one scarcely superior to Terennia, save that it was far closer to the Telnarian worlds? Oh, she would make him pay, subjecting him to her whims and demands, however exorbitant or unreasoning they might be, lavishly expending his resources, of whatever extent they might be, bringing him to the brink of ruin, and, if she wished, beyond it, demeaning him in public, ranting at him in private! Oh, yes, she would make him pay! "And so," said Pulendius, "a toast to our charming fellow passenger! All happiness and delight to her! May she soon be joined in joy with her betrothed!" The toast was then drunk. The officer of the court blushed once more, angrily. "Drink, drink!" called the men. She lifted the delicate, shallow, transparent bowl to her lips, find took a sip. She looked at Pulendius, over the rim of the bowl. "A joyous union," said the captain, lifting his glass. "And a fecund one," said the naval officer, lifting his. She looked at him, angrily. "How excited you must be," said one of the women at the table.

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"How eager you must be for his kisses," said another. "Joy to you," said another. "Happiness!" said another. "May you leap in his arms like a slave," said another. "Yes, yes," said several of the men. She blushed, hotly. How different these people were, how different from those of her home world, how different from those of Terennia! "See her!" laughed Pulendius, once more taking his seat. "Please," she protested. Pulendius threw back his head, draining his bowl of kana. He had had perhaps too much to drink. "We bring a virgin to Miton!" said Pulendius, who was a vulgar fellow. He turned his bowl upside down on the tablecloth and seized up a napkin. "But soon!" he cried. To be sure, she, a member of a high class, even a minor patrician, was indeed, at that time, a virgin.

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She looked up, embarrassed, at the gladiator, the bodyguard, he still at his post behind, and to the right, of Pulendius. Yes, he was regarding her, and as though she might be in a slaver's house, and with that same subtle contempt as before. How she hated him! And then she was afraid, and a mad thought, meaningless, and absurd, coursed through her mind. "I do not want to be whipped," she thought. Then, swiftly, confusedly, she dismissed this thought, so mad, so absurd. Many women of Terennia were virgins, or "superiors," as the phrase was on Terennia, particularly those of the educated, upper classes, sexuality being regarded as demeaning to women. Too, of course, marriage, and childbearing, and such things, were also frowned upon on that world, at least, again, among the women of the upper classes. What rational creature would wish to burden itself with such matters? The union between the officer of the court and the official, Tuvo Ausonius, we might note, had, accordingly, been arranged without a great deal of publicity, indeed, one might even say it had been arranged somewhat surreptitiously. But there could be a point in such things, you see, as embarrassing or regrettable as they might be, if they resulted in one's, or someone's, social, economic or professional advancement. "But then!" had cried Pulendius.

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And then he brought down his fist, wrapped in the napkin, heavily on the delicate, brittle, transparent bowl, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The officer of the court shuddered, and blushed, and, doubtless heated by the kana, her senses reeling, almost swooned. This reaction may seem regrettably feminine, but one must consider the entirety of the circumstances, the power of Pulendius, the might of the men behind him, the laughter of those at the table, the heating of the kana, the fearful uneasiness in her own body, the sudden awareness, not for the first time, of its smallness and slightness, its softness and vulnerability, its great difference from that of men, and then the force of that massive fist striking down, shattering the bowl. In that moment much was conveyed to her on both a physical and a symbolic level. But I do not think we need to think of this reaction on her part, that she was then almost overcome, that she was then so shaken, that she almost swooned, as being regrettably feminine. That would be, after all, to adopt the values of Terennia, or of certain of its classes, and we wish to retain a neutrality in such matters, merely recounting what occurred, allowing the reader, should he feel the desire to do so, and should he feel entitled to do so, to form his own judgments on such matters. So we shall merely think of her reaction as being feminine, simply feminine, which it was, deeply, genuinely, authentically. Its explanation, moreover, most simply, was that she was a woman, and thus, for better or for worse, subject to such feelings and reactions. For such as she they were quite natural. Indeed, it would have been their denial, hitherto insisted upon in her culture, or in her class, which would have been unnatural, 'unnatural' in no pejorative sense,

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necessarily, but merely, even, in the quite neutral sense of being simply contrary to nature, for better or for worse. Among women, many of whom were less feminine than she, she had often felt an outcast, distrusting and fearing certain feelings in herself. She had never had the courage to be herself, what she truly was, a woman, something marvelous, and quite different from a man. She had always tried to deny and hide her womanhood, but it was there, and profoundly so, always. Certain changes would occur in her life which would have a considerable effect on such matters, which would, indeed, reverse, for better or for worse, these postures or policies. She would find herself eventually in situations, and in a condition, in which her womanhood could be, and, indeed, would have to be, fully expressed, a condition in which it was not only totally liberated, but in which it must be honestly and openly, and, indeed, fully, expressed, totally expressed, in which it was literally forbidden to her to deny it, in the least or most trivial fashion. Indeed, to her dismay, and joy, she would eventually find herself in situations, and in a condition, in which she must be herself, even choicelessly so, totally, whatever might be the consequences, for better or for worse. "It is growing late," said the captain. Those about the table then rose up, bidding one another the joys of the evening. "Is there kana left?" called Pulendius to the bearer of the kana flask. "Yes, milord," she responded.

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He snapped his fingers, and she hurried to his place. The officer of the court trembled, thrilled to see the woman obeying. "Are you all right?" asked the young naval officer. "Yes," she said. Pulendius took the flask from the pourer of kana and offered it to the guard on his left. "No, milord," said the guard. Pulendius then offered the flask to the guard on his right. "Thank you, milord. No, milord," said that guard. "Perhaps tomorrow night, after the contest?" said Pulendius. "Yes, perhaps, milord," said the guard. "Your hounds are well trained," said a man. Pulendius himself then drank from the flask, and then put it down, a bit unsteadily, on the table. Two or three of the women came about the table to where the officer of the court had risen and gently kissed her, wishing her much happiness. The officer of the court responded in kind, but stiffly,

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formally, self-consciously. She was, after all, from Terennia. The bodyguard to Pulendius's right, looking upon her, decided that she was not worth a collar. Another woman wished her well. How stiff she was, how self-conscious. On Terennia, you see, physical contact, the touching of one human being by another, was frowned upon, at least by members of her class. How stiff she was, indeed, how self-conscious. Yet, as he continued to regard her, he sensed in her, or thought he sensed in her, a significant latent sexuality, a powerful sexuality now almost entirely suppressed, one straining against cruel, grievous constraints, one such that, if it were ever released, could never again be subject to management, one which, if released, she would find uncontrollable, one at the mercy of which she would then find herself, its prisoner and victim. Another of the women gave the officer of the court a gentle kiss. Yes, he thought, she might not prove to be entirely without interest. But then he dismissed such thoughts, for she was of the honestori, and even a minor patrician.

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One did not think of such in a collar, at least not on any world with which he was familiar. Still, he thought he had a score to settle with her, and she might look well in one. "Good night, my dear," said Pulendius. "Sir," she said. Pulendius then left, a little unsteadily. She watched him exit the lounge, at one point supported by the guard at his right. She was familiar with Pulendius, of course. Who would not be, in her sector of Terennia? He was fabulously rich, of course, with his enterprises, his lands, tilled by some four thousand coloni. He had much power. He must have many enemies. Guards were almost always with him, large, alert, agile men, skilled, ruthless men, gladiators, it was said. She looked back, down at the tablecloth, at crumbs there, at crumpled napkins, at rings of kana there. She saw the napkin which had covered Pulendius's fist when he had struck down, shattering the delicate bowl. How vulgar he had been! Pulendius had his weaknesses, of course. Kana was one, obviously.

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His zeal for the arena and its sports was doubtless another. She knew he maintained a school for gladiators, a school in which men were trained in the use of weapons, both common and exotic. The men of Pulendius, as well as Pulendius himself, seemed quite different from most of the men she had known. How uneasy she felt in their presence. And how disturbing had been certain sensations. She recalled the guard, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right. Her fingers went uneasily to the golden necklace so closely encircling her throat. The tips of her fingers just touched it, barely, timidly. She thought again of the guard. Suddenly, angrily, she snatched up her small white purse and, with both hands, held it closely, tightly, against her. How the guard had looked upon her! She had never been looked upon in that fashion before! How she despised him, how she hated him, that calm, half-naked giant who had dared to look upon her in that fashion. And he had viewed her with contempt!

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"I do not want to be whipped," she thought, and then again, startled at such a mad thought, she sought to hurry it out of her consciousness. How dared he to have looked upon her so? What right had he to do so, he, only an ignorant, illiterate lout, only a beast trained for the arena? She was of high birth, of the patricians! "But perhaps he would not regard me as being worthy of being whipped," she thought, and this thought disturbed her, and frightened her, and then again, such a mad thought, she rejected it, confusedly. She saw the pourer of kana sorting plates on the table, preparing it for clearing. "You," she said. The pourer of kana looked up, startled. "Come here," she said. The pourer of kana came to where she stood. "What is your name?" said the officer of the court.

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"Janina, milady," was the response. "Speak clearly," snapped the officer of the court. "Janina, Mistress," said the girl. "Are you accustomed to standing in the presence of free persons?" asked the officer of the court. "Forgive me, Mistress," said the girl, and swiftly knelt before her. "Is such a lapse not cause for discipline?" inquired the officer of the court. "It is the will of the masters, Mistress," she said. "In deference to the feelings of certain passengers, little attention is to be drawn to my true condition in public." "So you pretend to be a servant?" "I serve, Mistress. But I do not pretend to be a servant. I would not dare to pretend to be so high." "I have seen your behavior in the lounge," said the officer of the court. "Yes, Mistress," said the girl. "In public."

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"Yes, Mistress." "It is different in private, I take it," said the officer of the court. "Yes, Mistress. In private, the fullness of my slavery is revealed." "And what does that mean?" "That I am a slave, Mistress," said the girl, trembling. "And what does a slave do?" "She strives to please, and obeys," she said. "And you can be bought and sold," said the officer of the court. "Yes, Mistress." "You are the sort of animal that can be bought and sold," said the officer of the court. "Yes, Mistress," said the girl. "You are a pretty animal," said the officer of the court. "Thank you, Mistress," said the girl. The officer of the court turned about, angrily. Then she turned about,

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again, to face the pourer of kana. She looked down upon hen angrily. "You are an exquisite, extraordinarily attractive slave, Janina," said the officer of the court. "Thank you, Mistress," said the girl. "Such as you," said the officer of the court, "are suitable for slaves." "Yes, Mistress," said the girl. The officer of the court then, clutching her small, white purse close to her, went to the exit of the lounge. She turned back at the portal. The pourer of kana was still on her knees, beside the table. "You may rise," said the officer of the court. "Return to your work." "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress," said the girl. In returning from the lounge to her cabin, unescorted, of course, for she was of Terennia, the officer of the court paused before a giant oval port in the corridor, which looked out on the vastness of the mysterious night, a night in which galaxies drifted, like glowing fragments in a dark sea. She felt very small and alone in such a night, even with the lit

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corridor behind her, even with the comfortable, enclosing steel of the ship. She regarded her image, reflected in the portal. She moved her hand, brushing back her hair. She was not displeased with what she saw. She did not think she was unattractive. She thought that she would be wasted on Tuvo Ausonius. Yes, she would be wasted on him. But she would make him pay for that. He would suffer. She looked herself over, carefully. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn the white, off-the-shoulder sheath, the earrings, the necklace. She had purchased it in a ship's shop, daringly. On Terennia they did not have such things, or, at least, she had not seen them. There, even a white, belted clingabout was thought to be scandalous. Her mother had been much against that, annoyingly, even fiercely, vociferously so, but she had worn it anyway. She was not accustomed to doing what others wanted. She was accustomed, rather, to doing precisely what she wanted, whatever she wanted, and when she wanted. She regarded her image steadily. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn this ensemble this evening. But then she thought not. Had one seen how that oaf, that ignorant, illiterate oaf, that guard, had looked at her? She could not recall ever having been looked at like that by a man before, saving of course by the same fellow, when he, a peasant, had stood in the dock in her mother's court. She was then well satisfied with her appearance, and the garment. She thought of the poor little creature in the lounge, what was her name, Janina, or some such. She would wear only what men decided, or approved of. The officer of the court continued to regard herself in the mirror of the portal, the stars visible beyond. "How

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would I be dressed by men," she wondered, "if I were a slave—or would I be permitted clothing?" Then, suddenly, she started, gasping, for, behind her, clearly visible in the reflection of the port, was the large form of the guard, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right. She spun about and backed against the railing before the port. The

other guard, the

other gladiator, was somewhat in the

background. "Forgive us, milady," said the guard, he so close to her. "We did not mean to startle you. We have been relieved. We are off duty now, and are returning to our quarters." The other guard continued on his way, and the guard closest to her, he whose sudden appearance had so startled her, turned to follow him. "Linger," she said, suddenly. "Yes, milady," said he, turning. "I had not seen you, until the lounge," said she, "since the arena." "No, milady," said he, "not since you had me bound." "You were spoken for by Pulendius, who was much impressed with your deeds in the arena."

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"Yes, milady," said he. "In deference to Pulendius, your sentence was commuted, remanding you into his custody." "Into the custody of a keeper of a gladiatorial school," said he, "in which men are trained to kill." She tried to step back, but the railing was behind her. "I am now a free man," he said. "I received my freedom after my tenth victory." She looked up at him. "My seventh kill," he said. "I see," she said. "I am now as free as you," he said. "I—I see," she said. Need he stand so close to her? Was he still such a rude, ignorant peasant, with no understanding of civilities? Did he think himself still in some primitive, dirty village, with animals running about between the huts? Was he so ignorant of the proprieties, of the distances, on Terennia, suitable to one of her class? She seemed confused, she

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looked about, she felt enflamed. Not a hand's breadth separated her from that mighty chest, the shining leather stretched across it. "Pulendius has high hopes for you," she said, unsteadily, looking to the side. The gladiator shrugged. How dare you stand so close? she thought. Pulendius had some twenty fighters with him on the ship. He also had a complement

of

support

personnel, trainers, a physician, an

accountant, secretaries and such. He was bound for Iris, which, like Miton, was in the first provincial quadrant. "I am low in the matches," said the gladiator, looking down at her. Please don't stand so closely to me, she thought. Cannot you see I am uncomfortable? "But even fighters like Archon and Mir San were once low in the matches," he said. These two were known throughout galaxies. They normally performed on the Telnarian worlds themselves, even in the imperial arena. "You—you enjoy the arena?" she said. "Yes," he said, thoughtfully. "The light, the crowds, the music, the

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contest. One is very much alive there. I can understand why men seek it out. But I do not feel the arena is my destiny." "You are free," she said. "You can leave Pulendius." "He saved my life. I serve him," he said. "Doubtless he pays well," she said. "Yes," he said. "You are of the humiliori," she said. "You do not have a destiny." "Even less than humiliori have slaves a destiny," said he, looking down at her. "What do you mean by that?" she cried. "Why, nothing, milady," he said. She felt weak, giddy. What could be the meaning of such feelings? She feared they might be those of a slave girl before her master. "Why did you look at me, as you did this evening?" she asked, angrily. "Surely it was milady's imagination," he suggested.

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"Perhaps," she said icily. "Methought," said he, "that milady did have her eyes once or twice upon me." "Never!" she said. "How then would she know if I might have glanced upon her?" "You are an insolent beast!" she cried and raised her small hand to strike him. But the blow did not fall and she winced for her small wrist was trapped as though in a vise of steel, helpless in the grip of his great fist. Once before he recalled, when he had first recovered from his wound in the barrack of the school of Pulendius and had been on his feet, that Pulendius had come to see him. Pulendius, unexpectedly, had struck at him and his wrist, too, had been so caught. "If I were wearing a wrist knife," had said Pulendius to him, "you would have lost fingers." "But, milord," had said the peasant, "you were not wearing a wrist knife." "Excellent," had said Pulendius. "Release me, now. Your training begins in the morning." "Please let me go," she said. "You're hurting me." He released her, instantly. She drew back her hand, rubbing the wrist. She had never guessed before what it might be like, to be the captive, so helplessly,

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of so mighty a grip. "Why would I have wasted my time," he asked, "looking upon one who was a mere slave?" "I was not the slave!" she said. "There was a slave there, she who cared for the flask of kana!" "You are both slaves," he said. "I am not a slave!" she cried. "I am of the patricians!" "You are a slave," he said. "No," she cried. "I have learned in the school," he said, "how to look upon a woman, and tell if she is a slave or not." "And I am one such, a slave?" she said, angrily. "Yes," he said. "Begone!" she wept. He stepped back, and bowed. "Yes, milady," said he. "What is the contest tomorrow evening?" she demanded.

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"Its nature, until the moment," said he, "is to remain confidential." "Are you to be involved?" she asked. "That is my understanding, if it is necessary," he said. "I see," she said. "Is it milady's intention to attend?" he asked. "Certainly not," she said. "Good night, milady," said he, bowing, and withdrawing. It was shortly thereafter that the captain chanced by, in the very corridor in which was the large observation port, that before which the last recounted events took place. The officer of the court stood by the port, grasping the railing with one hand, with the other holding her small purse tightly against herself. She was looking out, on the silent, lateral, unsounded depths of the night, on the tiny, clustered fires, some suns, some universes themselves. She may have seemed shaken. In any event the captain paused, solicitously. "I am all right," she assured the captain. "I passed in the corridor," said he, "on my way, one of Pulendius's brutes. I trust you were not accosted." "No," she said. "No!"

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How could she have been accosted? One does not accost slaves. One commands them. "I think it a mistake that such brutes should be allowed to roam freely," he said. "Doubtless," she laughed. "They should be kept in cages," he smiled. "Perhaps," she laughed. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Yes," she said. She had heard that female slaves were sometimes kept in cages, sometimes quite small cages. "I bid you a joyous evening," said the captain. "Captain!" she said. "Yes?" "There is to be some sort of entertainment tomorrow evening?" "Entertainment?"

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"Games," she said, "a contest?" "Yes," he said. "A contest?" "Yes," he said. "At what time and place may I inquire?" "It is nothing in which you would be interested, milady," he said. "It is in the lower portions of the ship," he said. "In the hold," said he, "Section Nineteen, an hour after supper." "I will see how I feel tomorrow evening," she said. "If I am bored, I might look in." "You should not wish to see it," he said. "Oh?" she asked. "I am not sure you would find it appropriate," he said. "Other women will attend, I trust?" she asked. "Doubtless," he said.

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"I have every right to attend, do I not?" she asked. "Of course," said he. "This is a pleasure ship, a cruise ship," she said. "Entertainments are afforded. I have paid my passage." "You are entirely welcome, of course," said the captain. "Is anything wrong?" "No," he said. "It is only that you are of Terennia." "And what has that to do with it?" she asked. "Nothing," he said. "We shall see how I feel tomorrow evening," she said. The captain's offer to escort her to her cabin was declined. She was, after all, of Terennia. Yet, to recount matters accurately we must mention that after his departure, for whatever reason, she began to tremble. She looked out, again, onto the night, and the stars, the worlds, and was afraid. She felt very small, and helpless. The ship itself, with its light, its warmth, its steel, its numerous life-support systems, did little to allay her apprehension. It would not have hurt, she thought, even though she was of Terennia, and who would know, to have had the company of the captain to her cabin. It was a long

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way there, through several passages, and she was clad in such a way that it was made quite clear, in spite of the teachings of Terennia, that she was not really a "same." She looked at herself in the mirror of the portal. No, she was clearly other than a "same." She was something else, quite different from a "same." She then hurried to her cabin, looking about her, even stopping to peer down adjoining passages, before crossing other corridors, and then, in a little while, frightened, and breathless, for she had at times even run a little, in short, hurrying steps, the most permitted to her by the garment in which she fled, she arrived at her door. In a moment she was within, and stood on the inside of the cabin, her back against the door, the door doublelocked. She was frightened, and was breathing heavily. Then she moaned, and turned about, and sank to her knees behind the door, and put her hands out, touching it, touching the steel. She was not a slave! She was safe.

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CHAPTER 10 "What a dreadful outfit!" laughed one of the women on the tiers. The officer of the court did not deign to respond. "Do not be angry!" called the woman. "Come, sit here beside me!" She patted a place on the tier. The officer of the court smiled, and climbed to sit beside her. "Have I missed much?" asked the officer of the court, lightly. "Not at all, you are quite early," the woman assured her. The performers, if one may speak of them in that fashion, had not yet entered the wooden-rimmed circle of sand which was ringed by the tiers. The room in the hold, Section 19, was a high one. One could see, above, the lofty girders, and steelwork, which the shipwrights had not been concerned to conceal in this area. In this section, one of a hundred such sections, one might have stored several tons of cargo. There was little in it now but the tiers, and, about the edges, some boxes, some escape capsules, or lifeboats, one might say, and such. Light in the section was from powerful overhead bulbs. They flooded the small ringed area with bright light. They were animated by switches near the door. Elsewhere the area was much in shadow. Presumably the performers were somewhere in the darkness, or, perhaps, in some adjoining area, waiting to enter this section. If there was to be an entertainment, it did not seem to be professionally,

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carefully staged, like the other entertainments, the shows, the concerts. "What is to be the nature of the contest?" asked the officer of the court. Yes, she was early. There were only a few now present. "I do not know," the woman assured her. She was one of those who had been at the table with her, the captain's table, the evening before. She was one of those who had wished her happiness, and kissed her after the supper. "I didn't mean to offend you, my dear," said the woman to the officer of the court. "I am sure that your ensemble is quite appropriate for Terennia." "It is the customary garb of my class," said the officer of the court. "For both men and women?" "Yes," she was informed. "I see," said the woman, it being clear she really didn't. "We are 'sames,' " she was informed. "The men and women?" she was asked.

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"Yes," said the officer of the court. "Don't you find that silly?" asked the woman. The officer of the court did not choose to respond to this inquiry. "I'm sorry," said the woman. "That is all right," the officer of the court assured her. The woman who had invited the officer of the court to join her on the tiers was now dressed not in the gown of the preceding evening, fit for the honor of the captain's table, but in something more appropriate for attendance at a contest, in a well-tailored pantsuit. "It is very different," said the woman, "from the way you were dressed last night." That was true. A world of difference separated the sleek, white, offthe-shoulder sheath, purchased in a ship's shop, which the officer of the court had dared to wear yesterday, from the version of Terennian "same garb," which she wore this evening. "Same garb" was designed to conceal sexual differences. There were many ways in which to attempt this, none of which was entirely successful. The officer of the court now wore, however, a fairly common form of "same garb," an intentionally bulky, formless, sacklike one-piece garment. It covered her completely from the neck to the ankles. It had legs. It was a sort of gray overall. In addition, she wore the "frame-and-curtain." From a projecting rectangular extension, the frame, put about the neck, there

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dangled, to the sides, and in front and back, an opaque, cloaklike attachment, the "curtain." The intention of this device was to conceal the delightful curves and smallness of her shoulders, and the revelatory, indicative excitements of her figure, both anterior and posterior. Uniformity was highly valued on Terennia, of thought, behavior and sexuality. "Pulendius will doubtless be here," said the officer of the court, offhandedly. "And the handsome brutes with him," said the woman with her. The officer of the court stiffened. She had, of course, not been herself particularly interested in Pulendius. Irritatedly, she realized, too, that the woman beside her had understood her, only too well. She was embarrassed. It might be mentioned at this point that although the officer of the court wore "same garb," she also wore, beneath it, now, as of today, certain other garments, purchased in one of the ship's shops, which were quite uncharacteristic of Terennia, but of such things, more anon. These new undergarments were, of course, her carefully guarded secret. She felt she might die of mortification, if such things were known. "Did you see how the one fellow, he on the right of Pulendius, looked at you?" asked the woman.

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"You saw?" asked the officer of the court, pleased. It had not then been her imagination. Of course, she had known it had not been. Still, it was pleasant to have this confirmation. Too, she was pleased, though she was not eager to admit it, that another woman had noticed her being the object of such regard. That flattered her vanity, for she, like other women, was not without her vanity. It had been she on whom he had been looking. "Of course," said the woman. "Oh?" asked the officer of the court, who, we must confess, was eager to hear more. The woman with whom she was in converse was now only too well aware of her interest. "And how he looked upon you!" she whispered. "How was that?" asked the officer of the court, pressing her. How warm she suddenly felt in those new undergarments, hidden under her "same garb." "Do not even ask, my dear," said the woman in the pantsuit, pretending to abandon the conversation. "No, please speak," said the officer of the court. "I want to know." "You are sure?"

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"Yes." "I know you are of the blood, my dear," said the woman, "and we all look up to you and admire you for it, but he looked upon you as though you might be, in reality, properly understood, no more than a common slave." "I see," said the officer of the court. "No offense," said the woman. "Of course not," said the officer of the court. "I wish that he had looked upon me in that way," laughed the woman in the pantsuit. "I am not a slave," said the officer of the court, angrily. "We are all, at the bottom, slaves," said the woman. "No," said the officer of the court. "Surely you have sometimes wondered about your value as a woman, what price you would bring?" The officer of the court was angry, silent. It was true that she had sometimes, in her loneliness, and misery, and frustration, and need, wondered if she had any real value, and what men, under no duress,

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would be willing to pay for her, if anything. Many times, in her imagination, she had turned upon the illuminated slave block, the faces of the men much hidden in the darkness, and heard the cries of the auctioneer, selling her. "He is like a barbarian god," she said. "He is a large fellow, and of reasonably symmetrical features," she said. "Was he not the sort of man before whom a woman would quake, and hasten to obey?" "Not a true woman," said the officer of the court. "Those whom you call 'true women,' " she said, "are merely women who have not yet met their master." "Nonsense," said the officer of the court. But she knew that it was true. "Cannot you imagine what it might be to belong to him, really?" asked the woman. "Not at all," said the officer of the court. "I suspect you can," said the other woman, squeezing her hand.

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"No," said the officer of the court, firmly. "I think you would obey him," she said. "No," said the officer of the court. "I think a taste of the whip would soon change your mind," said the woman, smiling. The officer of the court swallowed hard, and looked down. She had, you see, little doubt but what she would do her best to obey, and be fully pleasing, and that the whip, really, would not be in the least needed. That it was there, and that she knew it would be used, if he were not pleased, if she needed any additional incentive, would be quite enough, indeed, more than enough. The tiers were now muchly filled. The entertainment was soon to begin. "And what do you think you would bring?" asked the officer of the court, angrily. "I do not know, my dear," said the woman. "I hope a good price." "I see," said the officer of the court. "It would not be so high as that which you would fetch, however, my dear," she said, "for you are very beautiful."

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The officer of the court looked at the other woman, who was perhaps in her forties. She was clearly educated. She had striking features and was well figured. The officer of the court wondered if that woman might not bring a higher price than she. That woman, in any event, was not from Terennia. That might make a difference in the prices they would bring. Women from Terennia, the officer of the court speculated, might be thought to be poor stuff, little more than jokes in the slave markets. On the other hand, she was not prepared to admit this. Surely women of Terennia, if so unfortunate as to fall slave, if that horrifying fate were to befall them, might be taught, as well as others. Might they not, in time, with diligence, come to take their place in the markets, even among the most precious of slaves? "Look," said the companion of the officer of the court. The captain and his first officer, with some other officers, had just entered. "May I join you?" asked one of the minor officers, looking up from the floor. "Please do," said the companion of the officer of the court. Seats were scarce. Some had been reserved below, of course, at the side of the ring, in this case, opposite the door to the section. The captain and the first officer, and certain other officers, were seated there, and some of these seats, too, had been left empty, apparently to be filled later. It might be mentioned that the officer of the court and her friend were not far from these privileged seats. They had

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come rather early to the entertainment, it may be recalled. They thus had much their pick of seating arrangements. The officer took his seat to the right of the companion of the officer of the court, thus away from the officer of the court. He did this, rather than sit between the ladies, as might otherwise have been expected, for one of them was of Terennia, and the women of Terennia, being "sames," or supposedly so, tend to be uncomfortable in the presence of males, and, accordingly, tend to shun their proximity. Shortly thereafter the lights began to dim. "It is beginning!" said the companion of the officer of the court.

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CHAPTER 11 The lights had continued to dim until the section of the hold was in total darkness, and then, after a moment, they came on again, suddenly. In the ring now, on the sand, to one side, rather toward the door, there knelt a large, bearded man. His long hair, which behind him fell to his waist, was bound back with a fillet of leather. He wore a tunic of roughly sewn skins. He was heavily chained, hand and foot. The women in the crowd, at the first sight of him, gasped, drawing back. "He is clad as a barbarian," said the woman who had invited the officer of the court to sit with her, to the minor officer. "He is a barbarian," said the officer. "He was taken on Tinos." On either side of the kneeling figure, standing, were two guards, armed not with stun sticks but fire pistols. There are several varieties of such weapons. They are commonly a sidearm of imperial officers. A common form of fire pistol, and that which the guards carried, held ten reduced, controlled charges, each emitting a narrow, bright, quartersecond beam. In this fashion the beam, in the moment of its activation, might breach materials such as wood or flesh, but could do little more than scorch and disfigure metal. This was important within a carefully regulated environment, that, say, of a ship in space. Weapons in the empire, as I have earlier indicated, were carefully

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controlled, and this policy was one of the reasons, doubtless, for the general security of its authority. Within the empire the manufacture of such weapons was an imperial monopoly. Indeed, even within the empire primitive weapons, clubs, staffs, pointed, edged weapons, and such, were far more common than technologically sophisticated weapons. Indeed, many in the empire knew only such weapons. Some imperial troops, as a matter of fact, had been, for most practical purposes,

reduced

to

the

use

of

such

weapons,

they

being

supplemented, of course, to some extent by more powerful devices. Certain forms of energy within the empire were, statistically, quite rare, many sources having been exhausted centuries ago. This was the case on literally thousands of worlds. These facts, however, must not obscure the fact that the empire still had at its disposal weapons capable of dislodging planets from orbits, even of pulverizing them into miniscule, radiating debris. "The skins he wears," said the minor officer, to her in the pantsuit, "are from animals which he himself has killed." "Interesting," she said. But her interest, we may suspect, was taken less by those savage skins than by something else, by the savage himself, he so muscular, so mighty within them, he whom they so primitively bedecked. The officer of the court swayed a little. Her heart, like that of many of the other women in the tiers, was beating rapidly, fearfully.

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Out there, somewhere, in the galaxy, there were men such as these! What could be the fate of women in the hands of such men? Did she not know? The borders must hold! "Are you all right?" asked the minor officer. "Yes," she said. The women in the tiers, who were educated, civilized women, looked upon the barbarian, even though he was chained, with some apprehension. How different he was from the men with whom they were personally acquainted! The officer of the court, seeing such a man, became suddenly quite conscious of the shocking undergarments she had dared to place beneath her "same garb." How frightening were such men. Their attitudes, their values, would doubtless be quite different from those of civilized men, gentlemen. Who knew how they might look upon a woman, or in what terms they might see her? "Are you alarmed?" asked the minor officer, looking over to the officer of the court.

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"Certainly not," she said. "He is now quite helpless," said the minor officer. "Are their women dressed similarly?" asked the officer of the court, as though idly. "The women commonly wear cloth, some, the finest, obtained in trade, some, particularly in remoter areas, which they themselves have spun and loomed. The most common garment of free women is a long dress, which muchly covers them, that their men may not be driven mad with desire." "Not all their women are free?" "No." "They then keep slaves." "They are barbarians, of course," he said. "And what is the most common garment of slaves?" she asked. "Usually the long dress," said he, "as with free women." "But not always?" asked the officer of the court. "No," said the minor officer.

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"And how then would they be dressed?" asked the officer of the court. "As slaves," said the minor officer. "If dressed?" "Of course," said he. "How many women do such men have?" asked the officer of the court. "Some have several," he said. "Both wives and slaves?" "Sometimes," said the officer. Despite the ponderous chains on the barbarian, and the presence of the vigilant, armed guards, many of the women continued to be apprehensive, regarding the kneeling figure. They knew themselves to be civilized women, of course, and thus no more than prey to such men. Such men, they understood in their bellies, would see them as women, and put them to the uses of women.

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How dreadful! At this moment the main door to the section opened and the young naval officer, he who was putatively on leave, entered. The officer of the court gasped. Yesterday evening she had seen him only in a lounging robe, a leisure, or pleasure, garment, one suitable for the captain's table, but he was now in what must be a dress uniform. It was white with gold braid. Too, she was startled to note, at the left shoulder, three purple cords. As he entered, in uniform, the captain himself, and his officers, had risen, in salute. The two guards in whose custody knelt the prisoner, too, came to attention. "Hail to the empire!" called the captain. "Hail to the empire!” called the other officers, and the guards, as well. Even the minor officer who sat near the women in the tiers, the women with whom we are now familiar, had come to attention when the young officer had entered, as had some other minor officers here and there on the tiers. They, too, had joined in the greeting. "Hail to the emperor! Hail to the empire!" said the young officer. This cry was repeated by the officers, and by others, too, in the stands.

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"See the cords," said the woman in the pantsuit. "Of course I see them," said the officer of the court. She had been struck speechless when the young officer had first entered. She, of all, who was herself of the blood, would understand such insignia. But she had not realized that one of a rank far beyond hers, compared to which hers, and even that of Tuvo Ausonius, was as nothing, was aboard the vessel. The young officer then turned to regard the prisoner, kneeling in the sand, now at his feet. The prisoner had been made to wait, kneeling, for the arrival of the young officer. And thus was made clear to the prisoner, and to all in the tiers, the superiority of the empire. The naval rank of the officer was not high. We might say, to suggest something familiar, that he was an ensign. On the other hand, the cords made it clear that this was no ordinary ensign, but one of the noblest of bloods. "The three cords," said the woman in the pantsuit. "Yes," said the officer of the court, irritably. The three cords, of that color, indicated the highest of ranks. The blood of this young officer was doubtless as high as that of the imperial house itself.

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How incredible it was that one such as he would be aboard this vessel. Tears formed in the eyes of several of the men in the tiers. With a gesture the young officer put the company at ease. The young officer then, as would be in accord with the protocols of the service, saluted the captain, who smartly returned this greeting. He then took his seat, beside the captain. At this point Pulendius emerged from behind the tiers, opposite the main door, followed by four pairs of gladiators. These were powerful men, clad in brief leather, with their hair fastened back, their bodies oiled. "There is to be an exhibition," said the minor officer. The gladiators, two pairs armed with blunt spears, two pairs with wooden swords, began to exercise and stretch in the tiny arena. Some of the women inadvertently gasped, seeing the rippling of such muscles, the movements of the mighty thighs. Doubtless most had seen fighters before, but it is not likely they had seen them at this proximity. The officer of the court looked about for a particular gladiator, he who

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had been the bodyguard of Pulendius, he who had been behind him and to the right. He was nowhere in view. Then, after a moment he, with his fellow, appeared, both at the opening in the tiers, through which Pulendius and the others had but recently emerged. They, as was the business of such fellows, surveyed the crowd. She sat very straight, in "same garb," with the "frame-and-curtain," making certain that she did not look at him, or, at least, not obviously. Her interest, he must clearly understand, was on the ring. See her as a common slave, would he? Let him see her now, as she really was, a high creature, one far above him, one immeasurably above him, a woman of Terennia, one even of the blood itself! But, of course, she looked back to see if he might be looking at her, and, as one might expect, what should happen to be the case but that, to her embarrassment, their eyes met. Swiftly then, blushing, she looked away. At least she was in "same garb," and in the "frame-and-curtain"! But she knew, too, that she had been before him not simply, in "same garb," and in the "frame-and-curtain," but in those other garments, too, those to which we earlier alluded. She could now feel them, in all their filmy, sensuous softness, on her body. She was wearing them before him. Of course, he could not see them, but she knew they were there, and that she had them on, before a man. The nature of these

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garments was doubtless quite innocent, but scarcely so from the point of view of a woman from Terennia. For a woman of Terennia, of her class, the garments which she now wore went well beyond the merely daring, and doubtless beyond even the perimeters of the scandalous. They were soft and sensuous, and provocative. They were the sort of thing which only a woman who should be a slave would wear. They were emphatically indecent. She could feel her breasts straining against the soft, filmy silken bonds which constrained them, she was scarcely aware of the so-brief tiny thing which enclosed her lower body, with its sweet nether intimacies, so light it was. These two garments, the brassiere and the panties, as we may think of them, not inaccurately, had both been, of course, purchased at the ship's shop. It had required great courage for her to buy them. Had the salesgirl not looked at her askance, or had she imagined it? None, of course, would know that she had purchased them, only herself. Did the salesgirl wear such things? Had there been anything strange, or disapproving, in her expressions, in her tone of voice? Did the salesgirl, herself, wear such things, she wondered. They would be her secret, of course, her secret from all the world. She would never dare to show them to Tuvo Ausonius. He would be unwilling to let such a woman in his bed. Such a woman is rather such that she is to be chained at the foot of a bed. He could not know, of course, that she wore such garments under the "same garb," under the "frame and curtain." But she knew. Hotly she regretted wearing such things.

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Oh, she had put them on and off a dozen times in the privacy of her cabin, sometimes even daring to look at herself in the mirror. But surely the image could not be hers. Surely she could not be that lithe, graceful, curvaceous creature in the mirror. She had decided at last not to wear such things to the entertainment, but, when she had tried them on again, just for the last time, as she told herself, she realized suddenly, to her consternation, the time, and that, if she were to assure herself of a seat, she must best be on her way. Having no choice then she had put on the "same garb," and the "frame-andcurtain," over them, and hurried out. How handsome was the bodyguard, how strong he seemed, how small she seemed, compared to him. Then she sat straight on the tier. She was now pleased to have worn the intimate garments. No one could see them. And they were comfortable. That was a good reason to wear them. And no one could see them. Thus no one could ever guess what sort of woman she was, secretly. The bodyguard was not far from her, over to her left, where one opening was in the tiers, that opposite the other, nearer the door. Again their eyes met. "Where is your collar?" he asked. She stiffened, and pretended not to hear. He was referring,

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doubtless, to the necklace she had worn the night before. It would not go with the "same garb" and the "frame-and-curtain," of course. Too, it was a necklace. It was not a collar. Collars were for slaves. He must know that. The minor officer glared at the gladiator, but the gladiator met his gaze squarely, and not pleasantly, and the minor officer looked away. The woman in the pantsuit leaned over to the officer of the court, and nodded her head, subtly, indicatively, toward the gladiator. "He finds you attractive," she whispered confidingly, delightedly. " 'Attractive'?" asked the officer of the court. "Yes," said her companion. "I am of Terennia," said the officer of the court. "I do not even understand such matters." "Very attractive," whispered her companion. "I am not in the least interested," said the officer of the court. "Why are you blushing?" asked her companion. "I am not," insisted the officer of the court, her skin aflame. "He wants you," whispered her companion.

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"He is an illiterate brute," said the officer of the court. "He looks at you as though you were a common slave," said her companion. "Perhaps he will buy me," said the officer of the court, acidly. "And what man would not, if he could afford you?" said the woman. The officer of the court did not deign to respond to this remark. The very thought of it, she, for sale! "But perhaps he would merely bind and gag you, and carry you off," she said. "Perhaps," said the officer of the court. "He wants you," she said. "Let him want me then, in vain," said the officer of the court. "You might not speak so proudly," she said, "if you were on your knees before him, naked, your hands tied behind your back." "Please," protested the officer of the court. "And you would be made his slave," she said. The officer of the court trembled.

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"And you would serve him well," she said. "Please," said the officer of the court. "He would see to it," she said. At this point the young naval officer was looking about the stands, and, to her pleasure, their eyes met. This gave her the much-desired opportunity

to

escape

the

humiliating

embarrassments

of

her

conversation with her companion on the tiers. The young officer would surely remember her from the captain's table, the preceding evening. He would recall, too, the bit of purple accenting her sheath, which, so subtly, but nonetheless clearly, proclaimed her own nobility. She, too, was of the blood! This, too, would give her a way of putting her companion in her place, who was of the honestori, but not of noble blood. This would make it clear to her that she must not speak in such a way to her, so frankly, so intimately, as though they might be of the same station, as though they might be equals, even as though they might both be no more than women huddled naked at the foot of a slave block, each waiting, in her turn, to be dragged to its surface, to be exhibited and sold. He was only a few feet from her, in his place on the first tier, in the place of honor, between the captain and the first officer, at the edge of the circle. "Hail to the emperor!" she said. "Hail to the empire!" He looked away, returning his attention to the activities of the gladiators, they preparing for their exhibition.

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The companion of the officer of the court, the woman in the pantsuit, tactfully took no official notice of this episode. The officer of the court stiffened in humiliation. Tears ran down her cheeks, which she swiftly wiped away. She, too, said nothing of the episode. Could the naval officer, he of the blood, have somehow suspected, or guessed, that she wore soft garments beneath her "same garb"? Was that why he had not deigned to recognize her, to return her greeting, even to indicate that he had noticed it? She looked to the gladiator, by the opening of the tiers. He regarded her. On his lips there was, playing there, ever so subtly, a smile. It was a smile of amusement, of contempt. Quickly the officer of the court jerked her head away, angrily, looking to the sand, as though something of great interest might be occurring there. She had never been so embarrassed, so humiliated, in her life. There were, in the empire, you see, matters of distance, of rank and hierarchy. Such were not to be lightly violated. She had done so.

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"Ladies and gentlemen," called Pulendius, "welcome, all, to the festivities of the evening." All attention was upon him. "And let us welcome, too, our special guest, one honoring us with his presence this evening," he called, pointing to the fellow kneeling to one side, in skins, laden with chains, "Ortog, a prince of the Drisriaks, king of the secessionist house of Ortog." There was laughter, and polite applause. The fists of the barbarian, in close proximity to one another, his wrists well confined in weighty manacles, clenched in futile rage. This, too, caused amusement in the crowd. Even had he no acquaintance with some patois interactive with Telnarian there could be little doubt, given Pulendius's exaggerated, pompous references, clearly directed at him, and the amusement of the crowd, that he was the object of ridicule. It will be helpful to the reader to follow certain later events if I make clear certain relationships, certain lineages, involved here. Ortog was a prince of the Drisriaks, which was one of the eleven traditional tribes of the Alemanni nation. His house, however, was secessionist, and thusly he was a prince of one house, of the Drisriaks, and the king, or pretender to kingship, in another, his own, that of the Ortungen.

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"He dared to raise arms against the empire!" said Pulendius. "Now he kneels before us, humbled, in chains, as helpless as a slave!" There were cries of delight from the audience. "We shall now see him bow to the empire!" said Pulendius. But the back of the kneeling, scowling figure remained straight, quite straight. Pulendius regarded the prisoner. But the prisoner remained motionless. Pulendius, for a moment, seemed nonplussed, but, at a nod from the captain, he gestured to the two guards. They seized the prisoner and, with great difficulty, forced his head down, into the sand. But when they released him, he straightened his body, sand clinging about his beard and face. In his eyes there was a terrible fire, that of a cunning, and a covetousness, and a hatred almost inconceivable to the educated, sophisticated, civilized passengers of the Alaria, a hatred which burned, like watch fires, outside the walls of the empire. "Had we your weapons!" he cried.

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"Such men have their possibilities," said the naval officer to the captain. "They make fearless, but dangerous, auxiliaries," said the captain. "Fortunately they are apt to spend more time dealing out death and destruction to one another than to the empire," said the first officer. "The emperor is under pressure from many quarters to ponder an edict of universal citizenship," said the young naval officer. "That would be a military mistake of capital importance," said the captain. "Assuredly," said the young officer. As these allusions might not be clear I shall mention that citizenship within the empire was a prized possession. And more was involved, considerably more, than matters of prestige or social standing. Without it, for example, one could be denied the right to hold land, denied the right to bring legal actions, denied the right to legal representation in court, denied the right to make wills, to bequeath property, and such. Careers, too, and advancement within them, often depended on citizenship. Employment in the vast bureaucracy of the civil service, for example, required citizenship. Without citizenship one was, in certain respects, even if free, little more than an animal. It was not merely that certain offices, certain forms of political power, were closed to one, but that one was, in a sense, not being a citizen, not

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really a member of the community. One was, in effect, without standing before the law. It was only gradually, and over a period of centuries, even thousands of years, that citizenship had become more widely available. In the beginning it extended only to a given class on the first Telnarian world; it spread later to other classes on that world, and then to the population of that world, and then, in turn, similarly, gradually, to the other Telnarian worlds; then, of course, later, it began to spread to certain classes on the provincial worlds, and so on. The apprehension of the young officer and the captain had to do with the military as a route to citizenship. The enlistment for both the regular military and for the auxiliaries was for twenty years, followed by a pension. Sons commonly followed the craft of their fathers. On worlds where the bindings had taken place this was required, the sons of soldiers being required to be soldiers, and so on. A fellow who enlisted in the regular military, the regular forces, received citizenship after his first year of service; a fellow who enlisted in the auxiliaries received it at the end of nine years. The value of citizenship was such that noncitizens with energy and ambition often seized upon the military as a route to the prize of citizenship, which, of course, descended to their children. This policy provided the regular military, and, to a lesser extent, the auxiliaries, with a large pool of capable, eager recruits on which they could draw. Two further observations are in order. Men normally understand the value of, and respect, what has cost them much time and labor. One who has literally been forced to earn his citizenship has learned its value, and never thereafter takes it lightly. Similarly, such men tend to remain loyal to the empire. They make good citizens. The fear of the young officer and the captain is now clear: If citizenship were universally extended throughout the empire, this would remove one of the major enticements for men of

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quality to enter military service. Too, of course, obviously the universal extension of citizenship throughout the empire would cheapen it, and, in effect trivialize it. Those who do not care to earn their citizenship, of course, are muchly in favor of receiving it as free gift, like bread and entertainment in the cities. The agitation, and the riotous nature, of such elements constituted a force which could be exploited, of course, in a variety of ways by those politically adept at such matters. "Power to the people," so to speak, is always a popular slogan with those who have plans for putting the people to their own purposes. We can begin to understand, then, something of the factionalisms involved in such matters, and certain of the pressures to which the emperor and senate were sure to be subject. The barbarian, Ortog, growling with rage, more like a beast than a man, attempted to struggle to his feet, but was forced down again, on his knees. His eyes roved the tiers balefully. Women shrank back. "Fear not, gentle ladies," said Pulendius, "for you are safe from such monsters." The barbarian looked down, and fought the chains. A ripple of uneasiness coursed among women in the tiers. "Do not fear such brutes, beautiful, gentle ladies," said Pulendius. "The empire will protect you." The barbarian suddenly, unexpectedly, cried out with rage, and, half rising, tore at the chains.

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Some women in the stands cried out in fear. The guards forced the barbarian once more to his knees. "Do not be alarmed, beautiful, gentle ladies," said Pulendius. "The empire, invincible and eternal, stands between you and such beasts." But there remained fear in the eyes of more than one. And here and there small, delicate hands fluttered at trembling breasts. "He is quite helpless," said Pulendius. "He is well chained, as is appropriate for such brutes." Again the barbarian cried out with rage, and attempted once more to rise to his feet. A woman, startled, screamed. Then the barbarian, sullen, his wrists bleeding, forced once more to his knees, ceased to tear at the chains. "You see he is quite helpless," said Pulendius. "And he knows himself such." A sound of relief escaped several in the stands. "Behold him, on his knees, as such should be, before the empire."

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There was laughter in the stands. Suddenly again, in fury, the barbarian strove to rise to his feet. At a sign from the captain the two guards, with blows, brought the barbarian again to his knees. Blood streamed about his head. "An admirably dangerous man,” said the young naval officer, musingly. "Yes, milord," said the captain. Again the barbarian tried to rise. This time, with the nod of the captain observed, Pulendius gestured for two of the gladiators, one of the pairs with blunted spears, to rush forward. They did so, and struck the kneeling, chained figure several times, brutally, with the shafts of their implements. He was then bent over, on his knees, in the bloody sand. When the barbarian straightened his body he, bloodied head up, sand clinging to his face and beard, regarded the captain and the young officer. In his eyes there was smoldering hatred. The young officer, he with the cords of the blood at his left shoulder, met the gaze calmly. The barbarian then looked about the tiers. Suddenly, his gaze stopped. He regarded the gladiator near the opening of the tiers, to his left, as he knelt, with a glance that was both keen, and, to some extent, of awe. This puzzled the gladiator, for he had never seen the barbarian

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before. After all, he was a fighter, and, before that, a mere peasant from a festung village, that of Sim Giadini, far away. The fascination of the prisoner with the features of the gladiator was noted by the young officer, who, himself, turned and regarded the gladiator. He saw nothing unusual in his features, nothing to warrant the scrutiny, apparently

a fascinated, almost

an unbelieving regard, of

the

barbarian. Then the young officer, curious, turned, again, to the gladiator. "Do you know him?" he asked. "No, milord," said the gladiator. "You have not met before?" "Not to my knowledge," said the gladiator. "Let the exhibition begin!" cried Pulendius, and called forth the first pair of gladiators, one of the two pairs with wooden swords. In the exhibition some rudiments of swordsmanship were demonstrated, and, in a few minutes, Pulendius himself adjudicated a mock match, one in which blows were drawn. The second pair demonstrated certain techniques of the spear, and then, as had the first, engaged in a mock match, which Pulendius again adjudicated, and expertly. The third match was again between a pair with wooden swords, only the swords were this time not the surrogates of the common wicked, short blade of the arena, but rather of the long sword, wielded with two hands, a weapon favored by certain barbarian peoples. The last exhibition was between the last pair of gladiators, also armed with spears, these formed however to resemble the long, double-headed spears of Kiros, a world in the Lidanian system. Both ends of the shaft were painted

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red, indicating a scoring surface. It was with these implements that the barbarian had been beaten. Pulendius, in his expert commentary, mentioned various facts about diverse weapons, their strengths and weaknesses, the diverse techniques of their employment, and such. There is, of course, a lore and history of weaponry, and weapons of diverse types, like musical instruments, tend to be the result of a long period of refinement and development. And the profession of arms, like other professions, has its complexity, and its masters. Those who do not understand, or appreciate, the expertise, the effort, the long hours of practice, the days and nights of thought involved, are naive, and in an area where naiveté can be dangerous. The sport of arms is an intricate and demanding one. Too, it is a quite serious one. Its games are not such as may be lightly lost. From time to time the glance of the young naval officer passed musingly, thoughtfully, from the barbarian to the gladiator who crouched, intent on the exercises, near the entrance to the tiers. The ensign pondered, curiously, what he had earlier noted, the reaction of the barbarian upon seeing the gladiator. But the gladiator was only a paid minion of Pulendius, a common sort. Too, it was extremely unlikely their paths had crossed. The barbarian did not note the interest of the young officer, nor did the gladiator. The barbarian, bloodied, chained, doubtless sick from his beating, continued to regard the gladiator, whom he viewed, the officer noted, with a sort of wonder, of hostility, even of apprehension. The gladiator, on the other hand, was intent on the matches, perhaps noting how one man feinted, how another moved, how another

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communicated his intentions by pressing the ball of his foot into the sand, firmly, just before a thrust. "Score!" called Pulendius, slapping one of the last fighters on the back. That fighter stood over the prostrate form of the other, the blunt, red-painted end of the mock spear but an inch from his throat. Then the victor stepped back, and, sweating, grinning, lifted his spear, turning, before the crowd. The other fellow scrambled up from the sand, retrieved his broken weapon, and exited. There was applause. "And now," called Pulendius, "for the climax of the evening's entertainment!" The small crowd on the tiers leaned forward. Pulendius turned dramatically toward the barbarian. "Stand," said Pulendius. The barbarian, with some difficulty, rose to his feet. He then stood there, a little unsteadily, in the sand. "Release him!" said Pulendius, pointing dramatically to the barbarian. The barbarian himself did not seem surprised at this development. "No!" cried a woman from the stands, frightened.

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"Keep him chained!" cried another. But, to the apprehension of many in the stands, and, we suspect, not merely of the women, one of the guards bent down, and undid the locks on the shackles which fettered the ankles of the barbarian. "You see this pistol, and you know what it can do?" said one of the guards, brandishing it before the barbarian. The barbarian did not deign to respond. But doubtless he was only too familiar with such devices, or devices of that sort. "Undo the manacles," said Pulendius. "No!" cried a woman. But the guard who had attended to the shackles, and doubtless understood what was expected of him, and the projected course of events, unlocked the manacles. The barbarian then stood there, free, but within the scope of the fire pistols, indeed, at point-blank range. "We shall see what stuff these fellows are made of," said Pulendius. "He is not to reach Miton," said the minor officer to the woman in the pantsuit. The woman in the pantsuit looked at the minor officer reproachfully. "He will, of course," said the minor officer, "have his chance for life."

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"Who will you fight?" asked Pulendius. The barbarian turned toward the young naval officer, and pointed to him. "He," he said. "Alas, no!" cried Pulendius, in dismay. "They will put the barbarian against trained men, professional killers, gladiators?" said the woman in the pantsuit angrily to the minor officer. "He could always be nailed to a public gate on Miton, or starved to death in a cage, thence to be thrown into a garbage pit," said the officer. "Is this how the empire deals with its foes?" she asked. "We deal with barbarians," said the officer, "as they deal with us, and with one another." "I see," she said. "You do not know the nature of these creatures," said the officer. "They must be dealt with mercilessly." "You speak as though we might be at war," said the woman. "We are always at war," said the officer.

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The woman looked at him, incredulously. "We have exterminated worlds of such creatures," said the officer. "But energies become precious, and it seems there are always more." " 'War'?" asked the woman. "War," said the officer. "I did not know," she said. "Such things occur mostly at the borders," he said. "Is the empire not expanding?" asked the woman. "The empire has contracted its borders, for defensive purposes," said the officer. There might then have seemed a glimmer of fear in the woman's eyes. "It is a strategically sound move," said the officer. "Do not fear. There is no danger. After a respite the empire will expand once more." "Excellent!" she said. "Let us enjoy the show," he said.

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"Yes," she said. "What weapons will you choose?" inquired Pulendius of the barbarian. "Doubtless you have some in mind," said the barbarian, looking about himself. Pulendius then mentioned some exotic weapons, that only fighters in exotic weaponry would be practiced with, the knife buckler of Ambos, the Kurasian darts, the Loranian torch, such things. "Perhaps, then," said Pulendius, "the net and trident, the short sword and buckler?" "I do not know them," said Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungen. He seemed for a moment, then, suddenly, in spite of his rather proud mien, his folded arms, and such, to sway a little. He caught his balance. "He seems weak," said the woman sitting beside the minor officer. "He has not been overly fed," said the minor officer. "You have starved him, to weaken him?" she said. "The line would not wish to have to compensate Pulendius for the loss of a man," said the officer.

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"I have chosen my weapons," said the barbarian. "And what are they?" asked Pulendius. "These," said the barbarian, lifting his hands. Pulendius laughed. But then he looked to the young naval officer, who lifted a hand, acceding to the barbarian's choice. "Hinak!" called Pulendius. One of the two fellows who had given the exhibition with the twoheaded spears of Kiros, or the semblance of such, stepped forward. It was he who had been defeated in the mock match. "Now, you have an opportunity to redeem yourself, Hinak," said Pulendius. But Hinak did not seem amused. Rather he was measuring the barbarian. "And now, captain," said Pulendius, "may we not add some spice to the contest?" The captain signaled to two of his men, who had been standing rather

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back in the shadows, between the tiers. They retreated behind the tiers and then, after a moment, came out again. They carried what was, in effect, a sturdy metal pipe, about five feet in length, about four inches in thickness. Fixed on it were two rings, rather toward one end, one above the other, each about four inches in diameter. One of the sailors, then, with his foot, brushed sand away from a metal cap. He then removed this cap and put it to one side, outside the perimeter of the small arena. Revealed then, hitherto concealed by the sand and cap, was a cylindrical aperture. They set the postlike stake into this aperture, or socket, which was just within the wooden ring of the tiny arena, and to the left of the captain's party. It sank about two feet into the socket. From the sound the bottom of the socket was metal. The two rings fastened to the object clinked against its side. They secured this object in place with a bolt and lock, and put the sand back about its shaft. The two men then went back again, behind the tiers. Those in the tiers looked upon the pipe, with its rings, locked in place, in the sand. One of the men in the audience slapped his knee. The heart of the officer of the court began to pound madly. In a moment she gasped, both in horror and protest, for the girl, Janina, by a chain and collar, she whose exquisiteness she had so envied the night before, was half led, half dragged into the tiny arena.

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From her right wrist, which was enclosed in a metal cuff, there dangled, on a short chain, another cuff, but one which was open. She was put down kneeling, behind the stake. The sailor who had not led her in took the free cuff through the lower of the two rings on the pipe, placed it about her left wrist and snapped it shut. She was then handcuffed to the pipe. Almost at the same time the other sailor locked the free end of the collar and chain about the higher ring on the stake. Janina was then fastened to the stake in two fashions, by the handcuffs and by the chain on her neck. Keys, tied together on a small cord, presumably to these devices, were laid on the surface of the wooden ring circling the sand, before the young naval officer. "See how she is dressed!" exclaimed the woman in the pant-suit. "That is called a keb," said the minor officer. The officer of the court felt weak. "You would think," said the woman in the pantsuit, "that she would at least have been permitted some form of slave tunic." "But she is at the stake," said the minor officer. There are many varieties of slave tunics. They are commonly light, sleeveless, quite short, one-piece garments, open from the hem to the waist on both sides, thus scarcely a tunic, no more, really, than a scandalously brief, revealing rag. But the girl was not in such a garment, one so comparatively modest.

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She was in a different form of garment, that called the keb. The garment, before it is worn, resembles a long, narrow sash. The material of this keb was a loosely woven gray corton. It is put on the slave by first haltering her breasts, snugly, the knot behind her back. The long, dangling end is then taken down, behind her back, and up, snugly, between her legs. There it is held at the waist with one hand while the other takes the continuing free end about the body. When the free end has circled her body, it is passed about the portion which was being held, holding it in place, and is then tied. "How dreadful a garment," said the woman in the pantsuit, approvingly. "Yes," whispered the officer of the court. Yet the garment was not, really, too different from the intimacies which she herself wore beneath her "same garb," only there, down there on the sand, of course, the woman was publicly so revealed. The keb, of course, can be fastened on a slave in a variety of manners. For example, it need not be used to conceal the beauties of her breasts. It may simply be wrapped about the hips, and tucked in. An advantage of the keb, too, of course, is that it may serve a variety of purposes when not on the slave, such as hooding her, blindfolding her, gagging her, binding her, and such. Too, it might be remarked that it may be used as a sling for the carrying of burdens. "You understand, of course," said the minor officer, addressing the

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woman in the pantsuit, "that she would not be in even the keb at the stake, if this were not a civilized pleasure cruise." "Ah!" said the woman in the pantsuit, delightedly. "Doubtless you are concerned for her,” said the minor officer, smiling. "No," said the woman in the pantsuit. "She is only a slave." The officer of the court, trembling, looked down to the sand. Janina, who seemed frightened, and perhaps had never been at the stake before, clung to the metal of the pipe, pressing herself fearfully against it, the palms of her small hands, too, up, against the metal. "Any ladies who care to do so may now leave," suggested Pulendius, considerately. But not a woman stirred in the tiers. Pulendius smiled. The officer of the court felt weak. Pulendius turned to the barbarian, and, with his hand, indicated the girl at the pipe. "What do you think of her?" "She is merely another slave," said the barbarian.

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Janina moved a little, her chains making a tiny sound against the pipe. "I do not understand," said Pulendius. "Like these others," said Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungen, waving his hand toward the tiers. Women shrank back. Many cried out in rage, in protest. Even men cried out, in anger. "You let your slaves out of their collars," said the barbarian. "Those are free women!" cried Pulendius, as though offended. "At best, slaves," said Ortog, his arms folded across his chest. "Absurd!" cried Pulendius. Ortog then turned toward the young naval officer, he with the three purple cords at his left shoulder. "Let them kneel before true men, and learn to be women," said Ortog. The young naval officer met his gaze dispassionately. The officer of the court put her hand to her breast. How conscious was she then of the intimate garments she had concealed beneath her

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"same garb," beneath the "frame-and-curtain." "Hinak!" called Pulendius, angrily. Hinak came forth, half bent, his hands ready, toward the center of the sand. The barbarian assumed a similar position. They began to circle one another. "Wait! Separate!" said Pulendius. The contestants backed away from one another. The door had opened, you see, that main door leading into the hold, and a minor officer had entered. He hurried about the ring, before the tiers, and spoke quickly, seemingly urgently, certainly confidentially, to the captain. The young naval officer watched, curiously. The barbarian, too, interestingly, observed this intrusion. In a moment the captain rose, and turned to the crowd. "Forgive me," he said, smiling. "It is nothing. There is a small matter to attend to." He then left, followed by the first officer and the minor officer, he who had just entered that section of the hold. "Please continue," said the second officer, he now of highest rank in the room.

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"Begin!" said Pulendius to the contestants in the ring. In a moment all attention was returned to the contest. Madly was beating the heart of the officer of the court. She had never understood anything could be so real, so meaningful. Here, on the sand, knelt a girl, scarcely clad, a helpless prize, chained to a pipe, the stake. There, on the sand, men prowled about, eyeing one another, in a combat that might well issue in death for one of them. A strange, wild, primitive dimension of possible existences opened up then before the startled, expanded imagination of the officer of the court, vistas of terrifying battles and rude kingdoms, with savage ways, vistas of huts and shelters, of halls and tents, of pavilions and palaces, of fortresses and castles, within which men were men and women, women, totally so, and other vistas, too, vistas of green leaves, and rocks, and the feel of wet earth beneath bare feet, vistas of dark forests, of the weaving of coarse cloths, of the cooking by open fires, of waiting anxiously, hopefully, for the hunters to return, vistas of truth and reality she had suspected, but had scarcely admitted could exist. How far away then seemed the dusty tomes of the law, the tedium of litigation, the procedures of the courts, the endless, meaningless trivialities of protocol, civility and discourse, which things seemed then but the remote semblance of a reality, a reality always somewhere else. There was reality here, the reality of the growth of crops, rising out of the moist earth, of rainfall, and storms, of the truths of animals, and of men and women. She had never realized the nature of reality before, that it was not documents and legalities, and

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banal conversation, and pretense, and hypocrisy, but that it was different, that it was as hard, and perfect, and as natural, and as simple, and as uncompromising, as wood, and stone, and iron and steel. The true world, the unsheltered world, was as real, she suspected, as a coiled rope or a diaphanous, clinging sheet of silk, as real as a weighty golden coin or the leather of a whip. "Stop!" cried Pulendius, in alarm. One of the guards rushed to the barbarian, holding his fire pistol to his temple. The barbarian held Hinak from behind, his arms under Hinak's, his hands clasped behind the back of Hinak's neck, pressing slowly forward, and down. With a grunt the barbarian released his hold, and Hinak went forward, on his knees, in the sand. In another moment surely his neck would have been snapped. Hinak rose up, and hurried away. Grateful he was to leave the sand alive. "The barbarian has defeated a professional fighter," said the woman in the pantsuit, wonderingly. "By some trick of wrestling, not with weapons," said the minor officer to her right.

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At that moment there was a soft cry of surprise from many in the tiers. The officer of the court, as well, felt her body move backward, swaying back, just a little, on the tier. "The ship is accelerating," said the minor officer. "Am I not victorious?" asked Ortog. Janina looked up at Ortog. Her small hands were pressed against the pipe to which she was chained. "Oh, the contest is not yet done," Pulendius assured him. The officer of the court noted how closely the steel encircled Janina's small wrists. They were small cuffs. The officer of the court realized, suddenly, they had been made for women. They would fit her as well as Janina. The collar was about Janina's throat. Had she been in such a collar she could have slipped it no more than the slave. Ortog threw back his head and laughed knowingly. "Why did you not kill him?" asked the young naval officer. "I choose whom I kill," said Ortog. The question of the young officer had made it clear to those who might be perceptive in the tiers that the barbarian was not intended to survive the evening. Perhaps he might then have availed himself of

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the satisfaction of destroying one enemy, perhaps in the same moment that the trigger on the fire pistol could have been pulled. "Ambos!" called Pulendius, irritably. This fighter was from the world, Ambos, and was known professionally by that name. This was not uncommon in the arena, naming the fighters for worlds, or cities, or animals, or appearance. He was the fellow who had been successful in the last mock match, that with what were intended to represent the two-headed spears of Kiros. We do not know his real name. One account gives it as 'Elbar.' More importantly, for our purposes, he had once wrestled professionally on Ambos, before applying to the arena masters. Ambos came forth. "Kill him," said Pulendius, indicating the barbarian. He then stepped back. There was to be no mock adjudication of holds, of breaks, and such, in this match. Ambos, of course, had watched the previous match, and had noted the fate of Hinak. The barbarian was clearly not a trained wrestler, but he was unusually strong, and that made him dangerous. Ambos had no intention of taking him lightly. "Close! Finish him!" said Pulendius. But the two men, together in the center of the ring, only thrusted, feinted, and reached for holds.

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"Finish him!" said Pulendius. Suddenly the two men grappled, locked together, swaying back and forth. "Finish him!" cried Pulendius. But to the horror of Pulendius and those in the tiers the barbarian, slowly, by sheer strength, drew Ambos from his feet, and then slowly turned him, and placed his back over his knee, his hands pressing down, the knee as the fulcrum, the spine a doomed lever, subjected to terrible force at each termination, surely in a moment to snap, surely incapable of withstanding such pressure. But then the barbarian let Ambos, gasping, wild-eyed, slip to the sand. The barbarian rose to his feet. "Am I not victorious?" he asked. "You did not kill him," observed the young naval officer. "I did not choose to do so," said the barbarian. Ambos was helped from the sand by two of Pulendius's men. "And whom would you choose to kill?" asked the young naval officer.

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"One worthy," said the barbarian, his arms folded. "Me?" asked the young naval officer, quietly, amused. The barbarian turned about and lifted his arm. He pointed at the gladiator with whom we have been hitherto acquainted, he who had been raised in a small festung village, that of Sim Giadini, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right, on the evening of the captain's table, he who had looked upon the officer of the court, who was even of the blood, as though she might be naught but a common slave, one such that she might be purchased in any market, and thence put to the common purposes of slaves. "He!" said the barbarian. "Why?" asked the young officer, puzzled. The barbarian was silent. "Who is he? Who do you think he is?" asked the young officer, leaning forward, keenly interested. Again the barbarian refused to respond. "Where are you from, fighter?" asked the young officer of the gladiator. "From the festung village of Sim Giadini, milord," said the gladiator. He also identified the world, but we think it best, again, at this point,

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in order not to anticipate, to withhold its name. It was, however, we recall, one of the claimed worlds within the imperial system. "No," said the barbarian. "No." "It will be with weapons!" said Pulendius, angrily. "Let him live," called a man. "He has been victorious!" called another. "Free him!" Pulendius looked angrily toward the source of such cries. "Kill him!" cried a woman. "Kill him!" cried the woman in the pantsuit. "Kill him!" cried another woman, a young woman. The officer of the court saw that it was the salesgirl, she from the ship's shop, from whom, earlier that day, she had made certain purchases. She had not noticed her in the tiers before. She was terribly embarrassed, now, to see her there. After all, she knew the nature of those purchases. Had the salesgirl seen her here, had she looked at her? Would she have wondered if she, from Terennia, had such things on, beneath the "same garb," beneath the "frame-and-curtain." But of course she did. But would the salesgirl suspect that? How embarrassing! Too, what right had the salesgirl to be here, such a person, a mere employee of the line, at an entertainment for passengers! How embarrassing, the whole business!

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"Let him live!" cried a man. "Kill him!" cried the woman in the pantsuit. "Kill him!" cried the salesgirl. "It will be with weapons, and we shall choose!" said Pulendius. "The barbarian is finished now," said the minor officer to the woman in the pantsuit. "The short sword, without buckler," said Pulendius. "Excellent," said the minor officer. Suddenly, again, there was an unsteadiness on the tiers, and some soft cries of surprise. One of the guards went down to one knee, his balance briefly lost, and then, again, stood. "A change in course," explained the minor officer to the woman in the pantsuit. To be sure, the change in course was one rather abrupt for such a ship. "We have a dog to set on you," said Pulendius. There was laughter from some of his men.

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"Dog!" summoned Pulendius. The gladiator, he with whom we have been hitherto acquainted, stepped forward, over the wooden ring, onto the sand. Women gasped, for the figure was a mighty one, that of he who had now come onto the sand, well into the light. "I am Ortog," said Ortog, announcing himself to the gladiator, as he had not to the others, "prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungs." "Do you know the short sword?" asked the gladiator. "No," said Ortog. "Choose some other weapon," advised the gladiator. "The small blade will be satisfactory," said Ortog. "Some regard me as reasonably skilled with the weapon," said the gladiator. There was laughter from the men of Pulendius. The gladiator, you see, was, of all the school of Pulendius, he who was most skilled with that blade. It had served him well on four worlds, and in ten arenas. Pulendius had even hopes that his skills might carry him to the imperial arenas of the Telnarian worlds

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themselves.

Often

Pulendius

had

wondered

at

his

almost

incomprehensible aptitude with such weapons. The naturalness, the quickness, the ease, with which he handled such weapons was not to be expected in one who was a peasant. One might expect that gigantic strength to be sometimes found in a peasant but seldom, if ever, such speed, such subtlety and finesse. It was almost as if the use of such things was as natural to him as that of teeth to the vi-cat, of talons to the hawk. It was almost as though the use of such things were somehow bred in him, were somehow in the blood itself. "I choose the short sword," said Ortog. "It is my assumption then," said the gladiator, "that you are familiar with the weapon." Two such weapons, wrapped in scarlet silk, were brought. The gladiator tested each, and then indicated that Ortog might have his choice of blades. Ortog took one and backed to the opposite side of the circle. "Is it that you wish to die?" asked the young officer of the barbarian. "If I am to die," said Ortog, "it is not unfitting that it be at the hands of such." "A common gladiator?"

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"You think him such?" asked Ortog. The young officer shrugged. Ortog laughed, and hefted the blade. It seemed he liked its balance. "It is much like a knife," he said. It did have something of the advantages of a double-edged knife, the capacity to slash on both the forestroke and the backstroke, the capacity to shift direction quickly, the capacity to thrust, at close quarters. On the other hand it had some of the advantages of the sword. It was long enough to keep a knife at bay, to outreach a knife, and to make fencing, parrying and disengaging, and such, practical. "He is indeed a dog,” said Ortog, viewing the gladiator. "But that is not his name." "His name is 'Dog,' " said Pulendius. "What is your name?" asked Ortog of the gladiator. "I am called 'Dog,' milord," he said. "Do you think I do not know your house?" asked Ortog. "I am Dog, of the school of Pulendius," said the gladiator. "Do not kill him immediately," whispered Pulendius to the gladiator.

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"Carry him for a bit, for the crowd." This remark was overheard by Ortog, and his eyes glistened wildly, just for an instant. He looked about himself, at the enclosing steel walls of the ship. At that moment the ship swerved and people on the tiers cried out, surprised. More than one lost his balance, and fell against others. Those standing on the sand, Pulendius, and the gladiator, and Ortog, almost lost their balance. The girl, Janina, she in the keb, chained at the pipe, was thrown to her left, and only kept from falling further by the handcuffs, the chain of which, fastened in place through the ring, pulled against the pipe. Then, again, the ship steadied itself. The second officer rose briefly to his feet. "It is all right," he said. "These are adjustments in our course. There is no reason to be alarmed." The crowd then, somewhat uneasily, returned its attention to the sand. "Our peoples," said Ortog to the gladiator, "have been hereditary enemies for ten thousand years." "I am Dog, of the festung village of Sim Giadini," said the gladiator. After the first moment of crossing steel, no more than four or five touches, sensitive, exploratory, the gladiator stepped back. "Choose

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another weapon," he said. "I am Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungs, of the Alemanni." "Choose another weapon," advised the gladiator. "Die, dog of an Otung!" cried the Ortung, and hurled himself at the gladiator, who stepped to one side and did not slip his blade into the side of the barbarian, who went past him. The barbarian fell to his knees in the sand. He turned about, on his knees, in fury. "You dare to humiliate one who is a prince and king?" he cried. "Forgive me, milord," said the gladiator. The barbarian again charged the gladiator, who, again, evaded the charge. Such a charge might have been comprehensible with the mighty long sword, two-handled, like a weighty bolt of edged lightning, sweeping aside all before it, but it was not practical with the shorter blade. The gladiator looked to Pulendius. The disgust of Pulendius was evident. "Kill him," said Pulendius.

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The barbarian once again engaged, but his every thrust was parried away harmlessly. He might have been trying to pierce a fence of steel. "Kill him," said Pulendius. The barbarian thrust again, but the gladiator had drawn the thrust, by seeming to provide his opponent an opening, and Ortog extended his thrust, overextending it, the gladiator fading back. It was a mistake one more practiced with such a weapon would not have made. The gladiator's blade, behind his guard, was against the side of his neck. Both men stood very still. "Kill him," said Pulendius. The gladiator then stepped away from the barbarian. The barbarian then again, this time in mindless fury, rushed toward the gladiator and then, suddenly, was sprawled in the sand, on his back. The heel of the gladiator's bootlike sandal crushed down on his wrist, and the sword left his hand, lost to the side, half buried in the sand, and then he lay there, sweating, gasping, in the sand, on his back, at the gladiator's feet. The gladiator's sword was at his heart. "You are an Otung of Otungs," said the barbarian, looking up at the gladiator, in awe.

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"I am Dog, of the festung village of Sim Giadini," said the gladiator. "Strike," said the barbarian. "Kill him," said Pulendius. The gladiator looked up to the tiers. "Let him live!" called a man in the tiers. "Kill him," cried many of the women. "Kill him!" cried the woman in the pantsuit. "Kill him!" called the salesgirl. "Strike!" commanded the barbarian. But the gladiator stepped away from the figure in the sand, and lowered his weapon. "Kill him!" said Pulendius. "No," said the gladiator. "Why not?" asked Pulendius. "He was much beaten," said the gladiator, "he is weak, he does not know the weapon."

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"Do not let one of lesser blood kill me!" said the barbarian. The gladiator did not understand this remark. "Fellow," said the young naval officer. "Milord?" said the gladiator. "I am surprised you did not kill him," said the officer. "Surely, milord," said the gladiator, "only a king may kill a king." "He is a barbarian," said the officer. "But a king," said the gladiator. The young naval officer picked up the keys which lay on the surface of the wooden rim circling the sand, and tossed them, on their cord, to the gladiator. "You are victorious," he said. "My thanks, milord," said the gladiator. He looked down at the slave, who, kneeling in the keb, it twisted about her body, was looking up at him, excitedly. "Look at her," said the woman in the pantsuit. "She is like a pretty

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little animal." "In heat," said the minor officer beside her. "Yes," said the woman in the pantsuit. The officer of the court trembled within the "same garb," within the "frame-and-curtain." A woman in heat, one with sexual needs, how fearful seemed such a thought! "Please unchain me, Master," said the slave to the gladiator, "that I may render my obeisance!" The gladiator threw the keys, on their cord, to one of the sailors, who then bent to undo the locks, that on the collar, those on the cuffs, that the slave might be loosed from the pipe. The barbarian rose unsteadily to his feet, near the center of the sand. He did not pick up his sword, which still lay in the sand, half buried. Freed of her restraints, the cuffs, the collar and chain, the slave crawled to the feet of the gladiator, and then, kneeling before him, looked up at him. She then put down her head and began to lick and kiss his feet. "Who would permit a woman to do such a thing to him?" asked a woman.

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"Such as he!" said another. "And might command it!" said another. "One who is a master!" said another, thrilled. The gladiator did not seem surprised at the action of the slave. The officer of the court conjectured, to her chagrin, that this might not be the first time a woman had been thusly at his feet. She suspected then that slaves might be kept, secretly, in the schools. "Look at her," said a woman nearby. "It is true. She is in heat." "She had better be," said a man. The officer of the court felt faint. "See her!" said another woman. "Such are born to lick the feet of men," said another. "So are you all," said a man. "Please!" protested the woman. The officer of the court blushed, hotly, muchly then again sensitive to the garments beneath her drab, bulky "same garb," beneath the

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"frame-and-curtain." The officer of the court trembled. "What would it be like to be a slave," she wondered, "to be owned by a man, to be subject to punishment, even to death, if he pleased, having

no

choice

but

to

obey

him,

immediately,

perfectly,

unquestioningly?" "She had better be in heat," had suggested the man, some vulgar fellow. "If she were a slave," she thought, "would she not, too, at least at times, have to be in heat? Would the master not require it?" "Too," she thought, shuddering, "if I were owned, truly owned, I do not think I could help being in heat, at least sometimes, whether I wanted it or not." The gladiator stepped back from the slave. Then he, and Pulendius, turned to face the barbarian. The barbarian, arms folded, stood near the center of the ring. The sword lay near his feet, unretrieved. The barbarian seemed to be listening, though it was not clear what he might be hearing, or thought he heard. Perhaps it was feet running in the passageway outside. "Kill him," said Pulendius.

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"No," said the gladiator. "Forgive me, milord." Pulendius looked at him. "I am a free man, milord," said the gladiator. Pulendius turned to the young naval officer. "It is quite all right," said the young officer, rising. "Give me your pistol," he said to one of the guards. The weapon was instantly surrendered to him. "Kill him!" cried the woman in the pantsuit, pointing to the barbarian. "Kill him!" cried the salesgirl. "Kill him!" cried others. "You are, at most, slaves!" said the barbarian to the women. "Kill him!" cried yet more of the women. The young naval officer leveled the pistol at the heart of the barbarian. At that very moment there was a deafening, crashing sound and a screaming of metal. Tiers collapsed and sand, like a storm, swirled into the air. Everyone was thrown from his feet. There were screams and

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curses. The lights failed, and then came on again. Doubtless many were injured. The officer of the court, and others, were now on the steel floor of the hold, splintered planking about them. The young officer, on his knees, pistol in hand, looked wildly about. He could not see the barbarian. It was not clearly understood at the time, but in that first hit, one of the upper decks of the vessel had been opened, and tons of debris were blasted loose into space. The ship began to spin sickeningly. The second officer, followed by others, was staggering toward the door.

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CHAPTER 12 The Alaria, as we may recall, was far from the customary lanes of commerce and traffic. We may speculate that her earlier orbiting at Tinos had something to do with taking aboard the young naval officer, who had had business on that world, it perhaps having to do with negotiations of a sort, that world serving sometimes as a neutral ground, a meeting place, between various barbarian nations in that area and the empire. Similarly, there were, here and there, trading worlds, or ports thereon, where commercial transactions, and various forms of intercourse and communication, between diverse, perhaps mutually suspicious worlds, could take place. The use of such points and worlds was to reduce the possibilities of espionage, terrorism, sabotage, contagion, and such. Too, it was at Tinos that the barbarian, Ortog, a prisoner, had been brought aboard. It is possible that he was given into the custody of the empire as some token of good faith, as a pledge of some sort. Later, however, as we may recall, contact had been lost with Tinos, or, at least, Tinos station, the small imperial base on Tinos. What had occurred was that the barbarian fleet, that of the Ortungs, or Ortungen, those ships loyal to Ortog, hearing of his capture, and his conveyance to Tinos, had set out in pursuit. It had been learned at Tinos station, from several imperial officials, subjected to lengthy tortures, best left undescribed, that Ortog had been taken aboard the Alaria. The officials had also, at last, under severe duress, provided the Ortungen with access to the charting codes which enabled them to establish the itinerary, and probable course, of the Alaria. We shall briefly sketch the events of the next four days. The Alaria,

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which was not purely a pleasure ship, as you may have suspected, gave a rather good account of herself, considering her speed, maneuverability and armament. One of the seven pursuing ships was destroyed, and another seriously damaged. Still, after the first moments, after the closing, which took place at a distance of some twenty-five hundred miles, the issue could not be seriously in doubt. The Alaria, twisted, scorched, portions of the upper decking lost, the hull opened, lighting dimmed, life-support systems out in many sections, spun slowly in space, powerless. In four places hollow "moles,” the boarding tubes, drilled into the hull, and then, just as the plating, in its gigantic burned circle, better than ten feet in diameter, was snapped free, torrents of fire burst inward, shearing away any possible resistance, melting even the lighter steel of the opposing walls, those lining corridors opposite the mole. Through these apertures then, hurrying through, rushing over the steaming steel, through that large glowing opening from which molten globules still descended, blasting left and right, poured armored warriors, Ortungen. There was resistance, of course, within the ship, but it was scattered, pathetic and doomed. On the first day the Ortungen established control of the middle decks, this dividing the defenders. On the second day they seized the commissaries, and the arsenal, which, in any event, had been available only to a small number of defenders. There was some fighting with crew members, from cabin to cabin, and corridor to corridor, but the passengers were, on the whole, in accord with imperial policies, not armed. Little quarter was given. Crew members were, on the whole, killed. Many prisoners were taken.

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These were stripped, and sorted through. Most were killed. The strongest, healthiest men tended to be spared, and the most attractive of the women. The male prisoners were then separated from the female prisoners and both were conducted through the moles to the barbarian ships, where they were placed in separate steel holds. They would be kept for slaves. There were many uses, heavy labor, work in the fields, and such, to which male slaves might be put, and there were, of course, many uses to which female slaves might be put, as well. On the third day the Ortungen secured access to central engineering, which gave them selective control, among other things, of all lighting, heating and life-support systems which were not selfcontained, and designed for functioning on a temporary, emergency basis. Soon, one by one, overcome by darkness and cold, coughing, gasping for breath, the tiny pockets of resistance succumbed. They then emerged, as commanded, the men standing, their hands clasped on their heads, the women crawling, to be taken into custody. Again, the fates of these were decided, as had been that of their predecessors. Not all the passengers, and such, of course, fell to the barbarians. There were, naturally, many escape capsules, or lifeboats, on the Alaria. Some, we might recall, had been stored even in Section 19, of the hold. After the initial hit on the Alaria, one of several, the officer of the court, buffeted, and squirming, fighting with other passengers, had fled from Section 19, thinking of nothing else, in her terror, as many of the others, but of reaching her own cabin, as though there might be

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some safety there. She did reach it, through a bedlam of cries, of tearing metal, of warning klaxons and such, and locked herself within. After a few hours the light went out in the cabin, some cables doubtless cut somewhere. A little later she tried the lever in the washbasin, and found there was no water. Huddling inside the cabin, behind the steel door, she occasionally heard cries outside, and running feet. More than once she heard the hiss of a weapon. On the second day she heard pounding on cabin doors farther down the corridor, and harsh voices, ordering occupants to come forth, men standing, their hands clasped on their head, women on all fours. She heard a scream from outside, a woman's scream. She also heard a blow, perhaps a kick, and a cry of pain. "Strip her," she heard. "A pretty one," said a man's voice, after a moment. The officer of the court, incidentally, at this point, no longer wore the bulky "frame-and-curtain," and she herself had unclasped it, fearfully, almost of necessity, in the press, in the rush and buffeting to escape from the hold, lest she be turned about by it, or even strangled in its confinement, and, in a moment, it had been torn away from her, lost and trampled somewhere below. She did, however, continue to wear the cumbersome, drab "same garb," and, beneath it, of course, certain other garments, those of a sort which she would never have dared to

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show to one such as Tuvo Ausonius. He would never accept such garments on a free woman, only, if at all, on a slave. Indeed, he might command them of a slave. "They will keep her," said the first man. The officer of the court wondered if she herself, under such circumstances, would be kept, if she would be found pleasing enough to be kept. She hoped so, desperately. "Crawl, to the end of the corridor, hurry!" commanded the second man. She heard weeping. "Hurry!" she heard, and another cry of pain. "Would they keep me?" wondered the officer of the court. "Would I be pleasing enough to be kept? Oh, I hope so. I hope so!" Then, in a moment, she heard pounding on her own door, ordering that it be opened, and that men were to come forth in one fashion, and women in another. She drew back from the door, terrified. The door was tried. "Bring the spike," she heard.

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She heard something being put against the door, pressed against it. Then there was a sudden whirring sound, as of metal being shaved away. She then heard something drawn back, out of the door. She then heard another sound, as of something forced into an aperture. Faint, frightened, crouching by the door in the darkness, she reached out and felt it, something like a small conical nozzle. Then, in an instant, she heard a hiss of gas. She fled back into the cabin and behind the bed, and knelt there, terrified, distraught, hearing the gas entering the cabin. Then, knowing nothing else to do, terrified, she pressed herself beneath the bed, concealing herself there. There was very little room there, no more than in some devices for the confinement of slaves, some even, barred, beneath the master's bed, in which a slave might be kept, until she was wanted for serving. More importantly the space was small enough not to seem to afford an obvious hiding place. The officer of the court, moreover, as we remember, was a slender young woman, and such might be kept in spaces even smaller. For example, magicians have used such women for certain "vanishing tricks," in which the woman occupies a very small space, one so small that it occurs to few that that space, perhaps at the bottom of a trunk, could afford a concealment. She fought to retain consciousness. She heard the door break in. A light flashed about, in the room. "It is empty," said a voice.

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"Look about," said a voice. "Look in the closets, in the lavatory." The officer of the court, naturally, had no mask. She could feel the harsh nap of the rug against her left cheek as she lay, her head toward the door. She saw the boots of a man, or the borders of them, illuminated for a moment, in the light. "Look under the bed," said a man. Her fingers, in misery, cut at the rug. "There is no room there," said a man. "Look," said the other. She saw the light flash, the beam illuminating the gas in the room, under the side of the bed, that farthest from where she lay, that which was nearest the cabin door. "There is nothing there," said a voice. It was possible he might have gone to the other side of the bed, or conducted a more thorough investigation, but, perhaps thinking it fruitless, he did not do so. Too, just then a voice called from outside, in the corridor, and the two men exited the room.

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She had then lost consciousness. She had awakened a few hours later, sick, thirsting, and terribly hungry. She crawled to the basin and again tried the lever, but, again there was no water. She then went to the lavatory bowl, willing to avail herself of even this source, as might have a thirsting slave, but found to her dismay that it was dry. It had been drained, and, of course, could not be replenished. Men, or slaves, had come later to the cabins, checking them, to make certain that even such sources would not be available to the defenders. The doors, too, had been set awry on their hinges so they could not be locked, or even closed. That had presumably been done by men, with tools. She returned to her place beneath the bed but, in a few hours, miserably, weakly, crawled out. She went to the dark corridor. She could still smell a slight fragrance of the gas in the room, behind her, and in the corridor. There might be some food in the lounge, she thought. Perhaps something in the adjoining serving area, or kitchen, perhaps even scraps, crumbs, on the floor, beneath the table and the chairs. Too, here and there, in the corridors, there were litter vessels, and who knew what might have been cast aside, thoughtlessly, into one, what precious things, perhaps a bit of a roll, or the core of a fruit.

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She kept on all fours in the corridor. Thusly, if light should suddenly be cast upon her, perhaps the strangers, the boarders, might not instantly fire. Was this not the fashion in which they wished civilized women, at least initially, to be before them? Once away from her cabin area there was a dim lighting in the corridors. This frightened her, but the corridors seemed empty, empty and very long. She rose to her feet, but kept close to the walls of the corridors. At points she noted certain passages, of which she would have liked to avail herself, were sealed, and the pressure gauges indicated a near vacuum behind them. The elevators were doubtless inoperable, and in any case, were to be avoided. But she would not have needed them, in any event, or stairs, to reach the lounge from her cabin, the main floor of the lounge. She cried out. There was a body bolted to a bulkhead, to her right. It was in uniform. It was that of the minor officer, he who had sat near her on the evening of the entertainment, he who had conversed with the woman in the pantsuit, the same evening the Alaria had come under

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attack. The front of his uniform had been drenched with blood, now long dried. He had served as the target, it seemed, in some primitive contest. In a moment she had come to the large viewing port in the hall, not far from the lounge. She had looked through this before. It was here that the gladiator had come up behind her, and here that the captain had offered to escort her to her cabin. Outside she could see, from this vantage point, the outlines of four barbarian ships. The Alaria was illuminated in their search beams. Here and there, there were pieces of debris, floating in space, seemingly suspended there in a calm steadiness and stillness. And then she saw, too, the shattered wrecks, blasted apart, of certain escape capsules, of lifeboats. Such, clearly, had been fired upon. Others had perhaps been blown open but propelled outward into space, then as lifeless as small asteroids. The strangers, the boarders, doubtless had guns ready, set to track and fire on such vessels. A number must have fled the Alaria in the first hours of the attack. She wondered how many might have been successful in their escape, what the crowding would have been. She remembered the press at the door of Section 19, in the hold. She knew nothing of the mechanisms of the lifeboats. Too, she would be terrified to trust herself to such things, so tiny, such frail barks in such vast seas, like lonely motes of steel in the enormous night, so far from commercial lanes, in an area of space scarcely charted.

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Perhaps it would be too open, too bold, she thought, to proceed directly to the lounge. And might they not have it guarded, lest others, like herself, think to find food or drink there? Perhaps she could approach it, she thought, by means of the upper balcony of the general entertainment hall, which gave access, through a passage, to the lounge's upper balcony. Then she could look down into the lounge, the main floor, and see if it were safe. At this point she heard, from the hallway behind her, feminine laughter. She cast about, wildly, looking for a place to hide. But there seemed none. Then, as the voices seemed almost upon her, she crouched down, back, between the lower rim of the port and the railing, to the right, as one would face the port. If one were searching for her there one would doubtless have discovered her, but if one were not looking for her, it was not unlikely that her presence in this simple ensconcement might be overlooked. "Move!" said a female voice, sharply. "Yes, Mistress," said another female voice, frightened.

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"It is heavy, Mistress," said another female voice. "Hurry,"

said

another

female

voice,

this

one,

too,

with

uncompromising sharpness. "Yes, Mistress!" said the female voice which had complained of the weight of something. The officer of the court heard, too, the sounds of chains. She pressed herself back into her nook. Two women, stripped, passed her. Between them they bore a bulging silken sheet filled with a miscellany of precious items, doubtless loot taken from cabins. They could scarcely manage their burden. The officer of the court noted, to her horror, that their ankles were shackled. These were the chains she had heard. But even more startling to the officer of the court was the nature of the two women who followed the laden pair, two who stood to them obviously in some strict supervisory capacity, this made clear by their mien, and, too, by the whips they carried. It was the laughter of this second pair which had reached her ears but moments before. These two women following the shackled pair were among the most sensuous women she had ever seen. They were garbed, if one may so speak of it, in brief tunics, incredibly brief, and muchly open. On the wrists of these women, and on their arms, and slung about their throats, was much jewelry, things doubtless from the loot, with which they had bedecked themselves. On the wrist of one was a bracelet of diamonds that might have been the ransom of a city. Suddenly, startled, the officer of the court noted,

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about the throat of the other was a golden necklace which she had little doubt was her own, that which she had worn at the captain's table. But beneath the necklaces, and strings of jewels, and such, which these women had flung about their necks in lavish prodigality she could detect, clearly, closely encircling each's neck, a different device, a chain. This was locked shut, behind the back of the neck. Although the officer of the court could not see this from her vantage point, there depended from this chain, in front, a disk. On this disk appeared the name of the barbarian ship to which each was assigned, and a designation of the quarters upon it which each must serve and clean. These two women were vital, and held themselves beautifully. Muchly did their appearance contrast with that of the wretched, shackled creatures they supervised, creatures which they obviously held in the greatest contempt. One of these women held in her hand a piece of roasted fowl. "Please, Mistress, let us pause, but for a moment!" begged one of the bearers of loot. Indeed, it is not unlikely that precious objects once her own lay mixed somewhere within that weighty heap which so tested the strength of herself and her miserable companion. Indeed, perhaps she could see them. "Very well," said one of the muchly bejeweled women. They were ship slaves. Barbarians do not like to be without their slaves. The burden of the two shackled women was lowered to the floor, gratefully. The officer of the court, fearfully, shrank back further in her nook.

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"Kneel," said one of the supervisors, "hands on your thighs, where we can see them." Instantly the two shackled women obeyed. "You need not open your knees," said the other supervisor. "You are not now before men." One of the shackled women moaned. The supervisors laughed. The supervisor with the bit of roast fowl tore off a bit of it in her teeth, and chewed on it. "Please, Mistress," said one of the kneeling women, "may we not be fed?" "Do not dare to look upon us," said one of the supervisors. "Keep your head down." "Yes, Mistress," said the woman, hurriedly lowering her head. "You have not yet finished your work," she was told. "Yes, Mistress," said the woman. Suddenly the other supervisor, laughing, cracked her whip.

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The two shackled women cried out in misery. "Up," said the supervisor, "resume your burden!" "But Mistress!" protested one of the women, for they had knelt but a moment before. Then she cried out as the lash fell upon her. "Please, no, Mistress!" she wept. "Instant obedience is required of slaves," she was informed. "Yes Mistress!" she wept, and she and her companion hastily rose to their feet, and each, again, seized up two corners of the sheet and, with difficulty swung it up, free of the floor. "Turn about, move, slaves!" said the angry supervisor. Then the two shackled women bore again, between them, their heavy burden. The one supervisor cast aside the bit of roast fowl, having had what she wanted of it. She wiped her hand on her thigh. The officer of the court heard the lash fall twice more.

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"Hurry, slaves!" she heard. "Yes, Mistress," she heard. "Yes, Mistress!" When the women had disappeared down the corridor the officer of the court crept forth from her hiding place and seized up the bit of roast fowl, eagerly biting away what particles of it clung still to the light, hollow bone. Then she licked and sucked the bone, and her fingers, for the least bit of grease. But such minums of provender could do little more than mock the rage of her hunger. Bitterly she knelt on the floor, before the window, recalling food she had refused, dishes she had rejected, returning them to kitchens with her sharp words for cooks. Now she would have eagerly addressed herself to such largesse, such gifts, even head down, feeding from a plate set on the floor, beside a master's chair. And her throat was parched. Never had she been so hungry and so thirsty. Were there passengers and crew members still free on the ship? She did not know. Could the ship be regained? It did not seem likely. She recalled the openness, the indifference, the assurance with which the two women, supervising the bearers of loot, those bearers, too, doubtless loot as much as any they bore, had walked the corridor. She recalled the two women with the whips. They had been among

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the best-postured, best-figured and most sensuous women she had ever seen. She had no doubt but that they were dieted, exercised and trained. Such, you see, is permissible with animals, and slaves. What was she to do? She was afraid to surrender. She did not even know if she would be permitted to do so. She might not even receive an opportunity to do so. She might be fired upon, a moving object, instantly, at first sight, cut in two in some corridor by a blast of fire. Perhaps she might surrender to ship slaves. But she was afraid of them, and their strictness, and the contempt in which she knew they would hold her. She thought of herself naked, in shackles. And she knew they would not hesitate to use their whips. But would men not protect her, if she made it clear to them that she would strive to please them, and desperately and eagerly, in any way they might desire, literally in any way they might desire? Might they not find her body of interest, and the beauties of her face, so sensitive and expressive, and her softness, and her dispositions, to love and serve? But how could she even think such thoughts, she, an officer of a court?

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Surely they were the thoughts of a slave! Was she naught, in her heart, but a slave? But she had gathered that not all prisoners were assured of being kept. She had gathered that from a remark of one of the strangers, one of the boarders, almost outside her very door. Would they regard her as suitable to be kept, to serve them, or to be exhibited on a slave block? She did not know. She was afraid. But she must have food. She must have drink. She was frightened. Perhaps she could continue to hide. Then she cried out with misery, for, from where she knelt, she could see out the port, and now, outside, against the glassine substance of the port itself, adrift in space, on its back, she saw the body of the captain.

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Then she fled from that place, one so open, to an emergency stairwell, one reached through a heavy steel door, in which there was a small panel with wire-reinforced glass, one from which she could reach the balcony of the theater, and thence, the upper level of the main lounge. She stayed for a time in a narrow corridor, reached from the stairwell. She crouched there, frightened, as might have an animal in its burrow. Then she heard a sound to her right, and hurried away from it, arriving in a moment at an entrance to the balcony of the theater. She was afraid to open the door, but heard steps behind her. She opened the door a tiny crack and crawled through, onto the carpeting of the balcony of the theater and then hid between tiers of seats. The steps passed by, outside the door. She found a piece of candy, on the carpeting beneath a seat. She seized it up and pressed it into her mouth, devouring it. She looked about for more, but found none. She heard voices below. She crawled to the front of the balcony, to look down, toward the stage. On the stage and in the area immediately below it and before it there was set up a sort of headquarters or communication center. There were several tables there and men monitored various devices. Behind one of the tables at the center of the stage, considering a chart, surrounded by men, was Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungs. How different he seemed now, no longer a haggard, demeaned, starved prisoner, but now, armed and mighty, a vital, commanding, merciless, fearful, terrible giant of a man. Seeing such a man she trembled, and muchly then did know herself a woman. Other men came and went, delivering reports,

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receiving orders, utilizing the lower entrances. Suspended by the wrists, at the left of the stage, and several feet above it, there hung, lifeless, two men. They had no feet. Their feet had been cut off and then they had apparently been drawn aloft, where they had bled to death. Their bodies suggested that they had undergone interrogation before being disposed of. These were the first and second officer of the ship. On the floor of the stage, to the right, chained closely, hand and foot, and by the neck, there knelt three naked, blond women. When a man glanced at them they shrank down, cowering. The officer of the court saw that they had been taught fear. "We shall have engineering shortly," a man was informing Ortog. "Then it will be but a matter of hours." Ortog nodded. The officer of the court heard this with horror. She was neither a scientist nor a technician but she knew enough, surely, to surmise that somewhere within the intricate labyrinth of engineering sections would be found the control devices for the central life-support systems of the ship. Another man brought news of major loot, imperial bullion, five imperial ingots, any one of which might purchase a ship, such serving usefully as bribes, among other things, to barbarian kings, to encourage them to keep the peace with the empire, to attack enemies of the empire, to intervene in sensitive areas on the empire's behalf, and so on; another brought news of coined metals, gold and silver, tons thereof, taken in taxes, from four provincial worlds; and another of a bottle of wine, one of seven known to exist, from the vinyards of Kalan, on Cita, a world destroyed in the civil wars a thousand years earlier.

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"It will be our victory wine!" said Ortog, of the last item in this accounting of significant loot. There was enthusiastic assent to this. In many sections there were self-contained support units, but these were designed to function only on a temporary, emergency basis. It was with misery that the officer of the court crept back, again, between the seats, and began to make her way between them toward a door which led to the passageway giving access to the upper level of the main lounge. She felt faint with hunger. She could hardly move, for her thirst. She thought of the chained women on the stage. They were doubtless educated, civilized women, even citizens of the empire, but she did not think that that would make much difference to the barbarians, except, perhaps, to cause them to be regarded with a certain contempt, as weaklings and decadents, fit at best for the collar, in which at last they might be put to some use, in which at last they might find some justification for their existence. That they had once been citizens of the empire, prior to their embondment, might, of course, the officer of the court supposed, lend a certain flavor or pleasure to their use. But they had doubtless been chosen for their beauty. Certainly they were beautiful. Barbarians, she had heard, long ago, to her horror, enjoy exhibiting women at their courts. But how dare the barbarians exhibit these, female citizens of the empire, as

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though they might be no more than chained slave girls? "But is that not all they now are," she asked herself, trembling, "chained slave girls?" "Yes," she thought to herself, "that is now all they are, chained slave girls." She recalled how they had cowered at the glance of a man. That frightened her. She wondered if they had been fed. She crept along the passage toward the upper level of the lounge. The doors to the lounge were of plate glass, also on the upper level. Arriving at one of these upper doors, she edged to it and peered through it. She opened it a small bit, enough to admit herself, and then held it, easing it back, that its return be silent, and with as little motion as possible. There were the upper tables around this area, with their chairs and white cloths. She crept among them, and peered down into the main lounge. She felt sick with misery, for, below, the lounge was muchly occupied. Ship slaves, and their helpless, naked charges, came

and

went,

entering

with

the

charges,

attractive

female

passengers, struggling under burdens of loot, then returning to cleared decks and cabins, to fetch more. She now noted, for the first time, the metal disks fastened to the neck chains of the ship slaves. She had no doubt but what they were meaningful. She could smell cooking. The smells made her faint. She wanted to cry out. But she dared not do so. The ship slaves were armed only with their whips, but these were quite sufficient, not only because they were frightening and terrible in themselves, and she muchly feared them, but because they were in their way symbols, symbols that behind the ship slaves, somewhere, lay the power of men. Some of the ship slaves were eating, at one table or another, or standing about, eating. In the center of the lounge, where tables had been moved to one side, there was a great heap of loot, with a diameter of several yards, a height, in the center,

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of better than a yard. This great heap included an incredible miscellany of items, not just necklaces, and bracelets, armlets, anklets, rings, pins, brooches, and such, but chronometers of diverse sizes and types, vessels of various sorts, craters, vases and amphoras, showers of silverware, heaped phials of perfumes, disks of cosmetics, rolled tapestries, and small rugs. Clothing, too, and footwear, was cast into that pile. She saw a shackled prisoner, one who had been surely one of the lovelier of the passengers she had seen earlier on the voyage, stagger in, bent under a bulging sack. The sack had been formed from a satin sheet. She was prodded forward by the whip of her supervising ship slave, and then, the whip held before her, was stopped. Gratefully the shackled prisoner lowered her burden and knelt wearily on the carpeting, her head down. The ship slave then emptied the sheet at the margin of that vast disorderly melange. The officer of the court noted that the clothing had been taken from her own cabin, and was the wardrobe she had brought with her, including what would have been her trousseau, anticipating her projected nuptials with the executive, Tuvo Ausonius. In the first looting of the cabin it had apparently been her jewelry, her papers, her money, her watch, such things, that had been taken. In the second looting less valuable items had been gathered. The ship slave drew forth from the garments the white sheath and held it up before another ship slave who, regarding it, laughed and made some remark. The first ship slave then held the garment against the kneeling prisoner, she who had brought in the garments, and then jerked it away from her. The two ship slaves laughed. The kneeling prisoner kept her head down and her hands on her thighs. The first ship slave then threw the garment to the pile. Also, among other items, she drew forth a pair of black high-heeled pumps. She tied these together and flung them onto the pile where

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there was an assemblage of footwear. The officer of the court had worn these pumps with the white sheath at the captain's table. The shackled prisoners were barefoot. So, too, were the ship slaves. The officer of the court wore the mannish boots which were a portion of her "same garb," and, within these boots, drawn up closely about her small, shapely feet and lovely legs, high black stockings, those of a sort common with women of her class on Terennia. The officer of the court had sewn some purple thread at the top of these stockings, to indicate that she was of the blood. The ship slave who had emptied out the satin sheet spoke to the kneeling

prisoner

and

the

prisoner

went

immediately

forward,

unquestioningly, to her hands and knees, and then, within the constraints permitted her by her shackles, made her way, head down, on all fours, about the pile of loot to a place, rather back, toward the double doors leading into the lounge from the kitchen, where knelt, in a group, several of the shackled prisoners. She joined them, kneeling with them. In her circuit of the store of loot, she passed between it and other objects, tables and chairs, at which sat some resting, feeding ship slaves. She also passed one table on which, above her head, as she crawled, on the sparkling linen table cloth, there lay, on her back, spread-eagled, a secured prisoner, not shackled, but bound, hands and feet, separated, tied to the table legs. Some ship slaves fed on the same table, using the hair of the secured prisoner as a towel, wiping the grease from their hands on her body. "Please feed me," begged the prisoner. "You have learned to be good, haven't you?" inquired one of the ship slaves, holding a bit of roast fowl toward the lips of the

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prisoner. "Yes, Mistress! Yes, Mistress!" said the prisoner, straining to reach the tiny piece of meat. The ship slave put the meat close and then pulled it back, once, twice, and the prisoner tried futilely each time to reach it. Then the ship slave put the tidbit into her own mouth and chewed it, ostentatiously savoring it. "It is good," she said, and then swallowed it. The prisoner put her head back, turned it to the side, and moaned. The crawling prisoner passed, too, another prisoner, similarly secured, but one she might have looked down upon had she dared to turn her head and do so, for this one was fastened, on her back, spread-eagled, to an inverted table. But the crawling prisoner did not cast her eyes upon this other prisoner. She kept her head and eyes down, and her head straight. The ship slaves had apparently made it quite clear to their high-class charges that they were expected to attend to their duties, and that careless, roving glances were not encouraged, such rendering them liable to discipline. "We are hungry, please feed us!" called one of the prisoners kneeling by the double doors. "Yes! Yes!" begged others. "Silence, slaves," said one of the ship slaves, and cracked her whip. These upper-class prisoners, or perhaps more fittingly now, these slaves, shrank back. "Perhaps there is more work for you to do first," said the ship slave. The women groaned. "Do not fear," said the ship slave. "Your slops will be ready soon."

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The women regarded one another, apprehensively. On what was it that they would be fed? But the officer of the court, from the anguished looks of them, did not think they would be particular. "Lie down!" said the ship slave. Immediately, obediently, in their shackles, crowded together, they lay on the carpeting. "Man!"

suddenly

cried

one

of

the

ship

slaves,

and,

to

the

astonishment of the officer of the court, all the ship slaves, losing no time in the matter, fell to their knees. Gone then was the illusion of their superiority, which obtained only with the prisoners. Into the lounge there strode, armored and helmeted, a barbaric figure, a Telnarian rifle strapped to his back, a fire pistol in his holster. The ship slaves had assumed a common position of obeisance, their heads down, touching the carpeting, the palms of their hands, too, on the carpeting, as well. The officer of the court saw women before men.

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The barbaric figure, who seemed garbed as some sort of high officer, looked about the lounge. He paused to regard the prisoners, who lay cowering on the carpet, hardly daring to look up. He seemed to regard them with contempt. But what did he expect of them? Did he think they should behave in some different fashion? Surely he was not kind. Surely he did not understand them. Could he not be compassionate? Could he not understand what was now so different about them, that which made all the difference in the world with them, that they were now owned by men? But, too, now, it seemed, he looked upon them with care. The women, terrified, lowered themselves still more, pressing downward, their softness against the carpeting. Surely he could see that they were lying down, as they had been told! Surely he would not have them beaten! He made his way into the group. The women shuddered, and shrank away from him, drawing back their bodies, pulling their legs up, tightly, terrified that such a figure, even his boot, might brush against them. Many covered their heads with their hands. He went to one figure, and seized her by the hair, pulling her head up and turning it to face him. Then, after scrutinizing her features, he flung her back down, with her sister slaves. Her hair coloring, the officer of the court noted, was not unlike her own. Then, in a moment, the helmeted, armored figure withdrew from the group. He went to the double doors leading to the kitchen, swung them apart, and peered in. When he had opened the doors she had heard the cry of "Man!" from within. And when the doors were open,

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he holding them widely apart, she had seen, on the tiles of the kitchen, within, one of the ship slaves, in a position of obeisance, doubtless hastily assumed. He looked about, standing in the doorway, mighty there, between those widely separated doors. Then, with a mere gesture of his head he indicated that those in the kitchen should rise and be about their duties. There were only ship slaves, she gathered, in the kitchen. Presumably the shackled prisoners would not now be allowed in such a place, lest they be tempted to steal food, and must then be beaten or slain. They could always be taught cooking and domestic duties later. Then he turned about and left the lounge, exiting through the main doors, those through which he had entered. When he had departed the ship slaves in the main lounge resumed their feet. Shortly thereafter two ship slaves, carrying buckets, emerged from the kitchen. They stood before the enforcedly recumbent slaves. "Kneel," said a ship slave. The prisoners rose up, to kneel. "Your dinner, miladies, has been prepared," said the ship slave. Eager looks coursed among the prisoners. "But first, you must learn to perform obeisance," said the ship slave. "None of you properly assumed the position, though in the presence of a master." Then the prisoners were instructed in the proper way in which to perform various obeisances in the presence of men, or, indeed, free persons. Such obeisances, they also learned, might be required of them even in the presence of slaves, if the slaves stood to them in

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some position of authority. The officer of the court watched, horrified, fascinated, as various positions were adjusted, as various instructions were issued. Upperclass women, down in the main lounge, before her very eyes, to her horror, were being instructed in matters of courtesy and etiquette, of respect and deference. "Excellent, miladies," said the ship slave who was managing these matters. "You learn quickly." The officer of the court thought that she, herself, might do as well, that she, too, might learn as quickly, but then she dismissed such a thought, frightened. "You have been complimented, miladies," said the ship slave reproachfully. The prisoners looked at her. The officer of the court wondered what it might be, to render obeisance to a man. She shuddered, thrilled. "Have you no manners?" inquired the ship slave. "Thank you, Mistress," they said. "Now," said the ship slave to the two ship slaves who held the buckets, "throw the slaves their slops." Then, in handfuls, the two slaves with the buckets cast bits of food,

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some of which was doubtless garbage, discarded residues from their own meals, or those of others, among the slaves, who scrambled, and even fought, most eagerly for them. How mixed were the feelings of the officer of the court seeing this spectacle. She was horrified, of course, to see how the women fought for the food. "Please, more!" cried a woman. "Me! Me!" begged another, putting out her hands. But, too, she was acutely aware of her own hunger and thirst. She feared she might die. Could she have secured some of those scraps if she were below? Would she be quick enough, agile enough? Would the slaves with the buckets take pity on her and throw her something? Could she keep it? Would larger, stronger women take it away from her? Could she pull away, and thrust it in her mouth and swallow it before another could deprive her of it? She did not know. She looked down at the women, scrambling for what scraps might be cast to them. At least they were being fed, as she was not. They had, at least, the chance, down there, on the carpeting, to snatch up some bit of food. The ship slaves, she was sure, did not fight in such a way for their food. Presumably this form of feeding was a lesson, that the prisoners must

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now depend on the will of others, for even their food. How cruel seemed the ship slaves to the prisoners. She did not think that masters would be so cruel. Indeed, might not masters even grow fond of their slaves, being careful, of course, not to relax the discipline in which they were held. Let the prisoners then hope that they might soon escape the supervision of the ship slaves, that they might soon, by gift or sale, come into the ownership of men, whose interest and affection they might strive to win by their heat and beauty, and devotion and selfless service. "You feed eagerly," said one of the ship slaves. "Obviously you know it is better than you would receive in the steel bins." The officer of the court shuddered. But this suggested there must be other prisoners, or slaves, doubtless kept on the barbarian ships. There had been a passenger list of over two thousand. The officer of the court did not think the ship could be recovered. Moreover, she had heard, in the theatre, that engineering was soon expected to fall into the hands of the barbarians. That would surely mean the end of resistance. Too, in the early moments of the fighting, if not earlier, distress signals had doubtless been

sent

out.

The

barbarians

would

not

risk

their

vessels,

presumably, against imperial cruisers. Ortog had been studying a chart. Perhaps on it, hour by hour, were being marked the advances of an imperial force. She remembered the men monitoring various devices. But this was a remote sector of space, at the fringe of the empire. The arrival of an imperial force was surely not imminent. It was not likely that one could arrive for several days, if one were on its way at all. Certainly the barbarians seemed in no hurry to abandon the

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vessel. It seemed they wished to obtain all the loot possible, human and otherwise, from the Alaria. The thought struck her, frightening her, that she herself was, from the point of view of the barbarians, booty, as much as a golden coin or those black high-heeled pumps, tied together, which the ship slave had cast onto the pile of loot. What hope was there for her? Was she not, already, in effect, a woman owned by men, like the women below, only that she was not now naked, and her ankles were not shackled, assuming that they might find her of sufficient interest to keep her? Too, she had little doubt that when it came time for the barbarians to leave the Alaria, perhaps to slip away from an imperial force, they would not be likely to simply leave her behind, even as a silent, lifeless wreck, dead in space. She would be destroyed, to eliminate any witnesses who might somehow have survived, eluding discovery and capture, and to eliminate any evidence that might prove relevant to the identity of her attackers. The officer did not know it, of course, but her conjectures were quite sound. Tending to confirm them would have been the information that the small base on Tinos had been destroyed. What hope was there for her? To hide, and then to be blown to pieces in space, with the shattered Alaria, or to hide and then, in some tiny obscure confine, die of thirst or hunger? "No," she thought to herself, "I must surrender." "Am I not already, in effect," she thought to herself, the thought strangely unnerving her, and thrilling her, "a woman like those below, one owned by men?" She then stood up, behind the railing on the upper level of the lounge, between the white tables, her mind made up. She placed her hands, clasped, on the top of her head, as she understood the barbarians wished men to surrender, for she was, of course, of Terennia. Too, they could not have seen her otherwise, where she was, for the railing. She stepped toward the railing. For a

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moment she was in full view, up, behind the railing on the higher level of the lounge. Any who had glanced up at that moment would have immediately seen her. But none at that moment happened to have had their attention directed in that unlikely direction. Had they done so they would have noted not only the officer of the court, but also the large, armored figure who had come up behind her. Suddenly a large, gloved hand had closed, from behind, over the mouth of the officer of the court, holding her head back. She was helpless. Her right upper arm, too, was clasped in a mighty grip. She was drawn back. A voice whispered in her ear. "Do not straggle, stupid little slave." Both were now no longer visible from the main floor of the lounge. The officer of the court felt giddy, being held with such strength. As if her straggles might have been availing against it! But she obediently ceased even to squirm. Too, she was frightened that she might, somehow, for who knew what strange sorts of things men were, excite it, with who knew what fearful consequences, if she straggled. She was then drawn backwards through a side door from the lounge, and down a long, dim corridor. She did not understand this. She had not expected to be taken into custody in this fashion. He had not even

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given her a chance, yet, she, a citizen of the empire, of the honestori, even of the blood, to formally surrender to him. Then she was drawn into a small, dark, steel room, something like a utility room, it seemed. The door shut with a heavy sound. She could feel air in the room. He removed his gloved hand from her mouth and she sank down, weakly, to the steel floor, she sensed at his feet. She put out her hands and touched the heavy boots. She knelt before him and put her head down to those boots. "I am a slave," she said. "I confess myself such, honestly and openly. Please do not kill me." Then she pressed her head down upon the boots, and then, drawing back a little, she kissed them, clearly, firmly, that he might well understand, even in the dark, that it was done. She then licked them, on the tops and the sides, making certain, too, that her cheeks rubbed down, now and again, firmly, against them, that there be no mistaking the matter, even in the darkness. "Yes, you are a slave," said a voice, which she feared she might recognize, and then the light in the room snapped on. She looked up from the boots and saw herself surely before the large, armored figure who had, but moments before, been on the main floor

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of the lounge. The armor, the weapons, the accouterments, the insignia, were the same. The helmet, muchly concealing his features, and its markings, too, were the same. Startling her, to one side, to her right, on the steel flooring, there lay a woman. She had long, blond hair, which was plaited in two thick braids, which, had she been standing, would have fallen to the soft flesh at the back of her knees. She was naked, and gagged, and bound, hand and foot. She looked over, in consternation, and rage, at the officer of the court. The huge figure removed his helmet. "You!" cried the officer of the court, for it was the gladiator. "She is poor stuff, Master," said a voice. "Why do you bother with her?" The officer of the court, turning, saw the slave girl, Janina. The officer of the court, in fury, sprang to her feet. "Kneel!" said the officer of the court to Janina, in fury. "Be silent, slave girl," said Janina. The officer of the court looked immediately to the gladiator, for

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redress, that he would cruelly punish the errant slave, but he made no motion to do so. The gladiator grinned. Would he not adjudicate the matter? Surely he did not think she was merely, too, a slave? She turned to Janina, angrily. But Janina stood her ground against her, insolently, it seemed. The officer of the court turned, then, lightly, to the gladiator. "Where did you obtain your present garb, and accouterments?" she asked. "From one who loaned them to me," he said. "I do not think his neck is broken, but he is likely to remain unconscious for several hours." The gladiator crouched beside the blond captive. He loosened her gag, pulling it down about her neck. "You understand what you are to do?" he asked. "Yes," she said, angrily. Doubtless her mouth had a foul taste. The officer of the court looked again at Janina.

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Janina was now clad not in the keb, but in garments of barbaric splendor, muchly bedecked with primitive ornaments. This garb, the officer of the court suspected, had once been that of the bound captive, to her right. The captive, for example, did not have locked about her neck, closely encircling it, the chain and disk of a ship slave. That suggested that she was a free woman and, given the raiment on Janina, perhaps one of considerable importance. "Yes, what?" inquired the gladiator. "Yes, milord," said the blond woman, bitterly. "That word costs you much, does it not?" asked the gladiator. "Yes," she said, angrily. He looked at her. "Yes, milord," she said. "Who is she?" asked the officer of the court, looking down on the blond captive. The gladiator rose to his feet. "I have been remiss," he said. "May I introduce Gerune, a princess of the Drisriaks, and one who chose to join the secessionist house of Ortog."

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"A princess!" exclaimed the officer of the court. "To be sure," said the gladiator, "she is now indistinguishable from a comely slave." The captive squirmed. "Are you not pleased, milady," said the gladiator, "that your face and figure might fetch a goodly price in a slave market?” "Wretch!" hissed the captive. "May I introduce our new guest?" the gladiator asked the captive, indicating the officer of the court. "I do not greet commoners," she said. "I am of the blood!" said the officer of the court. "You are only a Telnarian bitch, fit, at best, for the collar," said the blond woman. "Barbarian!" said the officer of the court. "Slave!" said the blond captive. " 'Slave'!" exclaimed the officer of the court. "Yes, slave," said the captive. "Did you not, a moment before,

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bespeak yourself such?" The officer of the court felt faint. "Do you think such words can be unspoken?" asked the captive. "Once uttered, it is done. You are then powerless to alter or qualify them in any way." "Surely you jest," said the officer of the court. "It is the law," laughed Janina, "slave." "And, too," said the blond captive, "it was not I who in the darkness, it seems, licked and kissed at a man's boots!" "I thought him of the strangers, of the boarders!" said the officer of the court. "And what does that matter, slave?" asked Janina. "I am not a slave!” said the officer of the court to the gladiator. "My plan," said he, "is as follows. We shall descend to the hold, and seek out Section 19, for there, I think unbeknownst to our friends outside, there are stored several escape capsules. You may recall them, from the evening of the contest. Some of these, by Pulendius and others, were, two days ago, taken on their tracks to the elevators, and conveyed upward to space locks."

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"I saw damaged capsules, useless, outside, by the ships," said the officer of the court. "It is my hope that some escaped," said the gladiator. "I know that many did not." "Why did you not try to escape then?" asked the officer of the court. "Can you not guess?" asked Janina, angrily. "No," said the officer of the court. Then she said, frightened, "Surely it has nothing to do with me." Janina laughed, bitterly. Then the officer of the court said, "Oh!” for a rope was being knotted about her neck. "Kneel," said the gladiator. The officer of the court knelt. She looked up at the gladiator. "I do not understand," she said. She saw the end of the rope on her neck tossed to Janina. "I do not think it is so hard to understand," he said. "Please," she said.

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"Surely we have much to discuss," he said. "Please!" "Janina will wear the royal robes of a princess of the Drisriaks," said the gladiator. "What are you going to do with me?" asked the officer of the court. "We think," said the gladiator, "that with her robes about her face, Janina may pass for the princess. My garb, I trust, will serve as my disguise. The princess, gagged, on a neck rope, her hands bound behind her, will be marched before us, to be taken for a captured passenger. If she should attempt to struggle or flee, or give any sign of her distress or identity, I will gun her down immediately with the fire pistol. You understand, princess?" "Yes, milord," she said. "If she is recognized, she will prove a valuable hostage," said the gladiator. "You will accompany us as another captured prisoner, one not yet even stripped, on all fours, on your leash, held by Janina. Perhaps it will be assumed she may have selected you for a serving slave. Perhaps you have the makings of a useful serving slave. One does not know. I have the fire pistol, and a Telnarian rifle, as extra insurance."

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"I am to be marched before you, as I am?" asked the blond captive. "Yes, milady," said the gladiator. "I am the sister of Ortog, king of the Ortungen!" she said. "Let him then understand you in a new light," said the gladiator, "a light in which brothers seldom understand their sisters, that other men might find them of great interest as slaves." "Wretch!" cried the princess. "And I am somehow not overly fond of Ortog," said the gladiator. "And so you would march his sister thusly?" "Certainly." "You are a barbarian!" said the officer of the court, aghast. "I do not know who I am," said the gladiator. The officer of the court recalled that Ortog had identified the gladiator, obviously mistakenly, as of the blood of the Otungen, whoever they might be. Indeed, the names, to her civilized ear, though clearly distinguishable, sounded too much alike. The Ortungen was a secessionist house of the Drisriaks, a tribe of the Alemanni. She had no notion of who, or what, the Otungen might be. Nor, it seems, had the gladiator.

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"I despise you!" said the princess. "But it will be you who will be naked, on the rope," said the gladiator. "How dare you treat me so?" asked the princess. "Do not peoples such as yours often march the women of the enemy, even women of the royal houses, through the forests naked, on ropes?" "How dare you do such a thing!" she exclaimed. "It is in accord with my plan," he said. "You are a man of no name, of no people!" said the blond captive. "I have heard," said Janina, "that it is not uncommon for barbarians to march the captured women of defeated royal houses on the ropes of common soldiers, men of no repute, that they may understand their lowliness as compared to the victors, that they, compared to the victors, are no more than slaves." The blonde squirmed angrily in her bonds. "I would beware, milady," said Janina, solicitously, "lest you excite the master." Instantly the blond captive ceased struggling.

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Janina laughed. The blonde looked up at her, in fury. The officer of the court put her hands on the rope on her neck. The blond captive, seated, ankles crossed and bound, wrists crossed and bound, behind her, the gag down about her neck, looked up at the gladiator. "Who are you, truly?" she asked. "I am Dog, of the festung village of Sim Giadini," he said. He added, as well, the name of the world but that name we, again, choose to omit at this point. "You are no peasant," said the blond captive. "It does not matter," said the gladiator. "I see," said the princess. "It only matters," said the gladiator, "that I am he in whose power you now are, totally. Do you understand?" "Yes, milord," she said. "We shall go publicly through the corridors," said the gladiator. "That,

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I think, will be safer than attempting to have recourse to ventilator shafts, crawl

spaces, and such, which, as they are obviously

surreptitious passages and hiding places, will presumably be guarded. We shall, with luck, reach Section 19, in the hold, and then, while I move one of the escape capsules to the elevator, Janina will supervise you two. Once we enter the capsule into the lock, we can set the timing device for opening the hatch, and can then launch." "It is a mad plan," said Janina. "One may always hope that our departure will pass unnoticed, that, after all this time, the gunners will not be alert, that the crews of pursuit launches will be tardily dispatched, such things." "What of me?" asked the officer of the court, kneeling at the feet of the gladiator, the rope on her neck, its free end grasped by Janina. "Does the little slave feel neglected?" asked Janina. "What of me?" asked the officer of the court, ignoring Janina. "You do not think I have ever forgotten you, do you, my dear?" asked the gladiator. "What are you going to do with me?" asked the officer of the court. "I am going to take you with me," he said. "I do not understand," said the officer of the court.

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"She is stupid," said Janina. "What could you possibly want with me?" asked the officer of the court. "Can you not guess?" asked Janina. "No! Oh, please, no!" whispered the officer of the court. The gladiator regarded her, a tiny smile playing about the corners of his lips. "No!" whispered the officer of the court. "Yes," he said, softly. The officer of the court slumped to the floor of the small room. She awakened, lifted to a sitting position, she did not know how much later, to find the spout of a canteen at her lips. She reached for it, and clutching it tightly, drank. "Enough," said the gladiator, after too short a moment. He handed the canteen to Janina. The officer of the court trembled.

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"Eat this," said the gladiator, kindly, pressing a roll into her small hands. Madly, like a starving animal, she crammed the bit of food into her mouth. "See, Janina," said the gladiator, "how a lady eats, with such daintiness. You might take a lesson from this." The officer of the court chewed eagerly, swallowing entire pieces at a time, almost as though afraid what was not yet swallowed might be pulled from her mouth. "Methinks, Master," said Janina, "it is rather the way a starving slave feeds." "Perhaps," said the gladiator. "And surely it is fitting for the starving slave," said Janina. The gladiator smiled. "Food will well control her," said Janina. "Doubtless," said the gladiator. "And the whip," said Janina. "Perhaps," said the gladiator.

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The officer of the court trembled. She had no doubt but what she would obey the whip, and well. But they spoke of her, or at least the slave girl did, as though she herself might be no more than a slave. She looked to the gladiator. But she was given no more food. The officer of the court saw that the feet of the blond captive were now unbound. Too, there was now a rope on her neck, running to a stanchion. To the same stanchion ran another rope, that which was on her own neck. The princess's gag, the officer of the court noted, had not yet been resecured. It was still loose, down, about her neck. "We will leave now," said the gladiator. The two ropes were freed from the stanchion. "Up," said the gladiator to the princess. She rose to her feet. He held her rope. "To all fours, slave," said Janina. The officer of the court went to all fours. Her rope was held by Janina. "Face the door," said the gladiator to the princess. She did so. He then looped her rope about his wrist and went behind her, to adjust her gag.

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He put his hands on it. "Wait," she said. He paused. "You are going through with this?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "Take me with you," she said. The officer of the court gasped. "How can I face my people after this?" asked the princess. "What good can I be?" "Do not tempt me, luscious female," said the gladiator. "Do not make me do this," she begged. "It will be an excellent experience for you," he said. "It will help you to become more aware of your womanhood." Her small hands pulled a little, weakly, at the bonds that held them secured behind her back. "Do you understand?" he asked.

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"Yes, milord," she said. Then she said, "Oh!" for her gag was lifted, drawn back and fixed in place. She would not now speak, nor could she, until relieved of its constraint. "Should this one, too, not be gagged, Master?" inquired Janina, indicating the officer of the court. "Will it be necessary to gag you?" asked the gladiator of the officer of the court. "No," said the officer of the court. "I have your word, as one of the honestori, as a citizen of the empire, as one even of the blood, that you will be silent?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Beware," said Janina to the officer of the court. "Slaves may be slain for a lie!" "Let us go," said the gladiator, facing the door. Then he said, "Stand straight, Gerune. Put your shoulders back. Be sensational. Remember that you are not a free woman now but a

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slave." Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, sister of Ortog, king of the Ortungen, straightened her body and threw her shoulders back. How proudly then she stood. "How beautiful she is!" exclaimed Janina. "Ah," breathed the gladiator. Even the officer of the court was struck with awe, seeing how beautiful a woman could be. The gladiator boldly threw open the door. "March," he said. The group then exited the small room. Janina, who was the last to leave, snapped off the light.

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CHAPTER 13 "Some are still here!" said Janina, delightedly. The officer of the court, still on her hands and knees, was on the sand, it covering her wrists, her knees, too, partly sunk in it. She could feel sand on her knees, which were sore, as were her hands. She could feel it, too, in its hundreds of tiny grains, slipped within the "same garb" where it had opened at the knees, roughened and parted by the slow procession through the corridors. Happily, elevators had been functional to this level. She could see, before her, the princess, her bared feet in the sand, it up almost to the ankles. The rope was still on her neck, and Janina held it. The princess's rope was in the keeping of the gladiator. Many were the ironic salutes and lustful, demeaning catcalls which had greeted the princess as she had been paraded through the corridors. She counted, the officer of the court, gathered, as a prize catch, one which would doubtless bring an excellent price in a slave market. The officer of the court wondered if she, too, might possess such value. To be sure, it was hard to tell, encumbered as she was with "same garb." "There are two left," said Janina, peering ahead, the way illuminated by an electric torch, which implement had been numbered among the

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several accouterments appropriated by the gladiator. Originally there had been several escape capsules in the hold. Several, however, had been used by passengers, and perhaps crew members, trying to escape the vessel. These were on tracks which led to the lifts, from which, on further tracks, they could be taken to locks. "They do not know of these, Master," said Janina. "I do not think so," said the gladiator. There was no sign, as far as they had been able to determine, that Section 19 of the hold had been entered by the barbarians. It was, at that time, among putatively less important portions of the ship, portions which might well be left for later consideration. It had not figured in the fighting. The gladiator flashed the light of the torch about the dark hold, over the wreckage of the fallen tiers. He flashed it, too, upward, toward the girderwork about the ceiling. Section 19, illuminated here and there by the darting beam, seemed very different from when it had been well lit, and muchly occupied, as on the night of the entertainment. The officer of the court found it frightening, and eerie. She wondered

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if they were truly alone in the place. "Kneel them," said the gladiator, handing the princess's rope to Janina. "Kneel, milady," said Janina to the princess, who knelt in the sand. "Kneel, slave," said Janina to the officer of the court, "here, behind the princess, and to her left." The officer of the court, angrily, knelt where she had been told. "Hands on your thighs," said Janina to her charges. "You may keep your knees closed, milady. But you, slave, will keep yours open." The officer of the court was angry, but she knelt as she had been instructed. Kneeling thusly, even in the "same garb," she could not help experiencing strange, disturbing sensations. Was it not thus that slave girls must kneel, or slave girls of a certain sort? "It is as I feared," said the gladiator, who was now a few feet away. "The lifts to the locks are not operational." It would be difficult to move the escape capsules on the tracks, not that they were large, but they were weighty, but it could be done. Two men could manage it, or one, with unusual strength. "Oh, Master!" moaned Janina.

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How then could they be brought to the level of the locks? "The cables seem intact,” said the gladiator, with satisfaction. "There are counterweights, of course." The officer of the court thought she heard a small sound somewhere to her left, back, among the tiers. Neither Janina nor the gladiator, who was concerned elsewhere, flashing the torch into the shaft, noticed it. "I will move the capsule into the lift," said the gladiator. "Then, perhaps, I can draw it upward." "It would take several men to hoist the lift, Master," said Janina, fearfully. But already, the iron wheels grinding on the track, the gladiator, by main strength, was moving one of the capsules into the lift. He returned, briefly, to Janina. He handed her the fire pistol and the electric torch. "Put them to their bellies where they are, in the sand," said the gladiator. "If either should prove troublesome, or recalcitrant, you may burn them where they lie." "Yes, Master," said Janina. Then she said to the princess, "Please assume a prone position, milady, with your legs widely spread.” The

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princess complied. Doubtless Janina herself had often been put, in one situation or another, in this same position. It makes it harder to rise. Then she said to the officer of the court, "To your belly, slave, and get your legs apart, as widely as you can!" The officer of the court complied. She did not doubt but what Janina might well blast through her back, perhaps even boiling and melting the sand beneath her. The fire pistol in her grasp was not one of reduced charges, as had been those of the crew members, a safety precaution for use on the vessel. It was much more powerful, and might, if its charge was sustained, cut through metal. To be sure, it was less powerful than the Telnarian rifle which the gladiator retained. She heard, foot by foot, the lift being raised by hand. She could scarcely believe the strength required for this. Such a man, she knew, might snap her neck with one hand. Then she thought she heard, again, a tiny sound, again back, and to her left. It did not seem that Janina noticed this sound, if it were indeed a sound. Her interest, it seemed, was focused on the gladiator's struggle with the weights in the lift shaft. The gladiator then ascended the shaft by means of a ladder within it. In a few moments he returned. "The capsule is in the lock, positioned," he said. "Master!" breathed Janina, delightedly.

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"I have heard strangers about," he said, "but they seem to be in another corridor.” "What are we to do," asked Janina, frightened. "We must move quickly," he said. He took the fire pistol from Janina and replaced it in its holster. He extinguished the torch and put it on his belt. "Up, Gerune," he said. As soon as she was on her feet, he scooped her up and, to her consternation, threw her lightly over his shoulder. "Come last, Janina," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. Then she said to the officer of the court, "Get up, slave, follow your master." "I am not a slave," said the officer of the court. "He is not my master." But she rose promptly to her feet. The gladiator had already begun to ascend the ladder, Gerune on his shoulder. "Climb the ladder, slave," said Janina, "up, behind your master.” The officer of the court did not bother responding to Janina. Let her

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think that she was a slave, and that the great lout was her master. What difference did it make? It wasn't true, was it? She ascended the ladder. The rope, held by Janina, was still on her neck. In a moment she and Janina had reached the level of an outer corridor. The door to the lock, a few feet to the right of the elevator, as one would emerge from it, was open. The gladiator, in his armor, was in the hallway, just outside the port, setting the timer. Gerune was at his feet, kneeling. The rope was still about her neck, but now its free end had been looped about her ankles, which had been crossed, and tied there, rendering her bound, hand and foot. "Kneel," said Janina, looking about nervously. The officer of the court knelt. Her own heart was beating rapidly, seeming to pound madly within her. She heard voices, those of barbarians, from a nearby corridor. "The timer is set," said the gladiator. The officer of the court saw the hatch on the escape capsule opened.

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She knew that she and Janina were then to hurry to the hatch and climb through, it doubtless then to be closed behind them by the gladiator, he the last to enter. The officer of the court was terrified. She realized she had knelt before this man in the darkness and proclaimed herself slave. She knew herself then, almost giddy with fear, to be subject to claimancy. Indeed, Janina seemed to think that she was already claimed, and thus, having been subject to claimancy, was now owned, indeed, that she was the gladiator's slave! But see the princess! The princess was looking wildly up at the gladiator. Tears ran from her eyes, down her cheeks, against the gag. Then, to the amazement of the officer of the court, the princess put her head down to the boots of the gladiator. She heard the sounds of voices coming nearer. She cast a glance at exquisite Janina, now muchly bedecked in the barbaric robes of the princess. Janina was a slave, not she! Too, she saw the princess, her beauty brazenly bared, as it had been decided by the will of the gladiator, her head to his boots.

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She felt a rush of anguish, and rage, and jealousy! How could she compete with two such women? "I am not a slave!" she suddenly cried, aloud. And she sprang to her feet. "Help! Help!" she cried. The gladiator looked up, startled. His astonishment was evident. "Help!" she screamed. "Help!" But then the gladiator, looking past her, lifted his hands, suddenly. The officer of the court looked back and saw, just emerged from the shaft of the lift, having climbed the ladder, the young naval officer, he of the purple cords, of the blood, whom she had not seen since the evening of the entertainment. He held a fire pistol leveled at the gladiator. Behind the young naval officer, emerging now from the shaft of the lift, completing the ascent of the ladder, one by one, were other figures. She was not sure how many there were. She realized then that these must have been hiding in the hold, in Section 19.

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At this moment, apparently rushing to investigate the cries of the officer of the court, several barbarian warriors, helmeted, armored, appeared in the corridor. "Hold your fire!" cried one of them. "The princess!" They mistook Janina in her regal garb for Gerune. "Surrender!" cried one of the barbarians to the young naval officer. "Be careful," cried one of the barbarians to his fellows. "A commander, too, is in the line of fire!" They took no thought for the real princess, who, naked, bound hand and foot, and gagged, they took naturally for a prisoner or slave. The naval officer snapped off a charge and one of the barbarians spun about, the armor on his chest blackened. Janina screamed. The officer of the court, too, cried out in misery. Clearly the shot must have passed her. "What shall we do, Commander?" called one of the men down the hall. "Hold your fire," said the gladiator.

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Gerune, in her bonds, shrank down, small, in misery. She had been seen naked, at the feet of a man. What would be the consequences of that, when her identity might be established? Too, she had been paraded as a slave girl through the corridors, an object of lust and ridicule to hundreds of men. "Move aside!" said the naval officer. The gladiator stepped to the side, keeping his hands raised. "The timer has been activated!" said the young officer. Then he cried to those with him, "Into the capsule!" "Alert the gunners," said a man down the hall. One of their number lifted a communication device and began to speak rapidly into it. The young naval officer then, carefully, fired four shots down the hall. Three of these shots struck targets. One fellow staggered back, his armor blackened and scarred; another lost part of his armor, it blasted away from him; he scrambled away; a third shot struck the helmet of a man at the side, half tearing his head from his body. The other shot, the barbarians having broken for cover, passed harmlessly down the corridor, until it subsided, and left a line of fire on the carpeting more than a hundred yards away. "It seems we owe our lives to your presence, Princess," said the young naval officer. Janina began to tremble.

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The young naval officer then, his suspicions aroused, jerked away her hood. "You are not a princess," he said. "I know you! You are a slave!" He then looked down at Gerune. "Your hair," he said, "shows you to be barbarian, and you are not ankleted, or braceleted, or collared, no mark of bondage is upon you, not even, it seems, a brand, so you must be free. Perhaps it is you who are the princess! Well, it does not matter. Many women, once barbarian princesses, are now slave girls in the empire. It is where such as you belong, at the feet of gentlemen." "My thanks to you, whoever you may be," said the young naval officer to the gladiator. "We were not capable of bringing the escape capsule to the lock, the lift being inoperative. You have been of great help.” He glanced at the timer. "We must be leaving now," he said. Then he looked at the officer of the court, who was backed against the corridor wall, near the lock, on its left, as one would enter it. He regarded her with contempt. "I am a citizen," she said. "I am of the blood!" "You are a stupid, loud-mouthed bitch," he said. "Your cries could have gotten us all killed. And why did you cry out? Are you so eager to

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be killed, or cast into the chains of a slave?" "Sir!" she protested. "Get in the capsule, bitch," he said. She cast one wild glance at the gladiator and then, hurriedly, entered the capsule. The timing needle was now close to the point at which the automatic launching sequence would be activated. "How are we to escape?" asked the gladiator. "Who are you?" asked the officer. "He who defeated Ortog in the contest," said the gladiator. "The Otung?" said the officer. "I know not the meaning of that word," said the gladiator. "You are the one Pulendius calls 'Dog'?" "Yes," said the gladiator. "You may be an Otung," said the officer. "Surely you are not of the empire." "I have brought the capsule to the lock," said the gladiator.

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"My thanks," said the officer. "How are we to escape?" The officer threw a quick glance at the needle. "I have no time to trust you, or disarm you," he said. He then, twice, pulled the trigger on the fire pistol, and the gladiator staggered backwards, the armor black with heat. He then, spinning about, fell to the side of the shaft, near the ladder. Another shot blasted him back into the open area of the shaft, by the ladder. Janina screamed. "I am sorry," said the officer. He regarded both the distraught Janina and the princess, who had scrambled back as she could, bound, and was now to the left of the lift entrance, as one might enter it from the corridor. She jerked madly at the bonds, but, of course, was held, perfectly. "You will remain here, slaves," said the officer to Janina and the princess. Then he hastily leaped through the lock port a moment before it shut. He slid through the hatch on the capsule and secured it. A moment later the outer portal opened, and, an instant after that, the capsule burst free of the Alaria.

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CHAPTER 14 The gladiator lay at the bottom of the lift shaft. Janina fled to the ladder and climbed down, to crouch beside him. He half sat up, then fell to the side. "Master! Master!" she wept. There was the sound of racing feet, approaching. The gladiator crawled from the bottom of the shaft, across the tracks on which the escape capsule had been moved, to the flooring of the hold. Faces appeared at the opening to the lift shaft, above. "Princess!" called a man. "Are you all right? Commander! Answer me!" The gladiator sat up, awkwardly. The chest plate of the armor had taken three charges, two at almost point-blank range. It was loose on the left, half-unhinged. The gladiator tried to rise, but fell back. "She lied," he said. "She gave her word. But she lied." "Master!" whispered Janina, frenziedly. "Princess? Commander?" called the voice again.

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"She lied," said the gladiator. The gladiator slipped loose the fire pistol from its holster. "We are lost!" wept Janina. "Courage, Princess!"

called the

voice.

"We

are

coming down

immediately!" "Stay where you are!" screamed Janina. "That is not the voice of the princess!" said a man, from somewhere above. "Commander! Commander!" called another voice. "My helmet, remove my helmet," said the gladiator, weakly. Janina struggled to lift the helmet, and then put it to the side. Within the collar of the armor, where it had been pressed back, under the helmet, there was blood. The blaze of electric torches, from above, darted about the shaft. The gladiator lifted the fire pistol weakly. Then he put it down, beside him.

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"She lied," he said. "Oh, Master, Master," moaned Janina. "Who are you, woman?" called a voice from above. "Commander!" called a man, from above. "It may not be a commander," said another. "Who is the captain of the Gelstane?" called down a man. "Who is the subcaptain of the Borsa?" called another. "Can you speak, Commander?" asked a man. "Answer our questions, female," demanded a voice. "Here," said another, "ungag this slave and beat her. She will speak!" "Hurry!" said a voice, with authority. The men drew away from the opening above. "She is a beauty," said a man. "A not unattractive slut," said another. "I saw her earlier, in the corridors," said another.

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"I, too!" said another. "She walked well on her leash," said another. "That she did!" laughed a man. "Kneel her here, before me. Strike her," said a voice. There was in a moment the sound of a blow and a soft cry of muffled pain. "Do you wish to be struck again, slut?" asked a man. There was a muffled whimper of protest, of denial. "When you are ungagged," said a man, "you will speak instantly, clearly and truthfully." "Get the gag out of her mouth," said the authoritative voice. "Master, what are we to do?" whispered Janina. The gloved hand of the gladiator reached out, groping, for the fire pistol, and then he had it, again, in his hand. "I am Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, sister of Ortog!" cried the princess above, in misery, and pain.

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"Hear the slave!" laughed a man. "The commander of the Gelstane is Surogastes, the subcaptain of the Borsa is Tethgutha, the commander of the Vorgaard is Bradow, son of Astarax! Bring me clothing, now!" "Bring sheets," said a man. "Cover her," said another voice, startled. "Hurry the princess away," said a man, frightened. "Fools, fools, fools!" wept the princess. "Sever her bonds! Carry her from this place!" said the authoritative voice. The gladiator had now crawled to the foot of the shaft, and lifted the fire pistol. With one bolt he melted the ladder from the top of the shaft. "Who are these others?" asked a man. One of the men above leaped to the foot of the shaft, but there, for a moment, lost his footing, and then took the charge of the gladiator full in the chest of the armor, which blasted him back against the side of the shaft, and he sank down there, unconscious. Another man followed, but the gladiator, shaking his head, steadying the fire pistol with both hands, struck him full in the belly. A shot ripped above his

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own head. The gladiator, pulled the trigger again. The fellow spun about and then, drunkenly, seized the ladder and began to climb, but, in a moment, he had come to the melted termination of the ladder, feet from the top, and could go no further. He clung to the ladder, and then, struck by a third charge from the pistol, was thrust from it, and then, in a moment, fell sideways, and then down, clattering to the bottom of the shaft. "Bring gas," said a voice from above. "We are lost, Master," said Janina. "There is no escape!" The gladiator stood unsteadily, parts of his armor dangling, and drew a bead with the pistol on the door, across the way, that giving the main entry to Section 19. He fired once into the side of the door, sealing it to the steel portal. Running

feet

could

now

be

heard

again,

above,

more

men

approaching. There was blood running down the side of the gladiator's leg, on the plating, from beneath the armoring of his torso. He slipped down on one knee. "She lied," he said. Across the way he could see, through the observation panel, the faces of men. He heard the door being tried.

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"Get in the escape capsule," said the gladiator, from one knee, to Janina. But she fled to him. She put her arms about him. "Master is mad!" she wept. "He is mad with confusion and pain!" He struggled to raise his head. "There is no lock here, Master!" she said. "Go," he said. "Let Janina rather die in his arms!" Then his head was raised, and he looked upon the slave, and his visage was fierce and terrible. "Janina hastens to obey!" cried the girl with fear and she fled to the inactivated capsule, the second of the two which had been in the hold. She struggled only for a moment with the hatch, as it had been opened before, by the fugitives. They had been sustaining themselves on the supplies in the capsules. Across the way the butt of fire pistols smote at the wire-reinforced glass, and then the muzzle of a pistol, poking through the wire, bits of glass, clinging to it, intruded into the hold. It fired over the escape capsule, rippling the wall of the hold.

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"Masks!" called a man, from above. The gladiator fired a shot toward the observation panel and glass and wire spattered backwards, into the corridor outside. Gas began to hiss downward into the hold, through the lift shaft. It could be seen now, like fog, creeping from the shaft. Across the way the door was being struck with charges like hammers. The door began to glow. The gladiator rose unsteadily to his feet. The door now seemed lost in a blaze of sparks and charges. The gladiator staggered toward the escape capsule. He climbed the two iron steps, leading to the hatch of the capsule, and then leaned against the capsule, weakly, over it. "She lied!" he cried, suddenly, and wept, and struck down on the capsule with an armored fist. "She lied!" he cried. "Master!" cried Janina, from within the capsule. "Master!" Gas was now billowing from the lift shaft into the hold.

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The gladiator unslung the Telnarian rifle from his back. Across the way the door suddenly burst loose from the steel portal. He slipped into the opened hatch, but stood in it, his body half out of the capsule. Janina, within, crouched on the steel plating. Men, masked, weapons raised, emerged through the portal across the way. The gladiator heard two men leaping to the floor of the lift shaft. He aimed the Telnarian rifle at the side of the hold. He pulled the trigger four times, placing four charges in the form of a square. Some of the gas began to move suddenly, hissing, toward the wall. The gladiator laid the rifle on the surface of the capsule before him, and then, with the pistol, with its last charges, each set on the narrow sustaining beam, linked the four points of impact of the rifle. The gas was now whipping toward the wall. The atmosphere in the hold was rushing past him, tearing at his hair. "No!" cried someone behind him.

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Then men were fleeing. The gladiator lifted, once more, the Telnarian rifle. He fired the last charge in the rifle at the center of the pattern. Suddenly the side of the hull seemed to leap away from him and, the capsule tumbling on its side toward the hole, he slid within it, turned the wheel, and secured the hatch. In a moment the capsule was tumbling through space, leaving the Alaria, and the Ortung fleet behind, like specks in the night.

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CHAPTER 15 "What are those sounds?" asked Janina, frightened. "They are horns, hunting horns," said the gladiator. "This world, then, is not uninhabited," said Janina. "It would seem not," said the gladiator. He kicked dirt over the small fire they had built on the bank. "My clothes are not yet dry!" protested Janina. "Put them on wet, or carry them," said the gladiator. "I am exhausted," she said. "We almost died. I cannot move." She looked up at him, pathetically. She knelt on leaves. Her hair had been loosened, that it might be dried near the fire. "Then I shall rope you to a tree and leave you behind," he said. She rose to her feet and hastily began to gather her clothes from the cord stretched between two trees. "Forgive your slave," she said. The gladiator stood very still, listening.

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"What world is this?" she asked, rolling the garments of Princess Gerune into a small bundle. "I do not know," he said, softly. "Forgive me, Master," she said, realizing she might have disturbed him. The gladiator looked up at the sky. The descent of the capsule, last night, might have been visible, particularly in the upper atmosphere. It might have been mistaken for a meteor at first, a falling star, perhaps even later, when the fearful rush in the atmosphere, like a hurricane over the trees, was audible. But, too, there may have been a visual contact, when the descent slowed and the capsule began to skim the trees, the sensors searching for level surfaces, where the adjusting thrusters would be activated for a landing. But then, too, perhaps not. How could one know? Again the horns sounded. The gladiator threw the last bits of the armor into the river. These, with certain other supplies, he had salvaged from the capsule. "Master, I cannot swim!" had cried Janina, last night, first waist deep in the current, trying to help bring the capsule to the shore, then her footing lost, falling, her hands slipping from the wet metallic surface, being swept downstream.

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The capsule, when it had left the Alaria, sped by the brunt of the decompression, had tumbled uncontrolled from the rupture in the hull, and only moments later had the gladiator, within the darkened, stifling cabin, been able to locate the launch release, the engagement of which had two primary effects, the first being to activate the clearance thruster, used for distancing the capsule from the mother ship, to protect it in the event of explosions or radiation, and the second being to activate, after the clearance burn, various systems internal to the vehicle, which supplied heat, light and oxygen. This delay in activating the clearance thruster kept the capsule cold when the first tracking shots left the Ortungen fleet. Two missiles, which tracked from the ships themselves, by means of monitors, not heat, had followed the capsule for over fifteen hundred miles. Then it had disappeared from the monitors. The gladiator had, of course, manually, disengaged the locating beacon, and turned off internal and external lighting as soon as these devices could be located. He had also reduced the noise level in the vehicle as much as possible, levering down even the life support systems to minimum settings. The ship was then like a silent, dark mote in a silent, dark sea, a mote which seemed to be nowhere, but might be anywhere. A pursuit craft had been sent out, but it was soon recalled to the mother ship. It paused only long enough to collect the two missiles, which had then been disarmed by signals from the mother ship. It was not clear to the gladiator why the pursuit had been so soon

terminated. The

emergence

from

the

capsule had suffered damage in its

Alaria.

This

damage

rendered

accessible

navigational equipment inoperative and impaired the utility of manual devices

for

controlling

the

vernier

thrusters,

used

for

course

adjustments. In effect the ship was, manually, blind and rudderless. This injury was not, under the circumstances, however, a serious one.

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The escape capsules, you see, were not designed for skilled, practiced operators. Their functioning was largely a matter of automatic sequences. Once the launch sequence had been activated, the capsule was designed to clear the mother vessel, initiate life support and transmit a tracking signal. One purpose of the verniers, of course, was to make it possible to remain in the vicinity of the initial launch, in case rescue might be imminent. To be sure, that would not have been wise under the circumstances which then prevailed. I think there is little doubt that the gladiator was fortunate to have escaped from the vicinity of the Ortungen fleet. For example, his capsule being largely uncontrollable he could not have used a launch trajectory which might have made use of an Ortungen ship as a shield, so that it would be exposed only to the guns of the shield ship, have engaged in complex evasive activity, engaged and disengaged engines in such a way as to leave a scattered, confusing track of dissipating heat behind it, made use of distant stars and bodies, and occasional debris, and such, to mask its position, and so on. To be sure several escape capsules, over the past few days, had managed to successfully elude the Ortungen fleet, most often when they burst forth together, using the schooling effect to disconcert the predator. Although it is not immediately germane to our narrative, it is of interest to note that Pulendius was among those who had managed to flee the Alaria successfully. Some days later he and his party were picked up by one of ten imperial cruisers. The presence of these cruisers in the vicinity was no accident. They had come in response to the distress call of the Alaria. This was the reason, incidentally, that the pursuit of the gladiator's ship, and, indeed, of another, as well, had been so soon terminated. Most escape capsules, however, as you may have gathered, were not successful in eluding the Ortungen fleet. Indeed, only a handful was successful;

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most were destroyed. Indeed, an escape capsule which had left the Alaria only moments before that of the gladiator had, several hours later, as a result of the explosion of a pursuing missile, been severely damaged,

and

cast

adrift

thereafter

amongst

the

gravitational

geodesics of that portion of space. The clearance thruster had been detached, the explosive bolts being fired, shortly before the projected strike of the missile. The missile had struck the trailing thruster and not the escape capsule. The capsule itself, however, given the proximities involved, and the quantity and speed of the debris, both of the thruster and the missile, had been severely damaged. If one detaches the thruster, or such a device, prematurely, it is unlikely to be useful as either a decoy or a shield. It is unlikely to be useful as a decoy because, at least within practicable detection distances, it can be distinguished from the target. As a shield it must appear suddenly enough and close enough to the missile's target that it is not possible for the missile, closing on the target, to avoid it. It must, accordingly, be interposed at almost the last moment, and the attendant risks accepted. Had the escape capsules been war vessels, of course, they would have been equipped with more sophisticated defensive devices. As it was, they were not even armed with handguns. Weaponry, as we now well know, tended to be carefully controlled by the empire. And, indeed, the escape capsules which had been stored in Section 19 were supernumerary capsules, and not a part of the regular escape complement, which complement consisted of capsules readied in the locks. Accordingly, they were not even equipped with charts, not that these would have been of great use to most civilian occupants. They were equipped, however, happily, with the usual complements of stores. In the case of the last two escape capsules, those with which we have been recently concerned, these stores had been to some

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extent depleted by the fugitives, those who had been hiding in the hold. On the other hand, this matter was not serious, as a very limited number of passengers was involved in both cases. "The horns, Master!" said Janina. "Yes," he said. The horns had again sounded. The gladiator had lost consciousness a few hours after the launching of the escape capsule. He had awakened later, it was not clear how long he had been unconscious, to feel a dampened rag being pressed in the darkness to his brow. "Master?" had asked Janina. His armor had been removed. They knew not where they were. He had then again lapsed into unconsciousness, weakened from the loss of blood, bruised, shaken, from the impact of the armor blasted back against his body. After two days they had illuminated the cabin. The gladiator had lain on one elbow, and looked at the slave.

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She cast her eyes downward, shyly. "Remove your clothing," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He then took her in his arms and turned her beneath him, onto the steel plating of the escape capsule flooring. "Master is strong!" she whispered. "Be silent," he told her. "Yes, Master," she had said. When a slave is told to be silent, you see, she may not speak. But, in a few moments, she gasped, and cried out, and then, later, clung to him, his, subdued. The capsule had drifted in space for weeks, lonely and rudderless, tugged this way and that by forces so subtle they could not have detected them, but then, eventually, as the consequence of the invisible geography of gravity, they began, slowly at first, and then more rapidly, to spiral toward a world. The testing sequence was initiated, and it soon became clear to the capsule's occupants that, for one reason or another, whether from a lack of necessity or because of inoperability consequent upon damage, the secondary clearance system was not going to fire. The implementation of the landing

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program had begun, of course, immediately after the processing of the results of the testing sequence. There had been several tiny ports in the escape capsule, of only some four inches in diameter. It was difficult to see through them. The monitoring cameras, fore and aft, were not functioning. They could feel heat, even within the capsule, as the atmosphere was penetrated. In the descent something must have gone wrong, for a disk at the bow began to flash redly. A whining, sirenlike sound filled the cabin for a brief moment, and then stopped. The disk stopped flashing. They could see trees below. They were moving laterally. Behind them, but visible through one of the ports, was a rope of fluid, aflame. "There is no place to land," had screamed Janina. The terrain below was, indeed, rugged, and forested. There was a frightening sound as the speeding capsule lashed through branches and then, suddenly, climbed, again, upward. Then it spun about, and hovered, arid seemed to slip in the air, down a dozen feet, and then another dozen feet. It righted itself. It began to descend

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again, and then, again, abruptly, in the light of what obstacle the occupants knew not, rose up again. Two needles, though this was not noted by the occupants of the vehicle, now verged, suddenly, as though broken, at the bottom of their gauges. "We are falling!" said Janina. The gladiator crawled to the wheel which controlled the fins of the craft, usable in an atmosphere. Their use had been clear from experimentation in space, though they had been ineffective in that medium. He drew back on the wheel and the craft soared upward. "There is no power!" said Janina. He leveled the wheel, and sought to peer out the bow port. Then he swung the wheel to the right, and then back, somewhat, to the left, and then pressed it forward. He tried to follow the course of the river. He sped between the trees, over the water, and then pressed the wheel forward again, and the escape capsule hit the surface of the water like a stone, and, splashing, flew into the air, and then descended, and did this again and then again, and was then rushing through the water, it flying to both sides, and then the capsule was on

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gravel, scraping, and then water, it rushing beneath, and then gravel again, and then, at last, half on the bank of the river, and half in the water, stopped. They had lost no time in leaving the capsule and withdrawing into the forest, shielding themselves behind trees and rock. When it became clear that the capsule was inert, they returned to it. It was deeply scarred, and a far different vehicle, now space-worn, and scorched, and pitted and gashed, from the one which had tumbled free of the Alaria so long ago. There were streaks of vegetable matter on it where it had flashed through branches. It was tipped. Two of its wheels, for the tracks, were broken away. "We are alive," said Janina. "We will use the vehicle for a shelter," he said. "No, please, Master!" she said. "We have been within it so long! Let us sleep in the open!" "There may be danger here," he said. "Animals?" she said, frightened. "Or worse," he said. She looked at him. "They might like you on a rope," he said.

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"I belong on a rope," she laughed. "And so does every woman," he said. "Yes, Master!" she said. "But we must leave the vehicle soon," he said. "We must learn this world." "Do you think it populated, Master?" she asked. "I do not know," he said. "Perhaps we should build a shelter somewhere else," she said, looking about herself, frightened. "It is late," he said. Before they retired for the evening, he thrust the vehicle higher on the bank. He also put some branches about it, to conceal its outline. Early that afternoon, miles upriver, over an area of several square miles in extent, there were heavy rains. This was not understood by either the gladiator or the exquisite young slave, Janina, she whom he had won, a lovely prize in a contest. Doubtless they had been exhausted by their ordeal, the escape from the Alaria, the long weeks in space, the terrors of the landing, the awesomeness of finding themselves on an unfamiliar world, a new, seemingly primitive, surely

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beautiful, perhaps uncharted, world. In any event, the waters from upriver, flowing from innumerable rivulets, from dozens of streams, from several tributaries, like veins in the surface of the earth, draining an area more than a hundred square miles, began to move downstream, slowly at first, and then with gathering force. These swelling waters, borne by the now swift current, crept up the banks at many points, even higher than most of the diverse levels already recorded in the clay, indeed, until, here and there, they almost touched

the

grass,

and,

at

shallower

places,

were

plentifully

overflowing the banks. The capsule, even thrust higher as it had been, was lifted from the bank, and the gladiator awakened suddenly, the capsule lifting, then rocking, then beginning to turn, beginning to wash downward toward the current. He had aroused the slave instantly and together, as it seemed clear the capsule might be lost, they had flung certain supplies, a medical kit, blankets, the rifle and the pistol, though these were now without ammunition, and such, out the hatch, high onto the bank, above where the water now reached. This they did in the darkness, and in a driving rain, and in the midst of thunder and lightning, for their area, too, was now much affected by storms, quite possibly a portion of the same weather system which had been active upstream earlier. The gladiator emerged from the capsule, the water to his thighs, halfblinded by the wind and rain, and pressed against it with his hands, where they slipped on the slick surface. He slipped in the water. He tried to get his back to the vehicle and turn it, to thrust it up the bank. It was rocking. It was hard to grasp. He cut his arm on the stabilizer. The vehicle spun about.

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Janina, her clothing soaked with rain, stood on the bank. She had, moments before, wading, made her way ashore. To the gladiator's right a great dark branch, its leaves beaten down by rain, swept past. The capsule turned in the overflowing waters. The gladiator lost his hold on it, and, slipping, moved about it, to get once more between it and the main channel of the river. Water streamed from the capsule. It would be suddenly illuminated, eerily, whitely, in flashes of lightning. So, too, was the slave on the bank, and the trees behind her. "I cannot hold it!" cried the gladiator. It was at that point that Janina had waded forth into the black, swirling waters, to lend her small strength to his. Too, almost at the same time, no more than a moment or two later, he had, unexpectedly, managed to brace himself on some solid surface on the overflowed bank, doubtless an outjutting rock. Janina was waist-deep in the water, about the capsule, to his right, as he was braced.

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He did not even understand, at that time, where she was, or what she was doing. "I have it!" he cried. He thrust it back a bit, toward the bank. He felt with his feet for another purchase, one six inches closer to the bank. It was at that point that Janina had lost her footing in the rushing water. She clutched at the capsule but her hands could close on nothing. They slipped on the large, slick, oval surface. She fell to her back in the water, her hands losing contact with the capsule. It was at this point, as the current took her, and she had begun to be swept downstream, that she had cried out. "Master, I cannot swim!" she cried. The gladiator turned to seize her but she was swept past him. For a moment or two the air trapped in her robes would hold her to the surface. He saw her hand, the robes falling from it, lifted. "Master!" she screamed. He left the side of the capsule and plunged after her, wading, but she was already yards away. He then began to swim toward a point at which he hoped to intercept her. But she was not there. So swift was the current. He saw her then, in a flash of lightning, yards downstream, clinging to a rock, the waters rushing about it. But when he reached the rock she had been swept from it. He pushed away from the rock, slipping, and hastened downstream. He turned in a minute, fighting the current. Might she not be near? Something struck his leg and he reached down, but it was a branch. "Master! Master!" he heard, and once more he hastened downstream, lashing the water. He saw, in another flash of lightning, her head disappear under the roiling surface of the dark waters. As he swam he

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tried to judge the feel of the current on his body, its turnings, its deflections, as it was shaped by the contour of the banks, the irregularities of the riverbed. At times the water rushed over his head, and he rose, shaking his head, looking wildly about. He saw the capsule moving downstream, to his right, tipped, awry in the current. A scream was before him in the darkness to the left. Again he sped toward a projected rendezvous, the location dictated by an instant's calculation of the physics of time and current. But, of course, she was not an inert object, but one which moved, and straggled, and the robes, too, clinging about her, influenced her movements. How could one judge such things, and in the darkness, the turbulence? She was, again, not at the projected point of rendezvous, or, if she was, it was in the darkness, or perhaps even momentarily beneath the surface, eluding his grasp, perhaps by inches. "Master!" he heard, a scream half choked with water. Then he sped directly downstream, anything to be somewhere ahead of her. He crested the current and rushed before it, half borne by it, half racing it. Then he turned about in the water, fighting against the current. "Scream!” he cried. "Cry out!” He wondered if she were under the water, perhaps feet away, speeding toward him. He wondered if she was drowned. Then, in a flash of lightning, he saw a fold of garment, and, in another stroke of lightning, he got his hand on it. He jerked her head out of the water. Then, swept downstream, he struck against something. In the center of the stream, temporarily arrested there, caught on a rock, was the large branch, almost a tree in itself, which must have washed away from some bank, and which had passed them earlier. They were then, in the pouring rain, enmeshed in the smaller branches. He reached for branches, and they broke off. He steadied himself against the wet, black trunklike main branch. He gasped for breath. Her head was back,

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her eyes wild. "I have you, slave," he said. "Master!" she cried, her face streaming with water. The branch then, pressed in the current, suddenly, unexpectedly, awkwardly, moved, slipping away from the rock. It was then loose in the current, and spinning downstream. Then it rolled and the smaller branches, like a barrel of spokes, forced them both under the water. The gladiator reached up, partly climbing, partly tearing through branches. His fingernails were bloodied from tearing at the bark. Then he emerged into the storm again, his left arm about the slave's neck. In a flash of lightning he saw the escape capsule, far downstream, deep in the water, listing. The river churned inches from the opened hatch. He did not doubt, from its depth in the water, that the capsule had already shipped a considerable amount of water. He was afraid to release the branch. He did not know if he could reach the shore. An uprooted tree swept past. "Look!" he cried, clinging to the branch. Downstream, in the darkness, there was a sudden bluish glow, and then the escape capsule, its entire large, oval surface, began to crackle with sparks and flame. Then again there was darkness. "Beware!" he said, and braced himself, for the trunk of a tree, like a spear, smote into the branch to which they clung, spinning it about. "Are you all right?" asked the gladiator. "Yes, Master," cried the slave. There was now, under the roar of the storm, another roar, somewhere ahead, a roar which grew progressively louder. The gladiator tried to peer through the darkness and rain. He fought for breath. The water must have reached yet another system in the escape capsule, for, far downstream, it began again to glow, but this time with an orangish color. And then, suddenly, it was dark. It was as though the glow had been suddenly snapped off, like a light. A part of a tree swept by, a catlike beast clinging to its trunk. Its fur was sleek with rain. The branch to which the gladiator and the slave clung caught for a moment

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on another rock. "What is the noise, not the storm?" the gladiator asked himself, confused. "Is it a thousand beasts? Is it thunder from afar?" "Too," he asked himself, "what of the capsule? How did it cease so suddenly to glow?" The roar was now becoming even louder. It competed with the wind, the storm. Suddenly he heard a wild screech of terror from ahead, which then faded suddenly. It had to be the animal which they had seen, but moments before. Now the roaring was deafening. In the darkness the gladiator, as the slave cried out in terror, in protest, thrust away from the branch, and, with one arm, as he could, fought for the shore. He was swept muchly downstream, but twice caught against rocks. Then, when the roar was unmistakable, even to one confused in the darkness, one wrought with titanic strain, one exhausted from physical effort, he got the mud and gravel of the riverbed beneath his feet, and, the slave terrified and bedraggled in his arms, made his way to the bank. In the next flash of lightning he saw, holding the slave, the edge of the falls, some yards away. Curious he went to its brink. The drop was something in the nature of a hundred feet. He saw the sopped, catlike beast slide through the water, its ears back, and scratch its way up to the shore. It was possible, he thought, that they might have survived the fall. To be sure, it is difficult to make judgments on such matters. He did not see the capsule. He did not know if it were still afloat or not. After resting for a time, he once again lifted the slave in his arms, who was trembling, and began to make his way back upstream, to where they had salvaged some of their goods. After a time the rains stopped. He had then managed to build a small fire. This was managed with leaves and brush from rain-sheltered places. The fire was lit with the lighter, from the survival kit, one of the objects removed earlier from the capsule. They had then stripped and set about drying their clothes. His

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had dried first, easily, as they were lighter, less voluminous, less cumbersome. Janina had been kneeling near the fire, drying her hair, when they first heard the horns. "There are several horns now," said Janina. "They are on this side of the river," said the gladiator. "We will cross." "Not the river!" said Janina. "The level is much subsided," said the gladiator. "I fear the river!" said Janina. "This," said the gladiator, "will prevent you from being swept away." He knotted a rope about her neck. "That is its only purpose, is it not, Master?" she asked. "What do you think?" he asked. She looked down, shyly, smiling. Janina, in the arms of strong masters, had learned her womanhood. The remains of the armor he had cast into the river. Its utility was grievously impaired, it having been muchly damaged on the Alaria, and he feared, too, that on this world it would constitute little more

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than a clumsy, weighty encumbrance. Could one manage edged or pointed weapons, even staves or clubs, well, if one were so housed? Might one not be tripped, or caught, or be for most practical purposes helpless in such garb? Would it turn the blow of an ax, for example, or be of much service if one were caught in a noose, cast from a tree? Too, men seen in such things might be taken to be the barbarians of the ships, and he doubted that such would be likely to be popular with primitively armed rustic or sylvan populations, if they knew of them, at all. The armor, of this sort, which weighed in the vicinity of a hundred pounds, had its place, surely, in a world of fire pistols, and weapons of a similar sort, but it did not seem that it would be of great value in a primitive, natural, savage world, one where survival was more likely to be a function of speed and agility, and will, intelligence and ferocity, than an arrangement of relative impenetrabilities. The gladiator prepared a bundle, consisting of most of the materials they had salvaged from the capsule, including some rations, and also Janina's clothing. This bundle the slave would bear. He himself slung the empty Telnarian rifle across his back. He retained the belt from the armor, and housed the empty fire pistol in its holster. He also put on the belt a sheathed knife, from the survival kit. He was, for the most part, however, unencumbered. He cut himself a staff, both as a weapon, and to assist in the transit of the river. He then, leading the slave on her rope, she bearing the bundle of supplies, and such, on her head, steadying it with her hands, waded into the river. In a few minutes they had safely crossed. On the other side he wound the free end of Janina's rope about her neck. There were then several coils about her neck. He tucked in the

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free end. "You will follow me," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. In this fashion she would bear the rope herself, and it would be conveniently at hand, obviously ready for a variety of employments. Toward noon they heard the horns again. The horns, now, were on their side of the river. One seemed to be behind them, and another to their right. They then began to move left, through the thick, dark forest. But, in an hour, they heard a horn before them. They then resumed their original march, away from the river. "They are closer, Master," said Janina, a little later. "Yes," said the gladiator. "Those are hunting horns, Master?" asked Janina. "Yes," said the gladiator. "What are they hunting, Master?" asked Janina.

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"Us," he said.

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CHAPTER 16 "Keep behind me," said the gladiator. Janina, the rope on her neck, crouched down, behind him. The gladiator stood with his back to a large rock. There was a clearing here, in the forest, and several such outcroppings. "Abandon me, Master," Janina had begged. But he had turned about, in anger, and cuffed her to silence. She had not even requested permission to speak. To be sure, he had not made a practice of requiring this deference of Janina. She had then knelt at his feet and gratefully kissed them. He had seen shadows in the forest, about them. Shortly thereafter he had come to the open place, and had gone to the rock, a large, high, broad rock, where he had turned about and placed himself as he now stood. There had been more blasts of horns, some doubtless summoning blasts, others perhaps signaling that the quarry had been brought to bay, and then, in a few minutes, the shadows among the trees,

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darknesses among darknesses, had become numerous. Nothing emerged from the forest. The gladiator sat down, cross-legged, then, waiting. He picked up pebbles, after a time, and threw them about. Janina continued to crouch behind him, eyeing the forests. Then, something like a quarter of an hour later, a man emerged from the forest. He had a leather headband. He was clad in skins. There was a large ax tied across his back. He sat down, also cross-legged, back near the trees. He was some twenty yards from the gladiator. After a time the gladiator called to him. "Can you understand my speech?" "Yes," said the man. After a time the man called to the gladiator. "You are Drisriak." "No," said the gladiator. "You have their weapons," said the man. "I am not Drisriak," said the gladiator.

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"There are too many of us for you to kill," said the man. "I mean you no harm," said the gladiator. "We have bowmen," said the man. "A hundred arrows, in an instant, could strike you." "If you are marksmen, only one would be needed," said the gladiator. There was an angry sound from the forest behind the man, and he lifted his hand, to silence it. "You are bold, Drisriak," said the man. "I am not Drisriak," said the gladiator. "You have not come for the tribute?" "No," said the gladiator. "We keep our produce, our pelts, our women, for ourselves,” said the man. "I mean you no harm," said the gladiator. "I shall put my weapons aside." "Only a fool disarms himself," said the man.

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The gladiator very slowly, very carefully, unslung the Telnarian rifle and put it to the side. He, too, undid his belt and placed it to the side, with its holstered fire pistol, and the sheathed knife. "You are without ammunition," said the man. "You are discerning," said the gladiator. "Why do you not try to threaten us," asked the man, "because you are somehow without your ship, without your armor, without usable weapons?" "I am not Drisriak." "What is your people?" "I have no people," said the gladiator. "Everyone has a people," said the man. "No," said the gladiator. "In the empire there are millions who are alone, who have no people." "I have heard of the empire," said the man. "It is far away," said the gladiator. "Who are you?" asked the man.

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"I am called 'Dog,' " said the gladiator. "That is an animal," said the man. "Yes," said the gladiator. "Is that your true name?" "I do not think I have a true name." "You are a slave?" "No." "What are you?" asked the man. "I am a peasant," said the gladiator. "No," said the man. "You are Drisriak." "Why do you say that?" "The woman," he said. The gladiator was silent. "You have her naked, with a rope on her neck," he said. "Yes," said the gladiator.

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"That is no peasant's woman," said the man. "She is beautiful. She is beautiful enough to be a tribute girl." The gladiator was silent. "That is a slave-block woman," said the man. "All women are slave-block women," said the gladiator. There was assent to this from the forest. "That is a Drisriak's woman," said the man. "No," said the gladiator. "She is beautiful enough to be a Drisriak's woman," said the man. "Then their women must be very beautiful," said the gladiator. "They are," said the man. "You seem not fond of the Drisriaks," said the gladiator. "We conceal ourselves in the forest from them," said the man. The gladiator shrugged. "Where is your ship, the others?"

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"We are alone. There is no ship." "How came you here?" "We fled the captured imperial vessel, the Alaria, in an escape capsule. It brought us here. The capsule is lost to us. It was by the river." "Who took your vessel?" "The fleet of Ortog, who is an Ortung." "Ortog is a prince of the Drisriaks," said the man. He spat to the side. "His house is secessionist," said the gladiator. "Who, then, will come for the tributes?" "Will any come?" "They have." "Who?" "Ortog, for the Drisriaks," said the man. "Perhaps there is an end now, to such things," said the gladiator.

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"There is never an end to such things," said the man. "But you are concealed in the forests." "They will come," said the man. "Then you must fight." "They can destroy the forests," said the man. "They have such power?" "Yes." They were then silent for a time. "You are not Drisriak?" said the man, finally. "No," said the gladiator. "Give us the woman," said the man. "You can then go." "No," said the gladiator. Janina crept more closely to him. "You would give your life for a woman?" he asked. The gladiator did not respond.

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"She is a slave, is she not?" asked the man. "Yes," said the gladiator. "She can be bought and sold, like a pig," said the man. "Yes," said the gladiator. "You would give your life for her?" Again then was the gladiator silent. "We can take her," said the man. "We are many. You are one." "I gather that honor does not exist in the forests," said the gladiator. "It is only in the secrecy of the forests, hidden away, that honor can exist in these times!" said the man, angrily, rising to his feet. The gladiator, too, then, rose to his feet. "We will buy her," said the man. "Two pelts of the black wolf!" "She is not for sale." "Three," said the man. "No," said the gladiator.

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"But you might, in honor, give her away," said the man. "True," said the gladiator. Janina crept even more closely to the gladiator. "Give her to us," said the man. "No," said the gladiator. "Give us the pistol, the rifle," said the man. "No," said the gladiator. "But you claim they are without ammunition." "That is true." "Give them to us." "No." The man then removed the ax from his back. The gladiator, not taking his eyes from him, reached down and picked up the staff he had cut. At the same tune, from the forest, emerging into the clearing, came some seventy to eighty men. Behind them, now detectable among the

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trees, were others. "There are so many, Master!" said Janina. "Yes," he said. The men continued to emerge from the forest. "Master," moaned Janina. Then the gladiator and the kneeling slave were muchly enclosed, on three sides. Altogether there may have been some three hundred to three hundred and fifty men. They carried a variety of weapons, most spears, some bows, some swords, some axes. "Give me to them, Master!" said Janina. "No," said the gladiator. "Master!" protested Janina. Angrily he lashed back with the back of his left hand, striking her from her knees, flinging her back to the rock behind them, where she turned, and then half-knelt, half lay, bleeding, a chastised property. "Clear a place," said the man with the headband, stepping back a few feet.

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Men parted. "You would match an ax to a staff?" asked the gladiator. "Cut a staff," said the man. A fellow left, to go into the woods. In a few moments he returned, with a stout, trimmed branch. "Your staff," said the man with the headband, "is too long, too thick, too unwieldy." But he did not know the strength of the gladiator, that he could wield such a thing as a lesser man might have a stick. His ax handed to another, the man in the headband hefted the staff just cut for him. It was springy, and green. It would have something of the resiliency of a whip, with something of the lash of such an object. It would not be likely to break, unless struck with incredible force. A wide circle was traced in the dirt, there in the clearing. The men from the forest lined the circle. Janina, the rope unwound from her neck, it then again serving as a leash, was pulled to the edge of the circle, where she was knelt down. The leash was shortened, by looping, so that, as she knelt, the fist of her leash holder was but a foot from her neck. The staves were crossed.

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"Begin!" called a man, striking upward with the butt of his spear, with a sharp crack separating the staves. The gladiator stood in the center of the circle, his staff not lifted, in no defensive posture. The man with the headband moved about him, and the gladiator turned, to follow him. The man with the headband feinted, and then again, but the gladiator made no move to counter a possible blow, nor to initiate one of his own. Then the butt of the man's staff thrust at him. It was a tentative, exploratory touch. But it left its mark. "He fears to fight," said a man at the side. The man with the headband then struck the gladiator a round blow. Men cried out. Such a blow might have felled a lesser man. "He is strong," marveled a man. The man with the headband then, perhaps as astonished as the others, struck the gladiator again, this time even harder. "Are you weak, Astubux?" jeered a man. In fury then the man with the headband again struck the gladiator,

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but it was as though he might be smiting an inert, natural thing, the rock, a tree. "Aiii," marveled a man. Then the man with the headband, whose name was Astubux, again struck the gladiator, as hard as he might. But, again, the gladiator did not lose his footing. He hardly flinched. But the stripes on his body, the rising of the dark welts, evidenced the authenticity of the blows. "Fight! Fight!" screamed Astubux. "Are you a coward?" he asked. The gladiator's eyes, for a moment, were frightening to read. In them,

but

scarcely

detectable,

there

was

suddenly

suggested

something terrible. It was like a movement in a dark forest, one perhaps of some dreadful beast, one best left unaroused. Astubux stepped back. The gladiator eyed him. Then the strange thing, fleeting, terrible, in the eyes was gone. It was as though the beast had turned away. Astubux rushed forward, striking down with the staff, but this time the blow was simply blocked, smartly, as was the next, and the next. This the gladiator had decided. Then the staves were braced against

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one another and the gladiator, step by step, forced Astubux toward the edge of the circle, where men, in awe, drew back. But he did not force him from the circle. He forced him three times to its perimeter, and each time let him return to the center. Astubux was now wideeyed, and sweating. Then the gladiator pressed down on Astubux's staff and Astubux, in the center of the circle, was forced to his knees. Then the gladiator drew back the great staff and smote down, breaking the staff of Astubux. Astubux tried to move backward but was forced by the butt of the gladiator's staff to his back. Then, for a moment, the beast appeared once more in the gladiator's eyes, as he lifted his staff, like a spear. Then, again, it was gone. He drove the staff downward. It sank six inches into the soil beside Astubux's head. "Be pleased I did not choose to fight," said the gladiator. He then turned about, and left the circle. Astubux scrambled back out of the circle, and stood, outside it, breathing heavily. The man at the edge of the circle who was holding the leash of Janina, it muchly looped, pulled her to her feet by it and led her to the gladiator. He placed the loops of the leash in his hand. The gladiator then wound the leash, again, as it had been before, about the neck of Janina. She then knelt beside him, the coils of rope on her neck, acknowledged his. "What people are you?" asked the gladiator. "We are the Wolfungs," said Astubux, "the remnants of one of the

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five tribes of a once mighty people, one long since scattered, as legend has it, about the worlds." "And what people was that?" inquired the gladiator. "The forest folk," said Astubux. This is the same people, we might note, or so it seems from the records, which were later to appear in so many of the chronicles as little more than a legend of terror, that people known more generally as the Vandals, or Vandalii. We have already touched on certain difficulties in connection with the etiology of the name. "And what are the other tribes?" asked the gladiator, for he was suddenly keenly interested in this matter. "They may no longer exist," said Astubux. "What were they then?" asked the gladiator. "The Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, and the parent tribe, the largest and fiercest of all the tribes, the Otungs." "Ortog believed me to be an Otung," said the gladiator. "Why?" asked Astubux. "I do not know," said the gladiator. "Who are you?" asked Astubux.

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"I do not know who I am," said the gladiator. "If you are an Otung," said Astubux, "then they have not perished." "We would be of kindred peoples," said a grizzled fellow. "I do not know who I am," said the gladiator. "I am only a peasant." "If you are of the Otungs," said the grizzled fellow, "you are not a peasant, you are a warrior, a warrior among warriors, a warrior of a race of warriors." "No," said the gladiator, shaking his head. "I am only a peasant." At that moment there was a terrifying crashing, and breaking and roaring in the forest. The very earth shook. Some hundreds of yards away flames leaped upward. A moment later smoke rose from the trees. "It is the sign of the Drisriaks!" cried a man. "They have found us!" cried another. "There is no escaping from them!" cried another. "Come!" said Astubux to the gladiator. He, followed by the gladiator and several of the other men, climbed the tall rock, from the summit of which they could survey the forest, for miles about. Janina, too,

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followed. "There! See!" said Astubux, pointing. A broad stream of fire, perhaps a mile in width, as though from the stars themselves, poured down into the forest. "It is the sign of the Drisriaks!" said Astubux. "No!" said a man. "It is different! Look!" The broad swath of fire was being intelligently directed. It was carving, in the forest, a sign, one which the gladiator had seen before. Indeed, it had been on the armor which he had discarded. It was on the buckle of the belt, which he had left below, with the empty fire pistol and the sheathed knife. It had been, too, on the vessels of the Ortungen fleet. "That, I think," said the gladiator, "is the sign of Ortog, or of the Ortungs." "It is not the sign of the Drisriaks," said a man, studying the pattern of flame and smoke. "Ortog, as I understand it," said the gladiator, "has left the house of the Drisriaks." "But he comes, as before, for the tribute, as he had before, for the Drisriaks," said a man.

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"I think so," said the gladiator. "Only to be gathered now for himself," said the grizzled fellow. "It would seem so," said the gladiator. "Their envoys will be at the village in a few days," said Astubux, glumly. "What will you do?" asked the gladiator. "We will pay," said Astubux. "What else is there to do?" "Who is your chieftain?" asked the gladiator. "We have no chieftain," said Astubux. "How can that be?" asked the gladiator. "The Drisriaks kill our chieftains," said Astubux. "It is their way," said the grizzled warrior. "Now none will be chieftain," said Astubux. "Who would be so?" asked another. "What are spears to the power of the Drisriaks?" asked another.

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"And thus they deprive you of leadership?" asked the gladiator. "And our manhood," said another, bitterly. "To the loss of such one might prefer death," said the gladiator. He recalled a courtroom, and an arena, far away. "We have no leader," said a man. "Astubux speaks for us," said a man. "Yes," said another. "It is he who deals with the envoys," said another. "To my dishonor," said Astubux. "You must proclaim a chieftain," said the gladiator. "That he may die, that we then may all die?" said a man. "It is a long time since one has been lifted on the shields," said a man. "You are free to go," said Astubux. They stood on the summit of that high, bare rock, and looked out

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upon the forest, where, in a roar of smoke and fire, in long lines, each a mile in width, burned into the forest itself, there blazed the sign of Ortog. "See how they announce their arrival," said a man. "See how they insult us," said another. "I am not pleased with this," said the gladiator. "It has nothing to do with you," said a man. "It is our grief, not yours," said Astubux. "It should not be your grief, but your provocation," said the gladiator. "It is no concern of yours," said Astubux. "If I should be somehow of Otung blood," said the gladiator, "would we not be kindred?" "Yes," said a man. "And would this insult not then be done to me, as well?" asked the gladiator. "Yes," said a man. "I do not accept it," said the gladiator.

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"I do not understand," said a man. "You are a peasant," said Astubux. "What is a people with no chieftain?" asked the gladiator. "It is no people," said a man. "A wolf with no head, with no eyes, with no will," said another. "A beast that sleeps," said a man. "You," said the gladiator to a man standing nearby. "Go below and bring here, to the summit of this rock, the bundle of clothing with my things." The man seemed startled for a moment, but then he turned about and went down the escarpment, and then, in a bit, reappeared on its summit, bearing the bundle of clothing. Smoke from the fires drifted about the rock. Animals could be seen below, fleeing, mostly frantic, bounding ungulates. The gladiator accepted the bundle of clothing from the Wolfung warrior, and then he threw it to Janina. "Put it on," he told her.

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The garments were now muchly wrinkled and soiled. Too, they were frayed, from the escape capsule, and torn, from the rocks and the branches in the river, but they still retained, even in their current state, more than a hint of their original splendor. The colors, even if faded, were still clearly discernible, and intact were the complex embroidered designs, and the insignia of station and house. Janina, too, put about herself the rich jewelry, the necklaces and bracelets, which had been accessory to them. "Those are the colors of the Drisriaks," said a man, in awe. "See the designs, the insignia," said another. "The jewelry!" said another. "Those, if I read them aright," said Astubux, "are the robes of Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks!" "They are," said the gladiator. "This then," cried a man, pointing excitedly to Janina, "is Gerune! You have captured her!" "The sister of hated Ortog!" said a man. "Kill her!" said another. But the gladiator put his hand on the man's spear, and thrust it aside.

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"No," he said, "this is not Gerune. It is a common slave." "Surely it is Gerune!" said a man. "Strip, and rebundle the garments," said the gladiator to Janina. "It must be Gerune," said a man. "She wears the royal garments," said a man. "We can hold her for ransom," said a man. "He has Gerune," said a man. "His rope is on her neck!" "We can use her to bargain with the Drisriaks," said another. "It is not Gerune," said the gladiator. He took the bundled garments from Janina, the jewelry wrapped inside. He handed this bundle to the fellow who had originally fetched it upward from below. "Gerune wears his rope on her neck," said a man. "It is not Gerune," insisted the gladiator. "Surely it is," said Astubux. "How careless then," said the gladiator, irritably, seizing Janina by the arm and turning her about, so that her left flank was to the men, "that the Drisriaks should have had their princess branded."

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On Janina's left thigh, high, just under the hip, a common branding site, was the small flower, the slave rose. "It is not Gerune," said a man. "How came you then by the garments of Gerune?" asked a man. "I took them from her, on the ship," said the gladiator. "She figured in my plan of escape. The garments were worn by this slave, that she might be mistaken for Gerune." "And what of Gerune herself?" asked a man. "I marched her before me, gagged, naked, bound, on a rope, through the corridors of the captured ship, before hundreds of warriors of Ortog." The men cried out with pleasure. "I think you had best kneel," said the gladiator to Janina, who hastily, belatedly, knelt. "Hands on thighs, knees spread," said the gladiator. Janina complied. "Keep your head down," suggested the gladiator.

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Janina put down her head. "And what is Gerune, sister of Ortog, like?" asked a man. "I think you would find that her body would be that of a pleasing slave," said the gladiator. "Before I left the ship her head was at my feet." "It is the Drisriaks who take our women," said a man. "Perhaps," said the gladiator, "it should be you who take their women, for your naked slaves." "Glory to the Wolfungs!" said a man. "It is a long time since we have tasted glory," said a man. "You have no chieftain," said the gladiator. "Of what avail are the blades of spears against fire from the stars?" asked a man. "I have a plan," said the gladiator. "It is time a chieftain was proclaimed," said a man. "It would be suicide for anyone to dare to be lifted upon the shields," said a man.

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"He would be killed by the Drisriaks," said a man. "Let such matters be the concern of the chieftain," said the gladiator. "You are not a Wolfung," said Astubux. "Choose then one of your own," said the gladiator. The men looked at one another. "Astubux?" asked a man. "No," said Astubux. "Would you deal with the Drisriaks?" asked a man of the gladiator. "Certainly," said the gladiator. "And what would you offer them?" asked a man. "Defiance," said the gladiator. "It is a hopeless matter," said a man. "Nobility," said the gladiator, "is most easily purchased in an impossible cause." "What will our women say?" asked a man.

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"They will obey," said the gladiator. "It has been a long time since we have had a chieftain," said the grizzled man. "You have a plan?" asked a man. "Yes," said the gladiator. "Let us return to the village," said a man. And so the group left the summit of that high rock and assembled below. In leaving they trekked through the circle which had been scratched by the butt of the spear, that within which two men had done contest with staves. Astubux and the gladiator, with others of the leading warriors, led the group. Behind the gladiator, and to his left, in the heeling position, sometimes stumbling, came Janina, the rope wrapped still about her neck, bent under her burdens as before, including even the bundle of clothing and jewelry which had once graced the figure of Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, sister of Ortog, king of the Ortungen. As she was a slave it was appropriate that she be laden. The others were, of course, free men. The party also crossed, at one point, a broad swath of blackened trees. The carcasses of incinerated animals lay here and there. An occasional scavenger looked up as the party passed. Birds had come to the area in hundreds, to peck out burned grubs and worms, and small animals, where the brush and leafy cover of the forest floor had been seared away. The ash was still warm to the bare feet of Janina.

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Toward evening they arrived at the village. That night, in the light of a great fire, blazing in the center of the village, amidst much shouting and the beating of weapons, a new chieftain was proclaimed, that by the Wolfungs, one of the lesser tribes of the Vandals, the gladiator being lifted upon the shields of warriors.

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CHAPTER 17 "I have done more than my share of work," said the officer of the court. "Would that you were a slave," snapped the young naval officer. "Then you would know what work is!" "Well, I am not a slave," she said, angrily. "Nor am I!" said the other young woman. "Be silent, lowly humiliora!" said the officer of the court. "You want to get out of all the work!" said the angry young woman who had just been addressed. "There is much work to be done," said an older woman. "Let us help him." "It is his fault that we are here!" said the officer of the court. "It was you," he said, angrily, "who cried out in the Alaria, who alerted the barbarians, who compromised our escape." "Do not speak to me so!" said the officer of the court. "I am a citizen, of the honestori, of the blood!" "What do such things matter here?" inquired the other young woman.

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"What does anything matter here?" "Be silent, shopgirl!" said the officer of the court. "Do not quarrel," advised the older woman. This group, as you have doubtless conjectured, was that which had escaped the Alaria shortly before the somewhat improvised departure of the gladiator and the slave, Janina, in the second of the two escape capsules which had been stored in the hold. It consisted of the young naval officer and three women. One of these women was the officer of the court. She had been on her hands and knees, in her "same garb," a rope on her neck, in the grasp of Janina, in the corridor near the lock where the gladiator was preparing the first capsule for launch. When the young naval officer had made his appearance in the corridor and appropriated the waiting vehicle, she had joined his party. Earlier the young naval officer had participated in the defense of the ship, which gradually, obviously, had become more and more hopeless. When a group with whom he had been fighting had surrendered, thence to meet diverse fates, he had fled, and later, seeing no prospect of recovering the vessel, had determined to seek out one of the escape capsules in the hold, hoping to make use of it to depart the vessel. It had been a great disappointment to him to discover that the lift mechanism had been inoperative, and he had been unable to get the vehicle to a lock. In the hold, he had encountered two women, who had fled there to hide, and were living on the supplies in the capsules. In a sense, we have heard of both these women, though they were strange companions, considering the hierarchies in the empire. One was the striking woman in the pantsuit, who had been in attendance at

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the contest, and who had invited the officer of the court to sit with her. The other was the salesgirl, or shopgirl, from whom the officer of the court had, earlier that same day, purchased certain surprising and uncharacteristic garments. The officer of the court, as we may remember, had been scandalized that an individual of that class and station, and merely a lowly employee of the line, should have been admitted to the entertainments. "Fetch water," said the young naval officer to the officer of the court. "No," she said. " 'No'?" he asked. "I am of the blood,” she said. "Such as I do not draw water.” "Then you fetch it," said the officer to the other young woman. "Not if she does not," she said. "I will fetch it," said the older woman. She left, to go to the small stream nearby. The capsule which had been appropriated, or commandeered, by the young naval officer, had been, as we recall, severely damaged in the incident of the pursuing missile, that which had been prematurely exploded against the jettisoned clearance thruster. As a result the capsule had been left much at the mercy of its momentum and

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position, lost in the winds of space, so to speak, subject to the numerous subtle forces, primarily gravitational, obtaining in that area at that time. It had eventually drifted into a scarcely tangible current, if one may so speak, and, some days later, had found itself, like a speck in an invisible whirlpool, caught in a rapidly degrading orbit, at the focus of which was a remote world, one on which they had managed, two days ago, to effect a successful landing, thanks largely to the skill of the young naval officer, the viability of certain viewing and measuring instrumentation, and the proper functioning of a manually responsive landing system. "We will need firewood," said the young naval officer to the officer of the court. "Have you repaired the radio?" asked the officer of the court. She knew, of course, that it had been damaged beyond repair, various components shattered in the injury to the capsule, others literally melted and fused as a consequence of the short-circuiting attendant on the impact. That had been determined within an hour after the impact. "It cannot be repaired," said the young naval officer. The officer of the court tossed her pretty head. Why then should he expect her to gather wood? Too, had he not insulted her, by responding as though her question might have been an honest, civil one, pretending to ignore the hint that he was somehow to blame for its damage? To be sure, it was he who had interposed, almost at the

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last moment, the clearance thruster. Might he not have jettisoned it earlier, perhaps a hundred miles earlier? "You go, then," said the naval officer to the shopgirl. "I might crack my nails," she said, looking at the officer of the court. “If you do not work," said the young naval officer to the two young women, "you will not be fed." "Do not amuse us," said the officer of the court. The young naval officer clenched his fists. "You must feed us," said the officer of the court. "We are citizens of the empire." "Yes," said the shopgirl. "It is our right to be fed," said the officer of the court. "Yes!" said the shopgirl. "Better you had both been left on the Alaria," said the young naval officer, "at the mercy of the Ortungen." "Do not speak so!" chided the officer of the court. "Perhaps they could have gotten some good out of you," he said.

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"Beware your speech!" said the officer of the court. "But they probably would not have found either of you of sufficient interest to be kept," he said, "even as naked slaves." The shopgirl gasped, putting her hand before her mouth. The officer of the court was furious, and, for a moment, speechless. Then she said, "Arrange for our rescue!" The young naval officer glared at her. "Put out a signal, or something!" she said. "Do you think you are on a beach, on some civilized world, with transports overhead every hour?" he asked. "Light a beacon," said the officer of the court. "And who would see it?" he asked. "Surely there is someone on this world," she said. "That is possible," he said. "Surely someone!" she said. "But who?" he asked, meaningfully.

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The officer of the court, and the shopgirl, were silent. The young naval officer withdrew. The shopgirl stood up, and looked about herself. "This is a beautiful world," she said. The officer of the court sniffed. "It is primeval," said the girl, "untouched, unspoiled." "I am glad you like it," said the officer of the court. "You may spend the rest of your life here." "What did he mean," asked the shopgirl, "that he did not know who might see a beacon?" "I do not know," said the officer of the court. "I am sure we are alone on this world." "I am not so sure," said the shopgirl. "Why do you say that?" asked the officer of the court. "I thought I saw something, yesterday," she said. "What?" asked the officer of the court, apprehensively.

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"I do not know," she said. "Perhaps it was a beast," said the officer of the court, uneasily. Surely, last night, when they were locked in the capsule, they had heard things outside, prowling about. Too, there had been howling, roars, in the forest. "Perhaps," said the shopgirl. "He took the pistol, of course!" said the officer of the court, angrily. "It has only a charge or two left, surely," said the shopgirl. "What will protect us, if something comes?" said the officer of the court, looking about herself. "We can run to the capsule," said the shopgirl. "Where is he?" asked the officer of the court. "Doubtless he has gone for firewood," she said. "I'm hungry," said the officer of the court. "I wonder if there are men here, on this world," said the shopgirl, looking at the darkness of the trees. "I would not know," said the officer of the court.

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"It there were, they would almost certainly be barbarians," she said. "Undoubtedly," said the officer of the court. "I wonder how they would view us," she said. "As persons, as ladies," said the officer of the court. "But if they were truly barbarians—" said the shopgirl. "I wonder where Oona is," said the officer of the court. This was the name of the woman in the pantsuit, it now frayed and dirty, who had gone to fetch water. It seemed she should have returned by now. There was some cause, incidentally, for the guarded reply of the young naval officer, that having to do with his response to who might see a signal, or beacon, if one were set. He had, you see, seen earlier some signs of human habitation, footprints by a stream, and a broken spearblade. Too, yesterday they had smelled smoke, from afar. He had climbed a tree and discerned the fire, but it seemed no ordinary fire, centered in a locale, then spreading, much at the mercy of wind. Rather, though he had not called this to the attention of his companions, it had been a fire of unusual pattern, one seemingly in defiance of nature, surely nothing one would expect to result from a simple blast of lightning, and, too, from where would have come such a blast, out of a clear sky?

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"I am hungry," said the officer of the court, and began to sort through the rations, put outside the capsule, to be sorted and divided. This was in connection with an inventory intended by the young naval officer. It was now miserably close in the capsule, the life-support systems shut down. "Do not touch the rations!" said the shopgirl. "Do not speak so to me, humiliora!" snapped the officer of the court. "You are fat enough!" said the shopgirl. "I am not fat!" said the officer of the court. "It is the modesty of my garmenture!" "You look like a balloon and you smell!" said the shopgirl. "My garb is designed with a purpose in mind, one which you are incapable of appreciating, in your pretty little slacks and jacket!" said the officer of the court. "And you smell, too!" she added. The officer of the court and the salesgirl refrained from making further untactful allusions to certain odors, as this was a sensitive issue, and one in terms of which they were both clearly vulnerable. The young naval officer and the woman in the pantsuit had, yesterday, gratefully, after weeks in space, at respectfully separate intervals, washed in the nearby stream. The waters, however, had been much too cold for the likings of the officer of the court and the salesgirl. Too, who knew who might be watching? This consideration, in particular,

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alarmed the officer of the court. For example, could she truly trust the young naval officer? Too, they could always bathe tomorrow. It might be warmer then. "It is designed to conceal from others, and from yourself, that you are a woman!" said the shopgirl. "Insolent bitch!" said the officer of the court. "But then you are probably not a woman," said the shopgirl. "I am a woman!" said the officer of the court, somewhat surprising herself by this declaration, one not really to be expected from a woman of Terennia. "Fat!" said the shopgirl. "I am not fat!" said the officer of the court. "If you were a slave," said the shopgirl, "your figure would be trimmed until it was sexually stimulating to men!" "Do not dare to speak to me in that fashion," cried the officer of the court. "I am an officer of a court, of the honestori! You are only an employee, a salesgirl, working in a shop on a cruise ship. You are only of the humiliori. Do not dare speak so to me, you meaningless little snip. I am of the blood itself!" "See if you speak so proudly when your hair is pulled out!" said the

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shopgirl, angrily. "Do not dare touch me!" said the officer of the court, alarmed. Angrily the salesgirl turned away. The least that might happen to her now would be that she would lose her position with the line. The humiliori were expected to exhibit a proper deference toward those of the honestori. Too, she might then find it difficult to locate another position. On certain worlds she could be fined, or sentenced to a penal brothel, even to being close-chained to her pallet. On many other worlds she could be simply remanded to slavery. Perhaps she would be purchased by the person whom she had offended. The officer of the court opened a box, one containing concentrated survival chocolate. "Do not eat that," said the shopgirl. "I do as I please," said the officer of the court. "It is for all of us!" said the salesgirl. "Be quiet," said the officer of the court. "Fat!" said the shopgirl. "I am not fat," said the officer of the court. "Where are you going?" asked the shopgirl.

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"I am going to the stream, to get a drink," said the officer of the court. Their water, you see, had been muchly depleted in the capsule, not only over time, but in virtue of their needs, given the physical dehydration which tends to occur in such an environment. The water in the stream, too, constituted a considerable improvement over the water in the capsule's stores. The water in the stream, tested pure, was cold and fresh. It was not stale. It did not reek of the taste of containers. Indeed, it was the best water that the officer of the court had ever tasted. On Terennia, the water in certain town reservoirs, such as that in which the officer of the court had resided, tended to be heavy with the taste of various sanitizing chemicals. Chocolate, too, of course, of which the officer of the court had taken a considerable portion, and was eating even now, on her way to the stream, tends, predictably, to make one thirsty. "Fat!" called the salesgirl after her. "I am not fat!" said the officer of the court, angrily. The stream was not far from the camp, where the capsule was. The officer of the court walked through the trees. They were tall and thick, on both sides of her. There were many shadows at any time in that place, but there were a great many more now, as it was rather toward dusk. As she made her way toward the stream she finished the chocolate. She wiped her fingers on the thighs of her "same garb."

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Near the edge of the stream, no more than a few yards from it, she stopped. Ahead, a few feet back from the edge of the stream, fallen, she saw an object. She approached it more closely and discovered it to be the container which the woman in the pantsuit had borne toward the stream, to fill with water. Almost at the same time she heard, from her right, tiny, helpless, muffled sounds. She turned in that direction and saw, to her consternation, the figure of the woman in the pantsuit. Her back was to a large tree, and her arms were back, one on either side of the tree. Behind the tree her wrists had apparently been linked by some device, perhaps a foot of rope. The lower portion of her face seemed muffled in heavy cloths. The officer of the court did not know what to do. She took a step, a frightened, uncertain step, toward her, but the woman shook her head, wildly. Then the officer of the court thought she saw a shadow among the trees, and then another. The tiny, muffled cries emanating from the bound woman seemed clearly enough to constitute a warning. The officer of the court turned about and fled back toward the capsule. She broke into the small clearing of the camp, and her distraught condition startled and alarmed the salesgirl, who leaped to her feet. Breathless the officer of the court, her eyes wide, pointed back wildly toward the stream. She had no sooner turned back toward the camp, gasping for breath,

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than she detected, emerging from the opposite side of the camp, not far from the capsule itself, the stumbling figure of the young naval officer. It seemed he had been pushed forward. But she could see no one behind him. His upper body was swathed with rope. Cords had been tightened in his mouth, pulled back tightly between the teeth. "Run! Hide!” wept the officer of the court and she fled toward the capsule. The salesgirl, terrified by her demeanor, followed her. They hastily entered the capsule and closed the hatch, spinning the wheel which secured it. They crouched inside, in the darkness. "I can't breathe!" said the salesgirl. "Go outside," said the officer of the court, angrily. For a time there was silence about, and then the two young women cried out, suddenly, in alarm, startled by a sudden pounding of metal on the outside of the capsule. "They can't get in," said the officer of the court. "Who are they?" asked the salesgirl. The officer of the court crept to one of the tiny ports, something like four inches in diameter. "I cannot see who they are," she said.

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Then she drew back, because a stone, held in a fist, struck against the port. "They cannot get in," said the officer of the court, backing away. There was more pounding on the exterior of the capsule. They could also hear the external hatch wheel being tried. It would not open, of course, as the hatch had been sealed from the inside. Then there was more pounding at the port. After a time the heavy material in the port was chipped away. A stick was thrust into the capsule, jutting in, then rimming flakes of glasseous substance away. "We are safe," said the officer of the court. "They cannot enter." The salesgirl drew a deep breath. It was less stifling now in the capsule. Air could enter through the opened port. "Are they men?" asked the salesgirl. "I do not know," said the officer of the court. "Look!" said the salesgirl. "You look!" said the officer of the court. The salesgirl rose to her feet and timidly looked out the nearest port. She quickly drew her head back.

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"What are they?" asked the officer of the court, crouching on the floor of the capsule, anxiously. "They are men," said the salesgirl. "What sort of men?" "By their garb—barbarians," said the salesgirl, crouching down. "Be pleased," said the officer of the court, bitterly. "You will make a pretty little slave girl." "So, too, would you!" said the salesgirl. "I jest," said the officer of the court. "It is fortunate for us that they are barbarians. That means we have little to fear." "How is that?" asked the salesgirl. "As barbarians," said the officer of the court, "they will be stupid. They will have no patience. They will soon leave." "What if they do not?" asked the salesgirl. "They will,” said the officer of the court. "They are stupid.” "I have heard that barbarians enjoy making slaves of civilized women," said the salesgirl.

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"If they can get them," said the officer of the court. "What if they wait outside?" asked the salesgirl. "We have nothing to eat or drink within." "They do not know that," said the officer of the court. "I am afraid," said the salesgirl. "Do not be afraid," said the officer of the court. "They are barbarians. They are stupid. They will quickly grow weary of waiting, and depart. We will then leave the capsule, and escape. Nothing could be simpler." "We shall outsmart them," said the salesgirl. "Certainly," said the officer of the court. "We are far more clever than they are. We are civilized women." "How then is it," asked the salesgirl, "that we are bought and sold, and kept as helpless slaves, on so many worlds?" "It is quiet outside now," said the officer of the court. "What of Oona and the ensign?" asked the salesgirl. "We must think of ourselves," said the officer of the court. "They were stupid enough to permit themselves to be captured."

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"It seems very quiet," said the salesgirl. "Perhaps they have already left," said the officer of the court. The salesgirl stood up and looked through a port. "They have not left," she whispered. "Then they are not as impatient as I thought," said the officer of the court. "No," said the salesgirl. "They are even more impatient than you thought." "They are leaving?" "No." "I do not understand." "But they are not as stupid as you thought," said the salesgirl. "I don't understand," said the officer of the court. "They are bringing brush, and wood," said the salesgirl, "and placing it about the capsule." In a few moments the flames were roaring about the lower hull of the capsule.

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"I cannot breathe!" wept the salesgirl. "Ai!" cried the officer of the court, touching the side of the capsule. The officer of the court lifted one foot, and then the other, from the heated floor. The salesgirl wept with pain, wringing her hands. "What are we to do?" wept the officer of the court. "That has been decided for us, has it not!" cried the salesgirl. "What choice have we?" wept the officer of the court. "The only choice they have accorded us!" wept the salesgirl. "A slave's choice!" "Ohh," wept the officer of the court, crying, gasping for breath in the heated vehicle. Then she heard the salesgirl struggling with the hatch wheel. "Me first! Me first!" cried the officer of the court, thrusting the salesgirl aside. The hatch wheel burned her hand. Then she thrust it up. Her hands were burned on the rungs of the hatch ladder. The outside of the capsule had begun to glow redly.

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The officer of the court burst from the hatch, crying, and gasping for air. She felt herself seized in strong hands, on each side, and flung to the dirt on her belly beside the roaring fire heating the capsule. She turned her face away from the blaze. She felt her hands pulled behind her and tied there, securely. She was aware, too, of a similar fate befalling the salesgirl, who had followed her from the capsule a moment later. She was still gasping for breath, shuddering, on her belly, trying to pull her hands apart, when she felt a rope being tied about her neck. She turned about and saw that the salesgirl was bound, too, just as she herself was, and that she, too, now, had a rope on her neck.

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CHAPTER 18 "What irons are these?" inquired Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs. "My chieftain knows, surely," said Astubux. "They are slaving irons," said Otto. "Yes." "But surely not made by our smiths," said Otto. "No," said Astubux. "These are irons formed on other worlds, civilized worlds. They are such as are used by the Drisriaks to mark women for sale throughout the galaxies." "The flower," said Otto. "Yes, Master," said his slave, Janina. Her own thigh bore a not dissimilar brand. The chieftain considered the irons. They would leave behind a small, tasteful mark, but one which would be clear and unmistakable. "The slave rose," said Otto, the chieftain. This seems, incidentally, the first time, then in the village of the Wolfungs, that he was known by this name. It may be surmised that he chose it for himself before

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being lifted on the shields. The name, incidentally, was a common one in the Vandal nation, even at that time. Research has made that clear. It is not as though it only became so later. It is also interesting, in the light of historical studies, that he chose that particular name. It was one which had been borne generations earlier by Otung kings. "Yes, Master," said Janina, putting her head down. "How came they here?" asked Otto. "They were left by the Drisriaks, to remind us of their power," said Axel, who was the older, grizzled Wolfung warrior who had been with the hunting party which had first made contact with a marooned gladiator and slave. "When they come for tribute," said Astubux, "they pick out what goods they want, including women. Then they brand them before our very eyes." "They should be here soon?" said the chieftain. The sign had been burned into the forest two days ago. "I would say three or four days," said Axel. "They wish to give us time to gather together the tribute," said Astubux. "Twice we have fled, but they have always found us."

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"We flee no more," said the chieftain. "They are not pleased when we hide," said Axel. "They kill off men and take twice the tribute." "We hide no more," said the chieftain. "It was from the first vengeance that they denied us chieftains," said Astubux. "You now have a chieftain," said Otto. "I fear your tenure as chieftain will be brief," said Astubux. "It is I who will face them, who will bear the brunt of their wrath," said Otto. "Let us fly, Master," urged Janina. "I am chieftain," said Otto. "They need never know we were here!" said Janina. "Do you wish to be tied at the whipping post?" asked the chieftain. "No, Master!" said Janina. Quickly she withdrew to one side, and knelt, and put her head down.

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"You have a plan?" asked Astubux. "Yes," said the chieftain. "And if it fails?" "I fear then, good Astubux," said Otto, "you will once more be without a chieftain." "No!" said Astubux. "Things then, good Astubux," said Otto, "will be much the same for you as they were before, no better, no worse." "But we would have no chieftain!" said Astubux. "As before!" laughed Otto. "We will follow you, all of us, into the forest," said Axel. "Let us hide again." "We have hidden long enough," said the chieftain. "One day the Wolfungs must come from their forest." Then he went to the door of the hut, and looked out, over the palisade, toward the trees beyond, and the horizon, and the sky. "Let the Wolfungs be the first," said he. "What means my chieftain?" asked Astubux. "Nothing," said Otto. He regarded the sky, moodily.

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"Who knows,” said Axel, "what strands the sisters of destiny have woven into the rope of fate." "Last night," said Otto, "the skald sang not only of the Wolfungs, but of the Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, the Otungs." "The people, the nation," said Astubux. "You think long thoughts," said Axel. "Has it not been demeaned, and scattered and persecuted long enough?" asked Otto. "Yes," said Axel. "Is it not among the fiercest of warrior nations?" "It is the fiercest, and most terrible," said Axel. "It once was," said Astubux. "And has your blood grown thin and cold?" asked Otto. "Spears," said Astubux, "are no match for fire from the stars." "Unless we, too, can stand among stars, and grasp that fire," said Otto.

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"You have long thoughts," said Axel. "Yes," said Otto. "Is there a way?" asked Axel. "Yes," said Otto. "I fear the chieftain is mad," said Astubux. Otto turned about and lifted Astubux toward the roof of the hut, and laughed. "Yes," said he, "your chieftain is mad! Come, share his madness, and die a man!" "Better than to live as a filch!" said Axel. "I hear horns," said Otto, and he lowered Astubux good-naturedly to the floor of the rush-strewn hut. "I am not yet familiar with their signals," he said. "Tell me their meaning." "Do not attend to the horns," said Astubux. "Rather prepare for the coming of the Drisriaks." "What is the meaning of the horns?" asked Otto. Axel listened for a moment. "Prisoners," he said. "Prisoners have been taken."

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"What more?" asked Otto. "Three women, and a man," said Axel.

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CHAPTER 19 Otto sat alone in his hut. Outside, beef roasted on a spit. Beer, in drinking horns, was being passed about. From where he sat, Otto could hear, clearly, the blows of a smith's hammer. The huts of the chieftain's village, within the palisade, tended to circle about a rather large open space. It was larger than was required for the huts in the chieftain's village itself, and served as a place of assembly for not only the occupants of the chieftain's village, but of the several nearby Wolfung villages as well. It was in this open place that Otto, that being the name he had taken for himself, as we have learned, had been lifted upon the shields, to the clamor and acclaim of the Wolfungs. Too, the palisade of the chieftain's village was the stoutest of any of the villages, and his village, in case of need, was intended as a bastion of defense and a refuge for the Wolfungs for miles about. There were also supplies stored in the capital village, so to speak, which might alleviate the hunger of a great many people, in case of the failure of local croppage, or in the unlikely event of a siege conducted by men armed similarly to themselves. To be sure, a single blast from a Telnarian rifle would have blown the gate away. There was, at one point within the palisade, a deep well, which, within living memory, had never gone dry, even in the late summer. The largest hut, but primitive, as well, was the chieftain's hut, which had only

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recently been reoccupied. Its floor was strewn with rushes, but there were rolled skins and furs there, which might also, if one wished, be spread upon the floor. The roofs were thick, and thatched. The walls of most of the huts were of daub and wattle, but the walls of the chieftain's hut were made of timbers and roughly hewn planking. The interior area of the chieftain's hut, the roof supported by several posts, gave an area with a diameter of some fifty feet. It could house then, in council, the high warriors of the Wolfungs. Others, women, retainers, and such, could wait outside. There were also, within the palisade, and within the palisades of other villages, as well, coops, stables and pens for domestic animals, which we shall call, for purposes of convenience, chickens, cattle, sheep and pigs, such terms being sufficiently appropriate for our purposes. Many of these were gathered in at night. Some cattle, in particular, milch cows, as we shall call them, were housed with families, in their own huts. There were also, here and there, cages, mostly quite small, with thick iron bars. The Wolfungs had their smiths, you see, who attended to their metalwork, in particular, the forging of weapons, spearblades, and such. There were also other devices, such as log kennels and chaining logs. "My chieftain," said Astubux, appearing at the entrance to the chieftain's hut. Otto then rose to his feet and went outside, to the open place. He lifted his hand to the Wolfungs, who cried out upon seeing him, who raised drinking horns and spears in salute. Janina, who was now clad in the long, loose garb of a Wolfung

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woman, hurried to kneel beside him. "Here," said Astubux, gesturing toward the large chair, on a wooden dais, set up a few feet from the fire, where the chieftain was to have his seat. Across the back of the chair was flung the pelt of a forest lion. Skins of this beast, too, were strewn on the platform. Otto took his seat, and indicated that Janina, his slave, should kneel beside the seat, on its left. She hurried to do so. *** The officer of the court, the salesgirl and Oona, the woman in the pantsuit, knelt near a post in a hut, not far from the gate. It was dark in the hut but, clearly, outside, there were festivities. They could see, through the chinks in the daub-and-wattle siding of the hut, the flickering of a fire, the light of torches being carried about, such things. They could see bodies, too, like shadows, passing back and forth, the men in rough tunics of pelts, the women in their long dresses, of some plain cloth. There was an excellent reason why the three women knelt near the post. They had been roped to it, closely, by the neck. Their hands were still bound behind their bodies. The three women and the ensign, prisoners, had arrived in the village in the late afternoon. They had been immediately separated, the women put in this hut and the ensign taken elsewhere. Although the officer of the court would scarcely have admitted this to herself, she, and we may speculate the others as well, had been dismayed at the special

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selection, the special treatment, exhibited in this matter, at their being totally separated from the ensign. This keeping them together, without the ensign, did much to impress upon them, and quite acutely, that they were women. It made them, somehow, feel far more helpless and vulnerable than might otherwise have been the case. They were now merely captured women. Two large Wolfung females then entered the hut, one bearing a lamp. The one without the lamp removed the ropes from the prisoner's necks. Then she untied their hands. She indicated that they should precede her out of the hut. In a moment they were conducted between numerous men and women into the vicinity of a large fire, and knelt down before a rude dais, on which a chair had been set. The officer of the court shrank down, and put her head down, for, to her consternation, her astonishment and horror, she recognized the figure in the chair. She lifted her head a little and looked about. She and her fellow prisoners were the object of much attention, of both the men and women. She gasped. She saw Janina beside the great chair. She was kneeling there. How fitting for a slave! She hoped that Janina would not recognize her.

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Where was the ensign, the young naval officer? He was nowhere in sight. She hoped he had not been killed. She knew barbarians thought little of death. They lived with it. They were familiar with it. She remembered what had been done by the Ortungs on the Alaria, to the officer who had sat with them at the entertainment, to the captain, to his first and second officers, doubtless to many others. But she, and the insolent, vain salesgirl, and Oona had not been killed, at least not yet. That could have been done at the capsule. It would have been easy enough there. What did that mean? Please spare me, she thought. I will do anything! "You!" said the barbaric figure; in regal pelts, sitting on the chair, pointing. The officer of the court thought she might die, but she realized, then, that it was not at her that he had been pointing. "Stand," said the chieftain, "and come closer."

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The salesgirl, in the slacks and jacket, these garments now foul with sweat and dirt, trembling, stood up. She approached the dais. "What is your name?" he asked. "Ellen, milord," she said. "Free women," he said, "will be killed. Slaves, if found acceptable, may be spared, at least for a time." He regarded her. "Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, milord," she said. "What are you?" he asked. "I am a slave—Master," she said. "Remove your clothing," he said, "completely." The men watched intently, and so, too, fearfully, and then in indignation, and then in envy, did the officer of the court. She gasped, seeing that garments much like those hidden beneath her "same garb" had been beneath the jacket and slacks. She is a slut! thought the officer of the court. But how beautiful she is! thought the officer of the

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court. "Shall we keep her, at least for a time?" called the chieftain to the assembled Wolfungs. "Yes, yes!" they cried. Some pounded on shields with spears. Ellen, the salesgirl, sank to her knees to one side of the dais, trembling. "You!" said the chieftain, pointing to the officer of the court. She shrank back, hoping she would not be recognized. "Stand," said the chieftain, "and come closer." Numbly the officer of the court, on this remote world, in the presence of barbarians, rose to her feet. She approached the dais, and stood before it. She did not dare to meet his eyes. She hoped that he would not recognize her. "Free women," he said, "will be killed. Slaves, if found acceptable, may be spared, at least for a time." He regarded her. "Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," she said.

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She resolved to offer him defiance, to proclaim her freedom. Was she not in "same garb"? Was she not an officer of a court? Was she not of the honestori? Was she not of Terennia, where men and women were absolutely the same in all ways? Was she not of the blood itself? "What are you?" he asked. "I am a slave, Master," she said. "That is known to me," he said, in contempt. Her heart sank in misery. He knew her. He recognized her. Too, she had always known, even from the first moment his eyes had fallen upon her, seeming to see her, even though she was in the dark, voluminous robes of the court, as though she might be stripped and shackled on a slave block, that he had somehow pierced to the most profound secrets of her heart, discerning there her true self, the waiting, concealed, yearning slave. "Remove your clothing," he said, "completely." Almost fainting, wavering, her fingers fumbling with the closures, the officer of the court opened the drab, bulky "same garb" and then, shuddering, lowered it to her hips. "Ah," said a man. "Slave, slave," said a man.

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"You are beautiful," whispered Oona. The men were intent. The officer of the court then lowered the same garb to her ankles, and stepped from it. She heard an intake of breath. She looked at the chieftain. Then she sat on the ground and removed the bootlike shoes she had worn, and the long dark stockings. These stockings, as we may recall, had some purple thread sewn at their top, to show that she was of the blood. Then she had removed the brassiere and the panties. She then stood before him, and them, a stripped slave. "What was your name?" he asked. "Surely you know," she said. Then she said, "Tribonius Auresius." "That is a man's name," he said. "It is—was—my name," she said. "Why?" he asked.

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"My mother put it on me," she said. "Why?" he asked. "I do not know," she said. "Perhaps that I should think of myself as a man." "Are you a man?" he asked. "No," she said. "Did you try to think of yourself as a man?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "What are you?" he asked. "A woman," she said. "You are no longer permitted to think of yourself as a man," he said. "You must now think of yourself as what you are, a woman." "Yes," she said. "Yes, what?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "This one," he said to the crowd, "I will decide personally, whether

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she is to be kept or not, at least for a time." There was assent to this. The officer of the court then, frightened, knelt beside Ellen, both at the foot of the dais, and a bit to the chieftain's left. She did not even know if she would be kept, even for a time. Perhaps she could please him. Perhaps that is what he would want. Certainly he had looked upon her often enough in a way which suggested that he would not be displeased to have her at his feet. She shuddered, considering what it might be, to be at the feet of such a man. The woman in the pantsuit was then ordered to rise, and to approach the dais. She did so, slowly, frightened. The two slaves at the foot of the dais muchly feared for her. She, too, as the others, was questioned. "But none will be interested in me!" she wept. "Stand straight, put your shoulders back," commanded Otto. There was a coursing through the crowd, of admiration.

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"I am a slave, Master," she responded. "Remove your clothing, completely," she was told. "Please, no, Master," she said. "Strip," she was ordered, "utterly." She began to remove her garments. "And you will be whipped," he said, "for having dallied in response to an order." "No one will want me!" she wept. "Stand straight," he said. A man clapped his hands with pleasure. "Ah!" cried Axel. Oona had a striking figure. She seemed surprised, even startled, at the response of the men. It had not even occurred to her that she might be of interest. "Shall we keep her, at least for a time?" inquired Otto, laughing.

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"Yes, yes!" called men. Axel stepped forward, towering over Oona. "Are you a good slave?" he asked. "She does not smell, like the others!" called a man. "I will try to be the best slave I can, Master," said Oona, frightened. "I want her!" announced Axel. "Are there any objections?" asked Otto. There were none from the Wolfungs. "Kneel there, my slave," said Axel, indicating a place near the other slaves. "Yes, my master," said Oona, looking at him with awe, and stirred by feelings she had thought she might never again feel, save in her thoughts, and in her dreams. "Bring the other!" said Otto. In a few moments the ensign was brought, moving with short steps, before the dais. His ankles were shackled. It was the sound of the smith's hammer shaping these devices to his ankles to which the chieftain had listened, before emerging from the hut. A cloth, simple and brief, had been twisted about the loins of the ensign. It was not

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such that it might conceal a weapon. He stood before the dais, his arms folded. "These are slaves," said Otto, indicating the women kneeling to the left of the dais, as one would look outward from the chieftain's chair. "At least two are," said the ensign. "All are," said Axel. "Is it true?" asked the ensign of the women. "Yes, Master," said the former salesgirl. "Yes, Master," said the former officer of a court. "Yes, Master," said the other woman, the slave who had been put under claim by Axel, a counselor of the chieftain. "Are you a slave?" asked the chieftain of the ensign. "No," said the ensign. "That is known to me," said the chieftain. "What do you want of us?" asked the ensign. "The utility of female slaves is evident," said Otto.

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"And what of me?" asked the ensign. "You will work in the fields," said the chieftain. The ensign regarded him. "I think," said the chieftain, "that, in time, you may be worth a ship." "I am worth a thousand ships," said the ensign. Men whistled in awe. "Who is this?" asked Astubux. "Your name," said the chieftain. "I am Julian, of the Aurelianii," said the ensign. The men and women about looked at one another. This name meant little to them. It was, however, much like the names one tended to associate with the remote, mysterious empire. "Know, slaves and prisoner," said Otto to the four before the dais, the kneeling women, and the standing male, "that the forests about us are dangerous. They teem with beasts. Your safety, particularly in the night, depends on your being within the palisade. Too, there is nowhere to go, nowhere to run. There are no friendly forces, no imperial outposts, no escape for you, on this world. Do you understand?"

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"I understand," said Julian, of the Aurelianii. "I understand, Master," said the slaves, each, as his eyes fell upon them. "We will talk later," said Otto to Julian, of the Aurelianii. Julian nodded. "This prisoner," said Otto to men near him, "is to be kept in a log kennel at night. During the day he is to be used in the fields. See that he is worked long and hard." "We will do so, our chieftain," responded a man. "Take him away," said Otto. The ensign was then turned about and conducted from the presence of the assembled Wolfungs. "Let these two stinking slaves be washed," said the chieftain, indicating the former salesgirl and the former officer of the court. "Then let them all be tied at posts, to await the heating of the irons." "Yes, my chieftain!" said a man. "Now," said Otto, rising from the chair, and standing on the dais, "let the feasting begin!"

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*** "Please, no!" cried the former officer of the court, as she was forced down by two brawny Wolfung women into the wooden tub of cold water. She shrieked with misery, chilled, but was held in place. Sometimes she was bent double, her head forced under water, to make certain that the dirt in her hair might be soaked free. She rose sputtering from the water, shuddering and shivering. She moaned and protested, but was silenced with a blow, as heavy brushes were applied to her body, and not with gentleness by the free women, for she was a slave, and little love is lost between free women and slaves. In a nearby tub the former salesgirl, shivering, and whimpering and crying out, underwent a similarly abusive, rude scouring. The two slaves were then drawn from the tubs and dragged by their impatient attendants to short posts. There they were knelt down with their backs to the posts. Their ankles were tied together, behind the post, and their hands were taken up, and behind the posts, where their wrists were tied together, and fastened there, behind the post, to a ring. "I am cold!" wept the former officer of the court, but the women had left. Looking to her right she saw the former salesgirl at another post, similarly secured. Looking to the left she saw the woman who had been put under claim by Axel. She, too, was similarly secured. She had been there earlier, as she had not been subjected to a bath, it not having been deemed that she needed one.

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The former officer of the court looked up. "Master!" she said. Before her there stood, looking down upon her, a drinking horn in his hand, Otto, the chieftain of the Wolfungs. "They bathed me!" she said, appealing to him. "You do not expect us to brand a filthy body, do you?" he asked. "Surely I am not to be branded!" she said. "Look," said he, indicating, nearby, a brazier, glowing with heat. From the brazier there protruded the handles of three irons. Two men crouched near the brazier, tending it. "Please, no, Master," she said. "The word 'Master' fits well on your lips, very naturally," he observed. "You have known it would, have you not?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "How long have you known I was a slave?" she asked. "From the first moment I saw you," he said.

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"How?" she asked. "From your body," he said, "and from its movements, and from your least expressions." "What is the brand?" she asked, fearfully. "It is one common in the galaxies," he said, "the slave flower." "Do not mark me with that," she wept, "or I shall always be a slave. It is known everywhere!" "But you are a slave," he said. "It is fitting that your body be marked with the flower of bondage. No longer is your inner truth to be hidden from the world. It is rather, now, to be proclaimed, to be made public, to all, by that mark." "Will you keep me?" she asked. "Axel," said he, "will tie his disk on her neck." He pointed to the woman who was under Axel's claimancy. "What of me?" she asked. "She," said the chieftain, indicating the former salesgirl, "I will, at least for the time, take." The salesgirl looked wildly over at him, from her post.

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"But what of me, Master?" asked the former officer of the court. "Yes, what of you?" he asked. "Keep me!" she begged. "Why?" he asked. "I would be your slave!" she wept. "It is my intention," he said, "to put my disk on your neck, at least for a time." She tried to move toward him a little, but could not do so. He looked down upon her. "Do I have a name?" she asked. "No," he said. "Master!" she wept, but he had turned away. There were the sounds of much feasting. She watched the brazier, glowing in the shadows, as though it might be filled with jewels of fire. ***

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Astubux sat on the dais, a drinking horn in hand, and the chieftain had returned to his place there. "My chieftain," said Astubux. "Yes," said Otto. "What of the prisoner?" "His taking has muchly pleased me," said Otto, moodily. "You can add him to your plans?" asked Astubux. "His presence

here

considerably increases

their probability

of

success," said Otto. "Which, I gather, is slight at best," said Astubux, glumly. "Drink, feast," encouraged Otto. "And the slaves?" "I am thinking that two of them may figure in my plans, but only in a small way, as is fitting, as they are females, and slaves.” "Axel has the one who was called 'Oona,' " said Astubux. "Does it concern you that we have given her to Axel, who is one of

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my advisors." "Am I not, too, a counselor of my chieftain?" asked Astubux. "You looked closely upon the blonde, whose name was 'Ellen,' " said Otto. "What man would not?" "Would you like her, to tend your hut?" asked Otto. "Yes!" said Astubux, turning about. "She would probably know little about tending a hut," said Otto. "I could teach her quickly enough with the knout," said Astubux. "I am thinking of giving her to you in a few days," said Otto. "My chieftain!" said Astubux. "You would like her?" asked Otto, smiling. "Yes!" said Astubux. "She is only a slave," said Otto. "No matter!" said Astubux.

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"Your disk will be on her neck," said Otto. "But wait some days." "Yes, my chieftain," said Astubux. "More drink," called Otto. "What of the other one, the young brunette," asked Astubux. "I will, for the time, put my own disk on her neck," said Otto. "And what then?" asked Astubux. "I do not know what I will do with her," said Otto. "You seem angry, my chieftain," said Astubux. "She is a worthless slave," said Otto. "But surely a pretty one." "Yes," said Otto, angrily. "She would fetch a good price," said Astubux. "Perhaps I will sell her," said Otto. Then Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, put back his head and drank, and so, too, did Astubux, one of his counselors.

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Shortly thereafter there was a cry of pain. A few minutes later there was a second cry, much like the first. Then, a few minutes after that, there was a third cry, it quite like the first two. "The slaves have been marked," said Astubux. "Yes," said Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs. *** A nameless brunette, a slave in a primitive village on a remote world, was thrust into her master's hut, before him. She fell to the rushstrewn floor before his seat. It was a large hut, with posts here and there supporting the roof. There was a fire in the firepit. He sat then in the chair, and she looked up at him, from the floor. "Put more wood on the fire," he said. She found wood at the side of the hut. "Enough," he said. "Kneel here," he said, indicating a place before his chair. She complied. She put her hands on her thighs, but kept her knees closely together.

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He looked down upon her, moodily, angrily. She pressed her knees even more closely together. He did not speak. "I have been marked!" she said, suddenly. "Put your knees apart," he said. The slave did so, feeling strange sensations. On her neck, tied there, on a leather string, there was a leather disk. A similar disk was on the neck of the blonde, but she had been put in a cage. A disk, too, had been tied on the neck of the woman put under claim by Axel. She had understood that that was Axel's disk, marking her as his. He had then tied her hands together, with a leather strap, before her body, and then, with one strand of the strap, extending from her wrists, had led her to his hut. She had followed timidly, but had not held back. "Are you not frightened to belong to such a man?" the brunette had asked her, when the women, after their marking, had been crouching together. "Better to be owned for an hour by such a man," she had said, "than to live a lifetime with a weakling."

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Then she had been pulled to her feet, and Axel had put his disk on her neck. Then he had bound her hands before her. "Do not forget," had said the chieftain, "that she was tardy, earlier, in responding to a command." "I shall not, my chieftain," had grinned Axel. The brunette had then shuddered, for she recalled that the woman was to be punished for her laxity. She doubted that the woman would fail to profit from the lesson. Indeed, from even the thought of this lesson she and the blonde had already profited, having learned that these were not men such as they had hitherto known, that these were not men to be trifled with. Axel had then led the woman to his hut. Shortly thereafter they had heard the lash. Axel was sharp with her, but short. Axel, she gathered, was fond of the woman. He had wanted to do little more than let her know what the lash was like, and that it would be used upon her if she were not pleasing. Axel would be kind to the woman, but not lenient. She would not forget that she was a slave. She would be kept under perfect discipline. The chieftain had then had the two young women stand, and, from behind, he had tied the string about their necks, and each, then, was tagged with his disk. She wore it now, before him, but dared not touch it.

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She had been elated when the chieftain had had Janina conduct the blonde to a cage, and lock her therein. But then she had been terrified, when he had taken her by the arm, and thrust her toward his hut. She was within it now. They were alone. Janina was not present. She had been told to go to a certain hut. It was the hut where the three slaves had been kept, before being brought forth at the feast. Janina had not been pleased to go there. The brunette had smiled. She would have cause to regret that later. But, to be sure, the brunette was also apprehensive. She had never been alone with a man before, certainly not like this, not a slave with her master. "You are a long way from the court now," said Otto. She looked up. "And from the arena," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. Somewhere outside, beyond the palisade, there was a frightful roar, as of some great carnivorous beast. She trembled. "It is a forest lion," he said. "You treated me with insolence and cruelty," he said. "In the arena you had me bound. On the ship you attempted to embroil me in

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difficulties with Pulendius." Once again there was the roar from outside the palisade. "Do you wish to be put outside?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "One such as you," he said, "should not be fed to lions, but thrown bound to filchen." The filch was a tiny, rodentlike creature. They were omnivorous. In certain seasons they tended to run in packs, swarming over the ground like insects. "Please, no, Master," she said. "You are low, and petty," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "You look well where you are, kneeling naked before a man," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "It is where you belong," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

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"I hold you in utter contempt," he said. "Master?" she asked. "I had thought, once," said he, "you might have the makings of a worthy slave." "I do not understand," she said. She watched him draw forth a leather strap. "Lift your hands, wrists crossed," he said. She watched while her wrists were bound together. A loose end of the same strap extended from her wrists, leashlike, as it had from the wrists of Axel's slave. She was then pulled, on her knees, to one of the posts, and her wrists were tied to the post. "Master?" she asked. "You are frigid, aren't you?" he asked. "I do not know, Master," she said. "The lash," said he, "informs a woman that frigidity is not acceptable." "I do not think I am frigid, Master!" she said.

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"Oh?" he asked. "Try me," she said, looking back, over her shoulder. "Try you?" said the chieftain, amused. "Yes!" she said. "I have strange feelings! I have never felt them before, not like this, not with such intensity. I do not think I am frigid! I want to be in my master's arms!" "You," he asked, amused, "once an officer of a court, a woman of Terennia, ask to be taken in a master's arms?” Suddenly, helplessly, astonished, squirming, she pressed herself against the post. "Yes," she begged. "Yes!" "Surely," said he, "you do not think I have put you at the post merely to lash the ice away from your body?" "Am I to be whipped?" she asked. "Why?" "You were a slave by law when you submitted to me in the darkness, on the Alaria," he said. "But I did not enforce your bondage. I continued to respect you, according you honors appropriate to a free woman, to one of the honestori, even to one of the blood, and, as such, or as though you might still have been such, I did not gag you,

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for I had been given your promise that you would remain silent. But you lied to me. I accepted your word, and was betrayed. You cried out. You brought guards down upon us. We might have all been killed. You were a treacherous, lying slave." "Master!" she protested. "You could have been slain, as a lying slave!" he said. She looked back at him, in agony. "I learned then," he said, "that you were worthless, that you were meaningless, the least of slaves, the most contemptible of slaves!" "Not the whip!" she wept. "Be punished, worthless bitch!" he cried. But he struck her only a few times. Then he threw down the whip, in fury. Then he untied her from the post and she slipped down, beside it. He returned to his seat, and sat there, moodily, angrily. She lay crumpled, her legs drawn up, near the post to which she had been fastened. She could not believe what had been done to her.

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She had never felt a blow, until the abuse of the free women, when they had scoured her in the wooden tub, that her body might be fit to be branded. Now she lay at the post, on the rushes, a whipped slave. "I have been punished, have I not, Master?" she asked. "Your punishment," he said, "has not even begun." She rose to her hands and knees, and crawled to him, and then lay before him. She put his foot upon her head. "The slave begs the forgiveness of her master," she said. He pulled his foot back, angrily. "I ask only the opportunity to please you," she said. He did not respond. "Surely my body is not without interest," she said. She said this for she thought, the naive little fool that she was, that this would be what would be of most importance to him, a particular configuration, and not the delicious, sensitive wholeness of her, the total female and slave. She knew herself, of course, that the true depth of her bondage lay in her heart and belly, in her thoughts, in her devotion, in her heat, in her love, in her desire to serve selflessly, abandoning herself to the master, surrendering herself wholly to him,

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his slave, his to do with as he pleased. That her body might be beautiful, or exciting, or of interest, was a joy to her, surely, and, too, one for which she was grateful, for it helped her to express the inwardness of her bondage, of her love, for you see, from the first moment she had looked upon the titanic, fiery youth on Terennia, she had wanted him to want her, to care for her, to be attentive to her, to place her uncompromisingly in his chains, to own her, and fulfill her. "Let me serve you," she said. "What does a woman of Terennia know of serving a man?" he asked. "Teach me," she begged. "A taste of the whip, and you are ready to learn," he said, angrily. She put her head down. "Do you think I have brought you here to serve me?" he asked. "Master?" she asked, raising her head. "I brought you here only to denounce you, and chastise you," he said. "Let me prove to you that I am truly what you think me to be," she said. "And what is that?" he asked.

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"A slave, Master," she said. "And what sort of slave?" he asked. "A loving slave who would serve you with every bit of herself, with her whole body, her whole heart, with all that she is, and ever hopes to be!" "Clever slave," he sneered. "Master?" she asked. "Lying slave!" he cried. He cuffed her. She struggled to her knees, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked at him and felt, suddenly, a wave of fear, and hatred, and misery, and desire, and helplessness. "I have strange feelings!" she wept. "I cannot help myself! Treat me then, if you wish, as a hated, despised woman. Abuse me! Are you dissatisfied with me? Have I displeased you? Make me pay! Make me pay well! Ravish me. Subdue me. Teach me I am a woman. Leave me in no doubt as to the matter. Make me beg for more. But attend to me! Do not ignore me!" "And what are these feelings?" he asked.

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"I think—I think that I am in—in heat, Master," she said. "Yes," he sneered. "Even a woman such as you, one so vain, so petty, so meaningless, so contemptible, with a disk on her neck, will find herself in heat!" But then once again her helplessness, her vulnerability, her love, overcame her. "I am yours, totally, Master," she said. "Please be kind to me, my master," she begged. He rose from the chair and went to the portal of the hut. "Janina!" he called. "Janina!" In a few moments, summoned, Janina appeared at the portal. He indicated the brunette, now on her hands and knees, on the rushes, before the chieftain's chair. "Get this slut from my sight!" he said. "Cage her!" Janina rushed to a side of the hut and seized up a switch and ran to the brunette. She lashed down at her with the switch, and the brunette cried out in misery. "Get out! Get out!" said Janina. The brunette fled from the hut, switched. "That way!" said Janina. "There! Down on all fours!"

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"Yes, Mistress!" wept the brunette. "Get in it!" said Janina. A stroke of the switch hastened the entry of the brunette into the heavy but tiny cage. She turned about, on her knees, within, to see the door flung shut and the two padlocks, heavy, flung on the hasps, over the staples, and snapped shut. The brunette, kneeling, clutched the bars, looking up at Janina. "Earlier you smiled at me, when you thought to be alone with the master," said Janina, angrily. "Now I smile at you!" "Forgive me, Mistress!" said the brunette. "Janina!" called the chieftain, and the slave ran to him. In her cage the brunette lay down. It was cold. She wept.

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CHAPTER 20 At the rude table in the chieftain's hut sat four men, Otto, the chieftain, his principal advisors, wily, cynical, pessimistic, Astubux and stalwart, sage Axel, and the ensign, Julian, he of the Aurelianii. In the back of the hut a blond girl, who had once been a salesgirl on the Alaria, and whose name was 'Ellen,' that name now having been put upon her as a slave name, and another slave, one as yet unnamed, a brunette, knelt before their first girl, who was standing, whose name was Janina. Another slave, the only other slave in the village, was in the hut of Axel, lying naked on the furs, as she had been ordered, awaiting the return of her master. Her name was 'Oona,' that name having been put on her as a slave name. "The meal is prepared,” said Janina. "It is now time to serve it." "We know nothing of pleasing men," said Ellen to Janina. "Please teach us, Mistress," said the brunette. "The main thing is to be the slaves you are," said Janina to the two young women. "Bring food," said the chieftain. "Yes, Master," responded Janina. Janina was in the modest garb of the Wolfung woman, with its long

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sleeves, its high neck, and its long skirt, down about her ankles. Her two charges, however, the blonde and the brunette, were in improvised kebs, that form of garment in which Janina herself had been exhibited at the stake, during the contest on the Alaria. "Put forth the trenchers," said Janina. Her two charges rose up and, each taking two trenchers, went to the table, to begin the serving. The brunette dared not meet the eyes of the ensign, though she sensed them upon her, idly, as a man's glance may peruse a slave, appraising her. Astubux reached out and touched the hand of the blonde, who put the trencher before him. She drew her hand back, frightened, but then, quickly, put it forth again, that he might touch her, if he wished, for she was slave. Too, she trembled, a little. She was an intelligent woman and was not unaware that Astubux had several times looked upon her. When the free men had come to the hut, Janina, head bowed, had welcomed them. The lower serving slaves, in their revealing kebs, had knelt, putting their heads down to the rush-strewn floor of the hut. When the ensign had entered, unaccompanied, his ankles no longer shackled, clad now in a rough cloth tunic, the brunette had looked up at him, and then, quickly, put down her head. She had blushed scarlet.

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It was the first time he had seen her thusly, as a slave. "You do not have a radio?" said the ensign to the chieftain. "No," said Otto. "But the Drisriaks, the Ortungs, will have a radio. Do you think you could use it?” "I think so," said the ensign. "Their radios may even be stolen radios of the empire, or copies of such designs. At the very least I should be able to transmit some sort of primitive message." "Drink," said Otto, lifting a drinking horn. The brunette, head down, hastened to serve him. Otto drained the drinking horn. He put it to one side. "Your plan seems to depend on many variables," said the ensign. "On some, and on honor," said the chieftain. "Honor is a frail reed on which to rest hopes," said the ensign. "We are not dealing with those of the empire," said Otto. "Once we knew honor," said the ensign. "Timing is important," said Otto. "We must buy time. It is certain that the Drisriaks will not accept the secession of the Ortungs."

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"Your plan is to buy such time with what you call 'the challenge'?" asked the ensign. "Yes," said Otto. Otto regarded the brunette. She was beautiful in the keb, barefoot on the rush-strewn floor of the hut. Timidly, questioningly, she lifted the vessel she carried, just a little, that from which the drinking horn might be replenished. But he looked away from her. "Things might be much speeded up if a radio signal could be sent," said the ensign. "Precisely," said Otto. "What is a radio?" asked Astubux. "It is a device,” said the ensign, "which enables one to speak to those who are far away." "It must be very loud," said Astubux. "You understand, of course," said the ensign, "that I will attempt to contact an imperial ship." "I am counting on it," said Otto, grinning. "You do not fear that?"

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"It is part of my plan," he said. "But the Drisriaks will surely intercept such a signal," said the ensign. "Yes," said Otto, "and they are likely to be much closer than any imperial ship." "You are devious," said Julian. "The chieftain has long thoughts," said Axel. "Enough of that," said Otto. "What weapons do you have?" asked the ensign. "From the Alaria a rifle and a pistol," said Otto, "but both are without ammunition." "There is the pistol taken from me in the forest," said the ensign. "It contains only one charge," grinned Otto. "I know," said the ensign. "Slave!" snapped Otto. Quickly the brunette hastened to him.

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"Turn about," he said. The slave complied. "You do not mind?" he asked the ensign. "No, of course not," said the ensign. The chieftain removed the keb, tossing it to the side. "Turn about," he said. The slave turned to face him. Otto then lifted his drinking horn. "Drink," he said. "Yes, Master," said the slave. "I, too, would have drink," said the ensign. "Yes, Master," she said, and filled, too, the drinking horn of the ensign. "She is a pretty slave," said the chieftain. "Do you not think so?" "Yes," said the ensign. "Would you like to have her tonight?" asked the chieftain. "I could send her crawling to your hut, with a whip in her teeth.”

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The girl, in consternation, in mute, frightened, helpless protest, viewed the chieftain. She trembled. She knew, of course, that she could be assigned to whomever, and whenever and however, her master might please. "Perhaps, sometime," said the ensign. "But tomorrow I must be up early, for I have a long day in the fields." "I hear you work well," said Otto. "You have seen to it," said the ensign. "My chieftain!" called a voice. "Enter," said Otto. One of the Wolfungs entered, carrying a small bird. He brought the bird to the table, where Astubux removed a tiny message, a single sign, inscribed on a bit of leather, bound to the bird's left leg. "What is its meaning?" asked Otto. "The Ortungs will be here tomorrow," said Astubux.

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CHAPTER 21 "You have fed us well," said Hendrix, envoy of the Ortungs. Otto nodded, accepting the compliment. "The metal, the furs, the pelts piled here," said Gundlicht, second envoy of the Ortungs, "the grain, the vegetables heaped outside, are better than we expected to find." "But we have brought chains, too," said Hendrix. "We would not care to return with them empty." "How many women do you want?" asked Otto. "Assemble your women naked within the palisade, all of them," said Hendrix, "and we will pick fifty." " 'Fifty'!" cried Astubux. "You hid in the forest," said Hendrix. "Too, the markets are depressed now, with the wars, many women falling to the collar. We need more, to make up the difference. Too, it is a long way to take them to a world where they will fetch a good price." "Fifty is too many," said Astubux. "We will leave you enough to produce more," said Hendrix.

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"The Wolfungs are good breeders," said Gundlicht. Astubux sprang to his feet. But a pistol, suddenly produced from the holster of Gundlicht, the Ortung, was aimed at his heart. "How is it," asked Otto, "that you speak to Astubux, and not to me?" Astubux sat down. Gundlicht holstered the pistol. "He is spokesman for the Wolfungs," said Hendrix. "I am chieftain of the Wolfungs," said Otto. "They have no chieftain," said Gundlicht. "I am he," said Otto. "You have prepared, so far, excellent tribute, and you have fed us well, and your beer is good," said Hendrix. "So we are prepared to ignore the fact that you have, for a little while, pretended to be a chieftain." "I am chieftain," said Otto. "Give up the chieftainship," said Hendrix.

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"No," said Otto. "We do not permit the Wolfungs to have a chieftain," said Hendrix, menacingly. "Perhaps you would care to see a sample of the women in our village?" asked Otto. Hendrix grinned. "Why not?” he asked. The proposal seemed clearly to be a conciliatory one, a concessionary, disarming one, one offered to ease a tense moment. What was there to be feared, then, from the Wolfungs? "Ho!" cried Otto, to men outside. Some men entered, and spread pelts over the rushes on the floor of the chieftain's hut. Hendrix and Gundlicht watched with interest. The men then remained within the hut. "Ho!" called Otto, and then there entered the chieftain's hut a slim blond woman. She stood upon the pelts. She stood before the men. She wore a long wraparound garment fashioned from the cloth used for dresses and cloaks by the Wolfung women.

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Hendrix and Gundlicht leaned forward. She slipped the garment down to her hips, and turned away. Then she let it fall. "Ai!" said Hendrix, softly. "Ah!" said Gundlicht. Then she lay on the pelts, to the left of the men, as one would face them. "Ho!" called Otto, and a second woman, an exquisite brunette, entered, and turned before the men, and disrobed gracefully, similarly. Then she, too, lay on the pelts, but to the right of the men, as one would face them. "Ho!" called Otto, and the third of the women, who was Janina, entered. She came well forward and then turned away, and then, some feet from the men, slipped the garment away. "Turn about!" cried Hendrix. She did so, seemingly demurely, her head down and to the side, one foot toward them, the other to the right, this turning her hip out. "Come closer!" cried Hendrix.

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"Aii!" said Gundlicht. Janina, you see, was a trained slave. Then she lowered herself to the pelts before them, and looked first to her left, to the blonde, this being the signal for Ellen to move upon the pelts, and as a slave. Astubux almost cried out with pleasure. Ellen's movements had been to some extent rehearsed, and coached by Janina, of course, but she was in her own right a man's dream of pleasure, and one who, now liberated by bondage, and joyfully choiceless in the matter, was excitedly and meaningfully one with her sexuality. No longer, as a slave, need she be forced to fight her sexuality, or fear it, or suspect it, or feel anxiety about it, or guilt. She could now utilize it, revel in it, express it, joyfully, to her heart's content. Then she lay again on the pelts, seductively, as one might have in the sawdust on a large, rounded, smoothed slave block, hearing the bids, and knowing oneself an unusually attractive object of desire. Janina then turned her head to her right, to the brunette who lay there, and the brunette, too, casting first a glance at the chieftain, began to move on the pelts, and as a slave. Her movements, in a sense, were directed to the chieftain, constituting in one sense a brazen, shameless exhibition of slave

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charms, but perhaps in another, a secret plea for his attention. The former officer of the court, now a stripped slave, performed on the pelts before her master, writhing, twisting, turning, displaying his property to him in its manifold, luscious aspects. In one instant their eyes had met, but only for a moment, and doubtless not noted by others. "I am yours," had said her eyes. "I beg to be wanted." "Excellent!" said Hendrix. "Superb!" said Gundlicht. Then the brunette lay upon the pelts, on her stomach, her head down, it turned to the side. She was breathing heavily. Janina then performed before the men. "Marvelous!" breathed Hendrix. "Aiii!" cried Gundlicht, in disbelief, in mad pleasure. Then Janina, too, lay before the men, she on her back, breathing heavily, her left knee raised, the soft palms of her hands upward. "Are not such women worth ten of the normal sort?" asked Astubux. "Do not think we will take less than fifty!" said Hendrix.

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"But those three will be among the fifty!" said Gundlicht. "Certainly," said Hendrix to Gundlicht. "And," inquired the chieftain, "does not even the normal free woman undergo a remarkable transformation when she becomes a slave?" "Yes," said Hendrix. "They do." Astubux clenched his fists. "They are women," Otto reminded Astubux. "We will take these three, and others, fifty others, of your most beautiful women," said Hendrix. "That would be fifty-three," said Astubux. "True," said Hendrix. "These three," said Gundlicht, indicating the slaves on the pelts, "have already been branded, doubtless with our irons." "One, she most before you, was already branded," said Otto. "We used your irons for the other two." "Our thanks," said Hendrix. "You have saved us the trouble of marking them."

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"Would you like the blonde, for yourself?" asked Otto of Hendrix, who was the first among the two envoys. "Yes!" said Hendrix. "Astubux," said Otto, "I give her to you." "Thank you, my chieftain!" said Astubux. Hendrix regarded the chieftain, startled. "Hurry to your master," said Otto to Ellen. Quickly she sprang up and ran to kneel beside Astubux. She looked up at him, frightened. She did not know what sort of master he would be. She did know she belonged to him, totally. She put down her head and kissed his feet. "Is this some joke?" asked Hendrix. "The other two, she most before you, and the other, the small brunette,” said Otto, "are both mine. They will continue to wear my disk." Janina looked gratefully at the chieftain. So, too, did the brunette, so small and helpless, stripped before the men, on the pelts. "I do not understand," said Gundlicht.

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"I have shown you hospitality," said Otto. "It is now time for you to return to your camp." "But the women, the tribute," said Hendrix. "There is no more tribute," said Otto. "We have brought these things here, the furs and such, and outside, the produce, and such, merely to give you some understanding of the wealth of the Wolfungs, to indicate to you that we might pay an excellent tribute if we were so minded, but we are no longer so minded." "No tribute?" said Hendrix, incredulously. "No tribute," said Otto. "It seems," said Hendrix to Gundlicht, "that the Wolfungs have had a chieftain long enough." "Before you pull the trigger," said Otto, regarding the pistol in Gundlicht's hand, "I suggest you look to your right and left.” Glancing about Hendrix and Gundlicht saw, to their left, a fellow with a Telnarian rifle. The Wolfungs on the other side of the hut moved well away, out of the range of fire, for a blast from the rifle would take the wall itself from the hut, in a blaze of fire. On the other side Hendrix and Gundlicht saw two men, each armed with a fire pistol. "We can destroy your village," said Hendrix. "Your villages."

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"But of course you would both be dead then," said Otto. "Where did you get such things?" asked Hendrix. "From our source of supply," said Otto. "They are not with charges," said Hendrix. "They are empties, discarded weapons. They have no ammunition." "Give me a pistol," said Otto. He put out his hand toward one man. He knew, of course, the pistol he needed. Otto took the pistol in hand, and held it to the head of Hendrix, who began, suddenly, to sweat. "Shall I pull the trigger?" he asked. "Do as you wish," said Hendrix, sweating. The chieftain then moved the gun away from Hendrix and aimed it at the floor of the hut. He pulled the trigger, and there was a sudden torrent of fire which fell between Janina and the brunette slave, both of whom screamed and spun away. Between where they had lain there was now a deep, narrow, smoking hole. The charge had burned through the pelts there, and the rushes, and tore down, into, and through, the floor of the hut itself. Some small rocks glistened in the sides of the trench. Some others, like droplets, now cooling, lay in the

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bottom of the trench where, for an incandescent moment, they had been molten. There was the smell of burned hair from the pelts, strong in the hut. The charge fired, of course, had been the single remaining charge in the village, that which had remained in the ensign's pistol. Again Otto held the pistol to the head of Hendrix. "Shall I pull the trigger?" he asked. "No," said Hendrix. Otto handed the pistol to the fellow who had held it before. "Take this message to your lord, Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, who calls himself king of the Ortungs," said Otto. "Tell him that there is no more tribute from the Wolfungs, but if he wishes to have a reconciliation, he may send us gifts, gold, weapons, and women. We shall then consider such a reconciliation." "Reconciliation?" said Hendrix. "The Alemanni and the Vandals have been hereditary enemies for ten thousand years!" It may be recalled that the Drisriaks were one of the tribes of the Alemanni, of which, traditionally, there were eleven, that number not including, of course, the Ortungen. The Wolfungs were one of the five tribes normally taken to constitute the Vandal nation. The largest and fiercest tribe of the Vandals was, or was once, the Otungs, but this tribe, in wars with the empire, had been muchly decimated, and its remnants had been scattered here and there throughout the empire, sometimes as little more than castaways, sometimes as federates.

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"As you wish," said Otto. Hendrix and Gundlicht rose to their feet. "Before you go," said Otto. "Leave your weapons." He indicated one of the Wolfungs, a man standing to one side. Hendrix and Gundlicht glanced about themselves, and then, angrily, handed their belts, with the holstered pistols, to the indicated Wolfung. "One more thing," called Otto, addressing the departing pair, when they neared the portal. They turned, in fury, to regard him. "Ortog, your chieftain, who calls himself king of the Ortungs, is put under challenge by Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs." "You are mad," said Hendrix. "We can destroy your forests, your world," said Gundlicht. "He is put under challenge to personal combat," said Otto. "That is absurd," said Hendrix. "Chieftain to chieftain, as in days of old, not forgotten," said Otto.

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"Such things have not been done for a thousand years," said Gundlicht. "The challenge is issued," said Otto. "Chieftains do not so risk themselves," said Hendrix. "He may, of course, choose a champion," said Otto. "The idea is preposterous," scoffed Hendrix. "Are not the Wolfungs an acknowledged tribe of the Vandals," asked Otto, "one whose legitimacy is unquestioned?" "Ah," said Hendrix, softly. "Who are the Ortungs?" asked Otto. "Do they exist?" "In such a way, before all the Alemanni, and in the eyes of all the barbarian tribes, one might perhaps establish the legitimacy of the secession," said Gundlicht. "Certainly," said Otto. "If the Wolfungs, of the Vandals, recognize the Ortungs as a legitimate tribe of the Alemanni, who could, with any plausibility, decline to do so?" "You tempt us," said Hendrix. "Convey the challenge," said Otto.

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"No," said Hendrix. "In honor, how can you refuse to convey the challenge?" asked Otto. "In honor, we cannot convey it," said Hendrix, rather regretfully. "How is that?" inquired Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs. "No provocation could be adequate to justify accepting such a challenge," said Hendrix. "Axel," said Otto. Axel then brought forth a bundle. Otto took it from him, and opened it. He carefully took, in one hand, the jewelry, the necklaces and bracelets which were within it, and held them up, dangling, to view. He then, retaining the jewelry in one hand, took the garments in two hands, the one holding the jewelry, the other free, and shook them out, displaying them. "You recognize these?" he asked. "That is the jewelry, those are the robes, of the princess, Gerune!" exclaimed Hendrix. "I put them upon a slave, on the Alaria, that slave!" said Otto, indicating Janina, who shrank back, beside the trench in the hut floor,

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not at all pleased with the turn events were taking. "You dared to put such garments upon a slave!" cried Hendrix, in fury. "Is it true, mere slave?" asked Otto of Janina. "Yes, Master!" she cried, in misery. "On a branded slut?" asked Hendrix. "Yes!" said Otto. "And the princess Gerune herself I marched before me, naked and gagged, and bound, on a rope, through corridor after corridor of the Alaria, exhibiting her, as one might a slave, before hundreds of the warriors of Ortog!" "No!" cried Hendrix. "Surely," said Otto, "you have heard secret whisperings of these things in your halls, in your drinking places, in your hangars, on your ships. Surely they are whispered even by your ship slaves." Hendrix and Gundlicht exchanged glances. "Take these things to Ortog," said Otto, bundling them. "Let them serve as witness to the truth of what I say. Too, tell him that his sister looks better without them, as I have seen her several times, kneeling at my feet."

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"Dog!" cried Hendrix. Otto cast the bundle of jewelry and clothing, wadded, and soiled, into the arms of Hendrix. "Convey the challenge!" said Otto. "It will be conveyed!" cried Hendrix. "And convey as well my greetings to the princess Gerune," said Otto. "And tell her that I did not think her body would be entirely displeasing as that of a slave, and that I may one day have her as such at my feet." "Dog! Dog!" wept Gundlicht. He took a step forward, but Wolfungs interposed themselves. "Come, Gundlicht," said Hendrix. "Insults such as these are best answered in the ancient way, with steel." They then turned on their heels, and left. "Have you not forgotten your tribute?" called a man after them, from outside. "It is done," said Astubux. "Are you a dog?" smiled Axel.

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"Once," said Otto, "but I am now Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs." "They can destroy the world," said Astubux. "That would not avenge the insult," said Otto. "No," said Axel. "That would be insufficient to avenge the insult."

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CHAPTER 22 "The forests are quite beautiful," said Julian. He, the chieftain, Astubux and Axel, and four slaves, who had been brought to carry food and drink, had climbed to the top of the high, wide rock whence, several days ago, the chieftain, then a mere fighter, a gladiator, and a slave, Janina, and Astubux and Axel, and certain others of the Wolfungs, had watched the sign of the Ortungs being burned into the forest. One could still see the tracks of the ravaging of the forest, where it bore, still, like a brand, the mark of the Ortungs. Otto, the chieftain, looked up, into the blue sky, filled with clouds. "We have heard nothing for several days," he said. "No," said Astubux. "I wonder if your signal was heard," said Otto to Julian. "It was transmitted, I am certain," said Julian. "One does not know." "It was quiet," said Astubux. "I did not hear it." "The hearing of the imperial fleet, and of the Drisriaks, may be keener," said Julian. Astubux shrugged.

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"Leave us," said Otto. He and Julian then remained on the summit of the rock. "Should the imperial fleet arrive," said Otto to Julian, "you are free, of course, to go." Julian nodded. "The slaves, of course, will remain," said Otto. "Of course," said Julian. "They are slaves. We know the law." "The empire is wondrous," said Otto. "I stand in awe of it." "It extends over galaxies," said Julian. "It is the most magnificent invention of all time." Otto was silent. "It must not be lost," said Julian. "It is eternal," said Otto. "It has always been, and will always be." "There was a time before the empire," said Julian. "My family was there, long ago, at the beginning." "You love the empire," said Otto.

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"It is threatened," said Julian. "The empire is invincible," said Otto. "It must be defended." "Surely it is in no danger," said Otto. "Men must be found, fearless men, true men," said Julian, "to defend it." "It needs no defense," said Otto." "Barbarians are outside, threatening her," said Julian. "The men of the empire accept her privileges, her luxuries, but decline their responsibilities, their duties." "Men will be found to defend her," said Otto. "There must be men capable of facing barbarians, of standing up to them," said Julian, "men as ruthless, as terrible, as implacable as the foe itself." "Barbarians to fight barbarians?" asked Otto. "Who will fight for the empire, not against it," said Julian. "You would bring in wolves to protect sheep?" asked Otto.

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"It is a gamble," said Julian. "I see no other way. The sheep cannot protect themselves." "Why are you speaking to me in this fashion?" asked Otto. "Ortog thought you an Otung, on the Alaria," said Julian. "Yes," said the Chieftain. "I am curious to know who you are," said Julian. "Surely you are curious, as well." "Yes," said Otto. "Otungs, of the Vandals, over a generation ago," said Julian, "were defeated, for the third time, in the eighteenth imperial war, during the reign of Halban. Most were destroyed in the war. The remnants, captured, were disarmed and scattered about galaxies. The survivors of the fiercest and most dangerous of the Otung clans, the Elbi, were settled on a remote, perilous world." "For what purpose?" "To raise crops for the empire," said Julian. "Is it not amusing, that the hands of warriors, hands that knew the spear and sword, would now be set to the hoe and plow, to raise food for the worlds of their conquerors?" "No," said Otto.

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"But I have reason to believe that these people, if they have survived, and certainly the other remnants, as well, have maintained an oral tradition, in which they sing their history, and the deeds of their heroes.” "They have not forgotten themselves?" "No," said Julian. "Interesting," said Otto. "I wonder if we will emerge from this alive," said Julian, studying the sky. "I do not know," said Otto. "The Alemanni are numerous," said Julian. "The empire fears them." "The empire need fear no one," said Otto. "Do you know what the Alemanni are called within the empire?" asked Julian. "No," said Otto. "The Aatii," he said. "I did not know that," said Otto.

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"On the Alaria," said Julian, "you defeated Ortog, a Drisriak, of the Aatii, the Alemanni." "He will not fight again," said Otto. "He will select a champion. The champion will choose weapons with which I am not familiar." "But you defeated Ortog, in personal combat, with steel," said Julian. "That is the sort of thing barbarians understand, and respect. It means more to them than watching screens and fighting at distances of thousands of miles apart." Otto shrugged. What the citizen of the empire had observed was undoubtedly true. "From where do you come?" asked Julian. "From a small festung village, that of Sim Giadini, on the heights of Barrionuevo," said Otto. "On what world?" asked Julian. "Tangara," said Otto. "That is the world," said Julian, "to which the remnants of the fiercest and most dangerous of the Otungs, the Elbi, were exiled." “Interesting," said Otto.

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"Indeed," said Julian, "it was to that world that the very king of the Otungs himself was exiled, who was of the Elbi." "Interesting," said Otto. "If we should survive what is to come, I would like to go there with you," said Julian, "to learn who you are." "Why?" asked Otto. "The empire may have need of men such as you,” said Julian. "But what if I should be an Otung, a Vandal?" asked Otto. "It is my hope that that is what you are." "Brother Benjamin, of the festung of Sim Giadini,” said Otto, slowly, "may know something of my origins." "That is a clue," said Julian. The two men then descended from the high rock and rejoined the others, at its base. The men, with the exception of Julian, of the Aurelianii, the ensign, wore pelts. Julian wore a rough tunic, as before, of cloth. The three slaves all now wore long cloth dresses, much like those worn by the Wolfung women. The dresses, however, were sleeveless, that their lovely, rounded arms might be displayed. They were, after all, slaves.

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Each had hung about her neck, fastened there on a string, a disk, on which was inscribed the sign of her master. These disks were round, and of leather, and the string which supported them was of leather, as well. Each disk was pierced once, and in the piercing there was a tiny leather loop. It was through this loop that the string was run. In this way the disk hung evenly at the base of the throat. It was easy to lift the disk and see the sign. Their feet were wrapped in rags, to protect them from the needles of the forest, and the stones. "You may go ahead," said Otto. Axel and Astubux, and Julian, turned their steps toward the village. Axel was heeled by a strikingly well-figured woman, his slave, Oona, and Astubux by an exciting, slender blond slave whose name was Ellen. These slaves heeled their masters perhaps somewhat more closely than was necessary, but they desired to be close to them. Both were burdened, each carrying on her back certain objects, supported there with an arrangement of straps, containers in which food and drink had been brought, rolled cloaks, and such, things with which the masters did not care to inconvenience themselves, their hands being left free for the use of weapons. When the men had fed they had been served by the slaves. The slaves, though serving the food, were forbidden to touch it themselves. They might, however, take it from the hands of their masters. Three of them, Oona, Ellen and Janina, were thusly fed by hand, drink, too, being held for them by their masters. One, an unnamed brunette, knelt to one side. Her master, from time to time, when it occurred to him, would toss a bit of food to the grass before her, which she must take, touching it only with her mouth. A pan of water was also set forth for her, which, too, she must

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not touch with her hands. "Thus does a bitch eat and drink," she was told. "Yes, Master," she had said. Exquisite, beautiful, trained Janina went on for a little way, but then stopped, some yards away, and waited. Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, looked down on one of his slaves. "Prepare to bear your burden," he said. "Master!" she begged. "Perhaps you are overdressed?" he asked. She looked up at him, in agony. Often, in the privacy of his hut, and even publicly, when she had served table, and men feasted, she had been stripped. "I enjoy seeing you, and your brand, slave," he had sometimes said. "Yes, Master," she had said. How far away was Terennia! And how great the gulf between the slave and free! But in all the cruelty, and all the contempt, he had shown her, he had never touched her, save to administer an occasional blow, or reprimand, usually with the back of his hand.

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At night she was returned to her cage, though she was now permitted a blanket. "What is wrong?" he asked, for tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You have not touched me," she said. "I am a slave. I am now only a helpless slave! I would be touched!" He regarded her. "I beg mercy, Master!" she said. He did not speak. "I am not what I was. Surely you must understand that!" she wept. "I am now only a slave, your slave. I beg to be taken in the arms of my master!" He did not speak. "Is that not a purpose to which a slave is to be put?" she asked. He did not speak. "I am hot, and lonely, and in need. I am on fire with the love of my master, and he will not deign to touch me, save to strike me!"

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He did not speak. "You have not even named me!" "True," he said. "I would be named," she said. "You have not earned a name," he said. "Give me an opportunity to earn a name, Master," she begged. He turned away from her. "Bear your burden," he said, not looking at her. "Yes, Master," she whispered. He went down the trail, and was followed by Janina. The nameless slave, weeping, then fixed her burden on her back, and held it there, by the straps. Then she hurried after the party, which was already some yards down the trail. Overhead the sky, as of now, was clear.

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The CAPTAIN (The SECOND book in the Telnarian Histories series) (1992) A novel by John Norman

June 2009 : Paperback Title: The Captain (Telnarian Histories, Vol 2) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 1585867217/ 9781585867219 (USA edition) Publisher: E-Rights/E-Reads Ltd

September 1992 : Paperback Title: The Captain (Telnarian Histories, Vol 2) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 0446362549 / 978-0-446-36254-2 (USA edition) Publisher: Warner Books

The Captain John Norman *** This book is dedicated to all who disapprove of censorship. ***

PROLOGUE "And then the ships departed, leaving behind them ashes." -The Annals. Again I have chosen to begin with an excerpt from the Annals. It is an excerpt not untypical of the dark and troubled times. One who has lived in, or knows only, times of sheep will find it difficult to understand times of wolves. In this account is continued a story, drawn from the dark and troubled times. The dark and troubled times were times of wolves. Again, it must be clearly kept in mind that I do not write to edify or instruct, nor to praise or blame, nor even, really, to explain, or understand. I am not sure, you see, what are the criteria for understanding, how I might, so to speak, know if I understood, or only thought I understood, and perhaps did not really understand. Who can understand himself, or others, truly? Surely, at least, it is hard for the heart, as for the eye, to look upon itself. It is always, so to speak, behind its own back. Too, perhaps, in the end, there is no understanding, no more for us than for the tree, or rock, only that we think that we understand, that we have that illusion, that natural, comforting illusion, much as sap might flow in the tree or molecules sleep in the rock.

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In short, know, dear reader, whoever you may be, that you are loved, but know, too, that I strike no bargains with you. It is not my business to tell you what you want to hear, nor to reassure you that the cosmos, and time and space, and substance, and right and wrong, if they exist, are tidy, safe, and cataloged upon your shelves. I do not know the measure of man, nor can I, unlike so many others, weigh his soul, and mark out the boundaries of his heart. I do not know what is best for him, nor if what is best for him is right or wrong, nor if right and wrong, in their thousands, are something that he has not yet decided, or something that was decided for him, long ago, by the movements of molecules in the primeval nebula. So it is not my business to assure you that the world is as you would like it to be. It is not I, you see, nor you, but the world that has the last word on such matters. So let us, given these cautions, and reflections, reverencing reality, and expecting no more than it is willing to give, patient with mystery, resume our story. It takes place, as we noted, in the dark and troubled times, in a time of broad-winged vultures, and long-maned lions, of processions, of marches with arms, of dark ships, soft in the night, and fires, and ashes, in a strange and dreadful time, a turbulent time, one when life was harsher and more terrible, and perhaps more real than now. This is a time when men lived by their wits and strength, and cunning and skill, a time when marches were long, and weapons so sharp that, as it was said, they could draw blood from the wind. In this time there were men, and women, and other creatures, and it was a time of endings, and beginnings, of battles and cities, of harvests and burnings, of taverns and brothels, of long voyages and bustling

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markets, in many of which beauty had its price, and times, too, here and there, well worth remembering, today so far from mind, of fidelity, of discipline, and honor, and courage. Doubtless it was a dangerous and terrible time in which to live, that of endings and beginnings, and yet,

interestingly

enough,

nowhere,

in

all

the

Annals,

and

contemporary documents, not in the letters, the heroic lays, the skaldic verses, the chronicles, the tracts, the myths, the tales, the saints' lives, the accounts of captains, the songs of chieftains and kings,

the

treatises,

the

sagas,

the

simplest

commemorative

inscriptions, nowhere that I can determine, do I find regrets expressed that one lived then. Nowhere, as far as I can determine, did anyone express a desire that they might have existed in another time. How inexplicable is so simple a thing! One wonders how such a thing may be. In a time of sheep men may fail to notice that they are alive, or, at least, may take it muchly for granted, or not pay much attention to it, but, it seems, that is not the case in a time of wolves. And the dark and troubled times were, as we have noted, such a time, a time of wolves. In such a time, if nothing else, men and women were alive.

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Note: Earlier, in a previous manuscript, we included certain commentaries and speculations having to do primarily with historiographical matters, which it would be inappropriate to reiterate here. At this point we will note only that the chronology of the accounts seems obscure. There are, of course, many difficulties in dealing with the problematicities of time. Similarly the multiplex labyrinths of space, it is occasionally speculated, perhaps idly, may enfold one another, or retrace their passages. It is possible, too, one supposes, that there are dimensions other than our own, and that the tiers of reality may exceed our horizons, which we take, naturally enough, like the rodent and insect, to constitute the termini of being. Perhaps there are parallel, or intersecting, universes, or dimensions. This possibility, absurd though it may be, suggests the possibility of points of connection with our own world, perhaps even "corridors" or "gates." Too, some speculate that the Telnarian world, in some obscure sense, may be our own world, and not another, that it lies somehow in our own past, or, perhaps, future. Perhaps it was once our world, and has grown apart. Perhaps we are branches on the same tree, and as we grow toward the stars, or doom, we can hear, from time to time, the rustle of one another's leaves in the darkness. But such speculations are doubtless absurd. Therefore we dismiss them. Lastly I might mention that we have, on the whole, followed the chronicler's, or chroniclers', if that should be the case, divisions of the manuscript.

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CHAPTER 1 "Remove her clothing," said the connoisseur. "I see," said the connoisseur. "She is not mine," said Julian, of the Aurelianii, speaking to the connoisseur. "I would like, as a favor, for a friend, as a surprise for him, to have her informed, enlightened." "Trained?" asked the connoisseur. "Well trained," said Julian. "Exquisitely?" "Surely." "Until she becomes fully what she is, explicitly, manifestly, and can be nothing else?" "Yes." "One wonders," mused the connoisseur. "It is my expectation," conjectured Julian, "that she might prove acceptable." "That seems possible," said the connoisseur. "Is she alive?"

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"I do not know," said Julian. There was a sudden, soft, startled, involuntary, timid, shamed, helpless cry. "Keep your hands at your sides," said the connoisseur. There was an intake of breath. Then there was another small cry, suddenly, much like the first. "She will moan well," said the connoisseur. "Excellent," said Julian. "Kneel, with your head to the floor," said the connoisseur. "She will require attention, and frequently," he said. Julian looked down at her. "I leave the matter then in your capable hands," said Julian. He then turned about and left.

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CHAPTER 2 "Look!" cried a citizen. Fellows about him laughed. "It is a bumpkin from an ag world," cried the citizen. "Where did you get those frocks!" cried another. The giant raised his hand to his forehead, and, with the back of his hand, wiped away the rage of sweat. This was not, of course, Telnaria, the home world, but was a summer world. Flies swarmed about his face. It was different in the cool, dark forests of his tribe, taken to be that of the Wolfungs. It was one of five related tribes, the others being the Darisi, the Basungs, the Haakons and the Otungs. The Otungs was the largest and fiercest of these five tribes. It was also considered the parent tribe of these five tribes. It had been muchly devastated, long ago, as had its brethren tribes, in wars with the empire. We may think, collectively, of these five tribes as constituting the nation. There were many such nations, composed of diverse tribes. This particular nation, in which the Wolfungs, the Otungs, and such, figure, was a nation not regarded, at that time, as one of great importance, particularly after its defeat in various wars. This particular nation was that of the Vandals. Few people, at that time, had heard of it. The etymology of the name has been elsewhere discussed. The expression 'nation' is

Page 7

here used advisedly, but not, I think, inappropriately. The expression 'folk' or 'people' would doubtless be more judicious but we are here dealing with political matters and in such a case it seems more apt, for our readers, to speak of "nations." Too, there is a tendency, perhaps now too ingrained to be ignored with impunity, to speak of "nations" in these matters. There are some differences, however, which are not unimportant. In particular, the relation a member of one of these tribes has to the tribe, or the people, or folk, or nation, is not to be understood as being identical to that of a citizen to his state, though there are doubtless similarities. The state, in a sense, is an artificial nation,

a

contrived

nation,

a

legal

construction,

relying

upon

conventions acknowledged, and observed, a theoretically voluntary organization, though, to be sure, it may confront the citizen with all the practical irrefutability and implacable solidity of a given datum, a condition of being, a law of nature, a family or species. The relation of a citizen to a state is usually construed, at least in theory, as a contractual one, either implicitly or explicitly, as in uttering oaths of allegiance, and such. The relationship within the tribe, on the other hand, is not contractual, neither implicitly nor explicitly, no more than that of being brothers. One does not participate in a tribe, but one is of the tribe, much as one finds oneself, through traditions of blood, one of a family, or line. Tribes consist of clans, and clans of families, and thus one is speaking, here, when one speaks of tribes, of complicated and extensive networks of human relationships, and predominantly blood relationships, though in many cases of an extended and tenuous sense. The state rests upon law, and the tribe on blood. One cannot, in the ordinary course of things, cease to be a member of tribe, any more than one can cease to be the son of one's father. To be sure, certain caveats must be entered. For example, one may be accepted into a

Page 8

tribe, and then one is truly of the tribe; and one may be cast out of the tribe, and thus be no longer of the tribe; and one may repudiate the

tribe,

and

thus

remove

oneself

from

it.

Here,

in

such

considerations, we find that the tribe bears analogies to, for example, the obtaining of citizenship, the loss of citizenship, the repudiation of citizenship, and such. The tribe is thus, in a sense, analogous to a biologically founded state. It is thus, actually, not simply biological, not simply a matter of blood, and, at the same time, it is more than an abstraction, a matrix of legalities, a creature of convention, profound or otherwise. There are, of course, many other differences, and many other commonalities, as well. It may be useful to mention some, as it may render more intelligible some portions of what follows. Custom is important in the tribe, and law in the state, though it is a matter of degree, for the state, too, has its customs, and some tribes, at least, have their laws, though usually the laws in such tribes are unwritten, and are the province of the law-sayers, who must, in many such tribes, memorize the law, and are responsible for reciting portions of it at gatherings, to keep it in living memory, usually a third of it at each annual gathering. Thus the men in such tribes will hear the law as a whole, from its sayers, once every three years. In many tribes, on the other hand, the court of law is the hut of the chieftain, and its statutes and codices are his whims. Better put, perhaps, in such tribes there is no law, but there is the will, the decision, of the chieftain. Citizens are often literate, while tribesmen are less often so. But, of course, there are illiterate citizens and literate tribesmen. Men who can read and write are often kept, like interpreters which, in a sense, they are, in tribes, to aid in the conduct of business, and in transactions with other communities. Although tribes are diverse, as are men, and hanis leopards, it is frequently the case that a distinction is drawn within the

Page 9

tribe between what we may think of as the aristocracy and the yeomen, so to speak, between the high families and the ordinary free men. In the empire, distinctions obtain between, similarly, the honestori and the humiliori, the higher, honored classes and the commonality. Within the honestori falls the patricians, which includes the senatorial class. These relationships are more volatile, and more subject to mobility, than those within the tribe. For example, one may ascend

to

the

honestori

by

appointment

or

acceptance,

an

appointment or acceptance often consequent upon unusual service or merit, or, in some cases, it is rumored, consequent upon the provision of favors, moneys, and such. The coloni, or tenant farmers and laborers, fall, obviously, among the humiliori. So, too, do individuals bound to certain occupations or to the soil, whose numbers were increasing in recent times, due to the needs of the state to stabilize the population, primarily to assure a continuation of necessary services and, more importantly, a reliable, locatable tax base. Slaves need not be mentioned here, no more than cattle, and sheep, as they, too, are domestic animals, a form of livestock, some of which are quite lovely. There are many other differences, and similarities, between states and tribes, but it would be tedious, and impossible, to attempt to enumerate them in a genuinely useful manner, as the factors are numerous, and as states differ among themselves, as do tribes. A last remark or two will, however, be helpful. Some think of the tribe, or folk, or people, as having a certain mystical aura. Doubtless it does. But the reality here is doubtless far more profound than any trivially conceived

mysticism

could

perceive,

as

it

rests

upon

genetic

profundities, whose origins lie in the immemorial past, long before shambling creatures began to shape stones and scratch their dreams on rocks. What may lend the tribe, or folk, or people, its somewhat

Page 10

mystical air is that tribality has presumably been selected for, biologically, bonded groups, mutually supportive, and such, tending to have a considerable advantage over more anarchic social aggregates. In war, for example, in times of fear and danger, would one rather have at one's side a stranger or a brother? We have spoken of the tribe as being rather like a biologically founded state. It would be more accurate, perhaps, to think of the state, or at least the successful state, as being rather like an artificial tribe. Consider the attempts to induce, artificially, a sense of tribality, of community, or brotherhood, among disparate individuals, the reliance on symbols, on conditioning, on myth, and such, anything to increase and consolidate devotion to, and loyalty toward, a given set of practices and institutions, anything to increase social bonding. And then, of course, there are the clever individuals who manage, after a time, to see what is obvious, and then exultantly denounce such tribality altogether. This is the shallow rationality, but not the deeper rationality. What is not understood is that belonging, community, tribality, such things, lie within the nature and needs of many men, and that to mock these things, or to deny him these things, and, indeed, many others which are as much a part of him as his backbone and heart, is to deny him, to rob him, of a part of himself, without which he cannot be whole or human. He who has no people, no unit, no brethren, no tribe, so to speak, no loved ones, no family, what can he be? One requires more to be a man than the ability to add and subtract with rapidity. To the side of history, forgotten, lie the bones of scoffers, and shallow mockers, together with those of the groups to whose disintegration they dutifully and gladly contributed. What can one be without a unit, without a tribe, without a people? Must one not then be more than man or less than man? Surely such a one, one so alone, if contentedly so, must be

Page 11

either a god, or beast. But there are other men, men alone, of course, and many of them, men with no place, no state, no tribe, those who have asked directions of gods, and failed to receive them, those who have interrogated beasts, but could not obtain guidance. They do not know who they are; they do not know if there is a place in which they belong. They are not the scoffers, the mockers. They are far from such lost, weak ones. They are strong ones, and some are terrible ones. They are rather the far walkers, the wayfarers, the searchers. It is not that they repudiate their brethren; rather, on long roads, and in distant places, they search for them, But such reflections are gloomy. Let us leave them. "Ho, behold the bumpkin!" cried a fellow, pointing to the giant. The giant did not think it would need chains to hold the fellow. A cord would suffice, as it would with a woman. The giant followed his companion through the streets. Aromatic herbs, in this district, had been crushed and scattered on the stones. The emperor was now in residence, here, on this summer world, in one of the many summer palaces. Indeed, it was just that manywalled domicile, with its polychromatic, labyrinthine geodesies, which constituted the destination of the giant and his companion. "Lout, boor!" called another fellow. But they did not approach more closely. It was easy for them to be bold, at a distance, and, too, for the guards, a squad of nine, with rifles, who accompanied the giant and his companion through the

Page 12

streets. Perhaps they thought that the giant was a prisoner. But he was not such. Had that been wished, it might easily have been managed in other places, and at other times, on the first ship, for example, on which they had taken their leave from the Meeting World. "Cur, clod!" cried a man. The giant wondered how the fellow might stand up against an ax attack. "It is not far now," said the giant's companion. In this district, near the summer palace, no vehicular traffic, save for official vehicles, usually armored, was permitted. It would have been too easy to approach the walls, and the metal of the vehicles might have masked the metal of weapons, and the vehicle might have served as a launching weapon, or as the weapon itself. The giant enjoyed walking, and movement, and running, as after bark deer in the forests, for sport. One could pursue the delicate beast for hours at a time, and then, at the end of the hunt, when they lay helpless, gasping on the leaves, lungs heaving, unable to move, eyes wild, one could kill them, or let them go. Sometimes one carried them back to the village, on one's shoulders, to pen them and see to it, later, that they were mated, thence to be released, pregnant, to the forests, later in soft glades to deliver wet, awkward fawns, destined in time to be the swiftest of the swift. The eggs of hunting birds, too, were sometimes stolen from nests, to be hatched by vardas in their coops, the hatchlings later to be trained to the wrist and thong. Many

Page 13

were the pastimes, and sports, of the forests. And high among them, one of the most pleasurable, was the mastery, and use, of female slaves. These, too, at the master's discretion, could be judiciously mated. "Lout, peasant!" His large frame had been cramped in the seat cubicles of the snakelike limousine which had brought them from the hostelry near the port to the pomerium of the sacred district, within which lay the summer palace. "Soil worker! Peasant!" The giant had indeed, at one time, been a peasant, a denizen of a small village, a festung village, the festung village of Sim Giadini. It is in the vicinity of the heights of Barrionuevo. This range is located on the world of Tangara. He did not understand why the work of the peasants, or the peasants themselves, should seem so scorned here, and by such a dirty, ragged swarm. Did they not eat? Did they not owe their lives, in a sense, to the labor of such as he once was? Were they so much better than they upon whose labor they depended? Did they think it easy to guide the plow, to turn heavy soil, to harrow and disk the fields, to judge seeds, to plant properly, in suitable times and places, to toil long hours, when one's back was nigh onto breaking, to resist a relentless sun, to hope for rain, which might not come, to be so hungry at times, to have to yield the tithes to the lofty festung of Sim Giadini, almost lost in the clouds of the heights?

Page 14

"Get back!" cried his companion, gesturing toward one of the bolder of the unsolicited escort. But he did not care to touch him. "It is not that they believe you are a peasant," he said to the giant. "It is merely a term of abuse." They continued on their way. The peasant had not been born in the festung village. He did not know where he had been born. He had left the village after killing a man, one named Gathron, who had been his best friend. He had broken a post over his back, and watched him die, at his feet. Gathron had attacked him, and Gathron had been his best friend. This was something which the giant often remembered, that one does not always know, really, who is one's friend and who is not. The squabble had been over a woman. That, too, had never been forgotten by the giant, that it had been because of a woman that the business had come about. He regarded women as dangerous, untrustworthy, and tantalizingly delicious. They were to him as another form of life, one excruciatingly desirable, one against whom one must always be on his guard, one which must be managed, controlled, and kept strictly in its place. The place of woman, such delicious, dangerous, precious, despicable, desirable creatures, was at the feet of man, rightless and powerless. This was the decree of nature. Free, out of nature, they will bite at you, and scratch at you, and diminish you, or destroy you, owned, within nature, on the other hand, deprived of power, no longer dangerous, they find themselves suddenly with a different vocation, that of, with trepidation, and zeal, in fear of their lives, devoting themselves eagerly to your service and

Page 15

delight. The answer to the riddle of woman, and the key to her happiness, is the chain and whip. She must never be allowed to forget whose hand it is that holds the leather over her. "It is rather," said the friend, "that they see you are different, that you are clad differently, that you carry yourself differently, that you walk differently, that you look about yourself differently." The giant nodded, and brushed away flies. They tended to move toward the eyes, which were moist, and sparkled. Sometimes they encircled the eyes of babies in their cradles, tilted there, peering within those flickering orbs, like restless, tiny, winged crusts. The giant supposed that he did seem different. It is often that way with animals, he knew, that one which is different, the goat among sheep, the hawk among vardas, the lion among wolves, is marked out for abuse, to be bitten, or driven away. Such things were doubtless owing to the mysteries of being, to those cruel principles or laws without which life might never have emerged, amoral and hungry, from prehistoric colloidal films. "Bumpkin!" cried another fellow. "See the clothing!" cried another. And so a strange beast, among other beasts, is viewed askance. "Lout!" cried another. "Who is your tailor, bumpkin?" called another.

Page 16

His clothing, true, a rough tunic, of pelts, belted, with leggings, was not of the city, but fit rather for the forests of his world, affording its protection against wind, and cold, and brush, that between the meadows and the depths, and, with its mottled darknesses, like shadows, permitting him to stand unnoticed within five yards of the bark deer, that lovely, delicate sylvan ungulate. The pelts were those of the forest lion. Such came sometimes even to the edges of the fields, and, in the winter, softly, to the palings of the stockade itself. The giant had killed the animal himself, with a spear. He had gone out alone. This is not intended to elicit surprise. It was not that unusual. Indeed, in many tribes, a young man was not permitted to mate within the tribe unless he had given evidence of skill and courage, until he had demonstrated his worthiness or prowess to experienced older men, hunters and warriors. One way of accomplishing these things, or providing such evidence, was to slay such a beast, or, in daylight, an alerted foe. Sometimes the young man comes to the hut of the father, to sue for the hand of a daughter. "I hear a lion in the forest," says the father, if he approves of the young man, though there may be no such sound. The young man then rises gladly and leaves the hut. He does not return until he brings with him the pelt of such a beast. Thongs from the pelt will be used to bind the wrists of the daughter in the mating ceremony. The mating, you see, is understood as a binding of the woman, and it is done that she may understand her relationship to the male, as, in effect, that of a captive to her captor, that she is to please him, and such. As she is a free woman, her wrists are usually bound before her body. This is to honor her, and show her importance, for it is common to bind those of a slave behind her body. Upon the pelt, of course, the mating is later consummated. In such fashions,

Page 17

with many variations, with diverse tests, and such, do the Wolfungs, and many similar tribes, take care to supervise the breeding within the nation. "Bumpkin!" cried the fellow, running at the side. "Do not mind him," said Julian. About the neck of the giant was hung a rude necklace, of the claws of the lion he had slain. It was but one of many which had fallen to his spear. "Boor, lout!" "It is not just that you are different," said his companion. "They fear you, for they have heard of the troubles at the borders, the loss of stations, the incursions which have reportedly taken place, though denied officially." "I am not of the cities," said the giant. "I offered you silken robes, even a uniform of the guards," said his companion. "It is hot," said the giant. He pulled at the laces of the tunic, opening it, baring his chest. "Sherbets and ices will be served in the palace," said his companion.

Page 18

"I do not like being without a weapon," said the giant. "Only authorized personnel may carry such in these precincts," said his companion. "Too, do you think that small blade would protect against the blast of a rifle?" "No," said the giant, thoughtfully. But he knew that men such as he, in places, men not so different from himself, had such weapons. Let those of the empire consider that. There was considerable obscurity having to do with the antecedents of the giant. Though he had been raised in a festung village, he did know that he was not of the village, only that, somehow, he had been brought there, as an infant. Neither he himself, nor his companion, knew his origins. His body, it might be noted, was quite unlike that which one tends to associate with the peasantry. That was of interest. It did not have the same heaviness, or dullness, or stolid massiveness that one tends to associate with those who, for generations, have grown congruent with the life and demands of the soil. Whereas the bodies of the peasants might be likened fancifully to rocks or trees, patient and weathered, his seemed, if one may fancy things so, more bestial, more feral, or leonine, enormous perhaps, but yet supple, agile, subtle, swift. It was capable of movement as sudden and unexpected as that of the vi-cat. Similarly his mind was quite unlike that of the typical denizen of a festung village. It was inquisitive and active, complex and subtle. It was not patient; it was not accepting, not unquestioning. It was the sort of mind which wonders where roads

Page 19

lead; the sort of mind not content with close horizons. Too, the emotional makeup of the giant had little in common with that of the peasants. It was high-strung, touchy, fiery. He was not patient. He was quick to anger, and, when angry, could become quite dangerous. Lastly, perhaps most interestingly, and most surprisingly for one raised in a festung village, he seemed to have a kinship with weapons, taking to them, and handling them, as naturally as the lion might make use of its teeth, the leopard of its claws, the hawk of its beak and talons. These things seemed in him a matter of instinct, or blood, rather than one of training. It was as though his heritage might have been, oddly enough, shaped by skills with such things, rather as the swifter and more terrible, the more agile and ferocious beasts, those most successful in their pursuits, their hunts and wars, survive, to master and rule, and to replicate themselves, thus transmitting, casually, thoughtlessly, in a moment's pleasure, such significant, terrifying genetic templates to succeeding generations. How is it that the duck can swim, that the bird can fly, and that some men can seize a wrist, or parry a blow, or instantly, exactly, without the least hesitation, strike? In any event, it does not seem that the giant was of peasant stock. His, it seems, was a darker, more terrible, blood. "Soon, at the end of this street, then the plaza," said the companion of the giant. To their right, as the group, consisting of the companion of the giant, the giant, the officer of the guard, and the guards, advanced down the street, it approached a pair of women, one dark, one fair, wellbangled, richly silked, with golden sandals, lounging against a wall.

Page 20

"Handsome guardsmen!" called one of them, the fairer one. "Recollect us!" called the other, enticingly. The fairer one drew back her silks, a little, as the group approached, that an inviting flank might be glimpsed. "Slaves?" asked the giant of his companion. "Prostitutes," said his companion. Then the group had passed the women. "Then they will keep their own earnings?" said the giant. "Yes," said his companion. The giant had thought perhaps that they might have been slaves, put out by their masters, to be beaten if they did not bring back coins. But then, it was true, they were rather overdressed for slaves, and they were not collared. And slaves thusly put out might have a small coin box, metal and locked, chained about their neck, or ankle, into which their earnings, destined for the master, would be placed. "They should be slaves," said the giant. "Certainly," said his companion. "Begone! Back to your pigs, peasant!" cried a fellow, growing bolder.

Page 21

It was he concerning whom the giant had wondered how he might stand up to an ax attack. As they made their way through the streets the giant looked into various windows, where shutters might be open, or curtains spread. These windows were well above the street level, like most in this city, but

one

could

form

some

conjecture

of

the

riches

of

the

compartments, from hangings and such. Here and there, too, a shelf might be espied, on which reposed vessels of silver and gold. The world from which he had come but months before, and Tangara, on which he had been raised, where lay the festung village of Sim Giadini, at the foot of the heights of Barrionuevo, were poor in such things. This was a rich world, exceedingly rich it seemed to the giant, and it was only a summer world, not Telnaria itself. And there must be many such cities, and worlds, within the empire. "Hold," said the officer of the guard, lifting his hand, near a barrier. A guard station was there. "Permission must be obtained, for weapons to be carried from this point to the edge of the plaza," said the giant's companion. "Even those of our guard?" "Yes." "At the edge of the plaza?"

Page 22

"We shall there be met by guards from the palace, to escort us farther." A woman was to the right, near the wall of a whitewashed building. Richly was she garbed, in embroidered leel. Wealthy then must be her station. No prostitute she. The giant, with a glance, stripped her in his mind, removing the leel, cutting the straps of the undergarments, pulling them away. She was not then different from the other women. He would put them all on the same chain. He did not think that there would be much to choose between them, when each, in turn, ascended the slave block. Such look well, he thought, carrying vessels, collared, naked, their hair not permitted binding, serving warriors at their feasts. She spun away, angrily. She did not walk badly, he thought. In a moment the officer of the guard had cleared the group for its progress. It again moved down the street. The giant looked back, and noted that the woman had stopped, and was standing there, angrily, her robes pulled closely about her, and was looking after them.

Page 23

The most insistent, most insulting fellow, he who seemed the leader of the jeering, petty, pestiferous escort, he concerning whom the giant had conjectured of cords and axes, with others, one pressing closely behind him, competing with him for attention, inserted himself into even greater proximity. He was perhaps emboldened by the guards' seemingly straightforward attention, renewed now in the march, which ignored, or seemed to ignore, him and his fellows, Not so much as a rifle butt had been raised against him. Perhaps, he was now emboldened, too, by an aegis of citizenship, recently awarded universally on this world as a gift of the emperor, on his visit. The apartments in this area, closer to the plaza, and to the palace, were even richer and more lavishly appointed than their only somewhat more distant predecessors. The giant wondered what occurred in such apartments. Muchly were they different from the huts of the forest, many of mud and sticks. The giant was not overly enamored of material possessions, saving as females slaves counted as such. He was interested more, though he would not have said so at this time, in the riches of power. He who rules those with wealth is richer by far, you see, than those he rules. Yet the giant was not insensitive to the beauty of precious stones, nor that of rare, glittering metals, no more than to that of owned women.

Page 24

In his way, thus, he was not insensitive to riches. And he knew that many men, those deprived of them, were far more sensitive to them than he. And they meant power. Too, for some reason, it seemed there was some sort of odd prestige connected with them, as though those who possessed them thought themselves somehow superior to those who did not. The giant did not like that. "Lout!" cried the fellow, almost intruding himself among the guards. "Do not mind him," said the companion of the giant. The giant, seemingly not noticing, marked the fellow's position. It was casually done. Riches cannot, in themselves, be a sign that one is superior, thought the giant, for it seems obvious that many who possess them are not superior. "Bumpkin!" cried the man. Do those of the empire regard themselves as superior to us because

Page 25

it is they, and not us, who possess such things? "Lout, lout!" Perhaps, thought the giant, wealth, the rule, riches, such things, should belong to those who are superior, but, if that is the case, then surely they should not belong to men such as these, running along, harrying us with their ridicule, shouting, carrying on like smug, arrogant, invulnerable rats, thinking themselves so safe within the walls of the empire. Perhaps, rather, riches belonged rightfully, if to anyone, to those who were truly superior, to the masters, to those who were strong enough to take them, and keep them, much as it was fit that the first meat at the great feast went to the greatest warrior, the greatest hero, at the long table? "Lout! Lout!" Even if riches did not betoken superiority, truly, there might be some point in removing them from those who thought they did, that such might thus be denied the pretext for their pretensions, that they might see themselves as they were, truly, rather like removing clothing from a woman, that she may then understand herself as what she is, among men. "Lout, peasant!" cried the fellow. The giant again brushed away flies. "Lout!"

Page 26

But it might be pleasant to own such things, and to give them away, thought the giant, with a lavish hand, as rings, fit for the wrist and arm, to cup companions. Yes, thought the giant, there are reasons to want riches, many reasons. "What are you thinking about?" asked his companion. "Nothing," said the giant. "You are impressed with the empire," conjectured his companion. "Yes," said the giant. The giant, you see, had seen much, even in his brief time on this small, mere summer world, much which had impressed him, and variously, the ships of the empire, her weapons, quite redoubtable, muchly to be feared; her riches, almost beyond his dreams; her citizenry, on the whole to be scorned, her women, many not without interest. A shadow at his right darted toward him. In the instant of movement it had not been the most intrusive, vulgar fellow, but he who had been behind that fellow, at his shoulder, pressing in, competing for attention. It was he, the second man, rushing in, to outdo his compeer, who was suddenly lifted, croaking, eyes bulging, from the ground, his feet kicking wildly, his throat in the grasp of the giant.

Page 27

Instantly the tiny mob fell back. The hands of the suspended fellow pulled weakly at the hand of the giant. "Do not kill him," said the giant's companion. "Would you have dared to touch me?" asked the giant. The kicking fellow, as he could, the hand on his throat like a vise, shook his head, negatively. The giant then took two steps to the side and thrust the helpless prisoner of his grip into the stone of the wall. This was done with great force. He released the unconscious body. Hair was matted to the wall. A smear of blood on the wall, slowly placed there, traced the passage of the fellow to the stones of the street. "Is he dead?" asked the officer of the guard. "I did not choose to kill him," said the giant. The head of the fellow, clearly, had the giant chosen, given his grip and his power, might have been broken against the wall, as one might have shattered an egg. The guards looked on, in awe. Some yards away now stood he who had been the leader of the small mob which had clung to them in the streets.

Page 28

He stood there, white-faced. "Do not kill him!" cried the companion of the giant. The giant regarded the fellow. No, he did not think he would stand up well against the ax attack. "No," cried the companion of the giant. "Civilitas! Civilitas!" The ragged fellow turned about and fled. The giant looked after him. He did not think the fellow could run far, or well. He thought he could be overtaken shortly, or, if one wished, pursued slowly, until he collapsed, panting, helpless, terrified, like the bark deer. That might be amusing. Then one could kill him. "No, no! Do not kill him!" cried the companion of the giant. He, you see, knew the giant better than the others present. "Civilitas!" But the giant did not pursue the running figure. "What do you think would be his wergeld?" asked the giant of his companion, looking after the scurrying figure in the distance. "In the empire there is no wergeld," said his companion.

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"I do not think it would be much," said the giant. The concept of wergeld is one which is familiar in many societies. It is, in a sense, a man-price, and it serves, in its primitive fashion, paradoxically, on the whole, to reduce bloodshed and crime. One may not kill with impunity, you see, for one must be prepared to pay the man-price of a victim to his people, his family, his relatives. Wergeld differs from man to man, depending on such things as lineage, standing in the community and wealth. A yeoman, you see, would have a lesser wergeld than, say, a noble, one of high family, and so on. But if the noble were to slay a yeoman he would be expected to pay the wergeld apportioned to such a deed. The wergeld may be paid in coin, in animals, and so on. Wergeld tends not only to protect men, for they thus cannot be slain with impunity, but, even more importantly, it tends to prevent the lacerations and slaughters, sometimes devastating and well nigh interminable, disastrous to communities and families, and clans alike, which otherwise would be likely to accompany the blood feud. The matter, in theory, is done when the wergeld is paid. To be sure, some advantage here lies with the rich, who can best afford to pay wergeld, but even they, as is well know, are not likely to part lightly with their horses or sheep. "Civilitas," said the companion of the giant, gently. "Ah, civilitas," said the giant. Was it not civilitas which made the empire truly the empire? Was this not the true gift of the empire to the galaxies, that which, when all

Page 30

was said and done, formed the true justification of its existence, that which was most precious in it, and of it. Did this not, this shining thing, civilitas, exceed the legions and the bureaucracy, the ships, the camps, the armament; did it not exceed and redeem the imperialism and the greed, the ferocity, the incandescent worlds, the exploitation and the cruelty; that is the meaning and glory of the empire, civilitas, had taught Brother Benjamin, who, to be sure, was no champion of the empire. Understand by this term 'civilitas' more than it can be said to mean, for there is more within it than can be said of it. It is one of those terms, like 'friend' or 'love', which can never be adequately defined. But understand in it, in part, at least, the unity of the highest of those hopes hinted at by words such as balance, order, proportion, harmony, law, indeed, civilization itself. It can be thought of, at least in part, as what can divide peace from war, justice from fraud, law from

license,

enlightenment

from

ignorance,

civilization

from

barbarism. It is an ideal. It would perish. The giant looked about himself. The fellow who had been the leader of, or foremost in, the tiny mob which had accompanied them in the streets, had now disappeared, having beaten his rapid retreat away. His fellows, some ten or twelve others, hung back. He did not think they would further follow. One of their number, as we have noted, lay at the foot of a stone wall, unconscious. He lay beneath a crooked smear of blood, which he had painted with his own body, with the back of his head, on the surface of the wall. The giant noticed, nearby, the woman, she in embroidered leel, whom he had seen earlier. She had apparently turned about and, angrily, had followed the group, for what reason he knew not.

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Again their eyes met. "Lout!" she hissed at him. Ah, he thought, she is angry that I regarded her, at the barrier, at the guard station. She looked about herself, contemptuously, at the fellows about her. "Cowards! Filchen!" she scorned them. It has been our usual practice in this narrative to use familiar expressions for resembling life forms, or, perhaps better, life forms occupying similar ecological niches or being employed for similar purposes as life forms with which the reader may be presumed to be familiar; for example, we speak, unhesitantly, of cattle, of sheep, and such beasts, but it would be useful for the reader to understand that the animals so referred to would, in most cases, not count as the cattle, the sheep, and such with which he is more likely to be familiar. The primary justification for this practice is its utility in avoiding a distractive multiplication of nomenclatures and a prolix delineation, presumably not in the best interests of the narrative, and certainly not required for its general intelligibility, of specific and generic differences among dozen of types of creatures, many uniquely indigenous to their own world, though, to be sure, also, many of which may now be found, thanks to interstellar transportation, authorized or not, intended or unintended, understood or inadvertent, on many worlds. Occasionally we do use particular names for these creatures, particularly when there seems some point in doing so. The filch, for example, is a furtive, small, gnawing, rather rodentlike animal. We have not spoken of it as a rat, or mouse,

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however, because in alternate generations it is oviparous. When we do speak of rats, or mice, for example, as we feel free to do, those terms are used of animals which, on the whole, would be more biologically analogous, or at least somewhat more so, to the "rats" and "mice," and such with which the reader is presumed to be familiar. The uniformity of viable habitats, given planet-star relations, distances and such of diverse types, and the principles of convergent evolution would seem to be, in such cases, relevant considerations. In such matters, we beg the reader's indulgence. "Filchen," she cried to the citizens about her. "Filchen!" She then looked boldly at the giant. "Barbarian!" she said. That was the first time that that expression had been used of him, in the streets. To be sure it was doubtless because of his appearance, the manner in which he was clad, and perhaps, too, the manner in which he carried himself, so unapologetically, so unregenerately proudly, that he had been so pursued in the streets, and so belittled. "Let us be on our way," said the companion of the giant. "Wait," said the giant. Why had the woman followed the small company, he wondered.

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He took a step toward the woman, not to threaten her, but merely to approach her. She shrank back, but then stood her ground. The tiny group about her, the fellows on which she had heaped her scorn, fled back. It was almost as a swarm of flies might have withdrawn from the movement of a hand. He did lift his hand, but to brush away flies. He took another step toward her, curious. "I am not afraid of you!" she said. He stood still, looking at her. Then a small, supercilious smile played about her lips, one of amusement, of contempt. He realized that she counted upon her sex to protect her, her station, which seemed high, the guards perhaps, his companion perhaps. Boldly she stood her ground. "Barbarian," she hissed.

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He said nothing. She had followed the group. He wondered, why. What had motivated her? Was it hatred, was it a desire to prove to herself that she was not afraid of him, was it to revenge herself for having been made the subject, willing or not, of a man's glance, was it curiosity, was it fascination, or was it all these, perhaps, and something deeper, far deeper, which she herself could only dimly sense, but which moved her with a powerful force, one she could not resist, and which, in her heart, she did not desire to resist? "You are a handsome fellow," she said, demeaningly. "Doubtless you turn the heads of the simple village maids." He did not tell her that it was not unknown for there to be women in the villages not too unlike herself, women who had once been citizens of the empire, who lived in terror of the free women in the villages, and their switches and sticks. "Lace your tunic," she said. His broad chest was muchly bared, as he had undone much of the lacing. He then approached her, to where she stood within his reach. She trembled, visibly, but did not withdraw. Then she drew herself up, arrogantly. "I denounce you as an ape,

Page 35

and a barbarian," she said. "You do not dare to strike me," she said. His hand lashed out, cuffing her, sending her turning to the wall. At the wall, half turned, she regarded him, disbelievingly, a trace of blood at her lip. She looked wildly at the guards. "No!" said the companion of the giant to the guards, sharply. "He is a guest of the empire!" The giant then went to the women and pulled her out from the wall. He stood her, trembling, before him. "It is hot," he said. He then, with two hands, as she cried out, and gasped, and as utterances of surprise, or protest, emanated from the guards, who were restrained by the companion of the giant, tore open, and down, to her waist, the garments of the woman. It is thus, on some worlds, in the most genteel of markets, that slaves are exhibited, stripped merely to the hips. Usually, of course, the woman is exhibited stark naked, save perhaps for collars or bonds, that the buyers may see, fully, and with perfection, what it is that they

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are buying. He then, by her wrists, holding one in each hand, forced her down, down on her knees, before him. He looked down upon her. Women might have some worth, he thought, as slaves. Then he released her. She pulled her garments up, closely about her, holding them in place. She remained before him, fearing to rise. "Perhaps we shall someday meet again," he said to her, "amidst the smell of smoke, I with a rope in my hand." "You are not a gentleman," she said. "Nor would you be a lady, naked and on a rope," he said. "You are a barbarian!" she whispered. "Yes," he said. "I am a barbarian." He then turned about and left her, where she knelt, clutching her clothing about her, on the street.

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In a moment the giant and his companion had come to the edge of the vast plaza, within which, in its center, more than five hundred yards away, like a jewel, ensconced in more than a dozen walls, lay the palace. At the edge of the plaza, after the private exchange of signs and countersigns, and a brief ceremony, involving salutes and drill, escorts were exchanged, and the officer of the guard, with his men, returned the way they had come, and the giant and his companion, now in the company of a contingent of the palace guard, prepared to approach the palace. The giant looked back up the street. The men who had followed them no longer followed, but stood there, remaining at a distance. It was not that they could not have followed onto the plaza, for they were not armed, and civilians were allowed on its delightful expanse, and there were several upon it now, but that they chose not to follow. The sport, perhaps, seemed no longer so inviting. The giant could see their companion, whom he had thrust, not gently, against the wall. He still lay crumpled at the foot of the wall, senseless, in his own blood. Rather near them, but not with them, was the woman. She was now standing, still clutching her leel about her. She was looking after them, after the giant, and his companion. There was a fresh wind that, unobstructed by buildings, swept across the plaza. "I like it better here," said the giant.

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"Oh?" said his companion. "It does not smell so much here," said the giant. "It is the wind," said his companion. "It does not smell so much here," said the giant, again, amused. "No," said his companion. Surely this must be an allusion to the efficacy of the aromatic herbs, crashed, strewn underfoot, renewed daily in this district, the emperor in residence, as we have remarked. Such muchly covered the smell of garbage, and offal, which was considerably more obtrusive elsewhere in the small city. "Nor are the flies so bad here," said the giant. "Ah," said his companion. "But the woman did not smell," said the giant. "No," said his companion. "But it would be otherwise," speculated the giant, "if she were to be naked, and knee-deep in dung, her hair bound up high on her head, fearing the whip of overseers, cleaning stables." "Doubtless," said his companion.

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"But she could be soaked, and then scrubbed clean, and perfumed afterwards," said the giant. "Surely," said his companion. "I think she would soon beg the service of the hut, rather than that of the stables," said the giant. "I do not doubt it," said his companion. The giant looked back. "They will not bother us further," said the companion. "It is nearly time for the afternoon dole." "I no longer see her," said the giant. "Forget her," said his companion. "She was well curved," said the giant. "Yes," said his companion. In time the giant would breed slaves, choosing the best, from one point of view or another, for replication. There were some fountains here and there in the plaza, and, also, here and there, some statues of gods, the old gods, revered, tutelary

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deities of the empire, but nothing which would afford much cover. "Sir," said the new officer of the guard, to the companion of the giant. "Proceed," said the companion of the giant. The group then began to make its way across the plaza toward the palace. The old pantheons were complex, and diverse on the many worlds, and even within the empire, from world to world, they often varied considerably. The general policy of the empire, elsewhere discussed, was one of toleration, not only for the many gods in its own pantheons and their devotees, but for those of other peoples, and species, as well. The theory of the empire seemed to be muchly to the effect that, as there were many worlds, and peoples, and species, so, too, it was likely that there were many gods. To be sure, there might be more or less powerful gods, and perhaps even a most powerful god, and wars among gods, and so on. The empire did, however, occasionally, and particularly when it became hard-pressed, or alarmed, insist on the right of reassuring itself of the allegiance of its subjects, and the gesture, or symbol, of allegiance commonly took the form of a sacrifice, usually of a token nature, such as a flower, a sprig of laurel, a pinch of incense, such things, on an altar, often one devoted to the genius, or spirit, of the empire. It was not clear, of course, that the genius, or spirit, of the empire was a god, at all. This sacrifice was normally found acceptable, and unobjectionable, by most of the empire's subjects, spread over galaxies, except occasionally by the

Page 41

members of minor, deviant sects, whose unwillingness to perform the ceremony was commonly winked at. "It is not far now," said the companion of the giant. The purple water of a perfumed fountain spumed upward, falling back in a shower of amethysts, forming tiny crowns as they struck the water. As the giant and his companion, in the company of their escort, make their way across the plaza, and before they reach the first gate, in the outer wall, it may not be amiss to apprise the reader, although confessedly in the most inadequate fashion, of something of the nature of the pantheon of the empire. In it we discover various gods, such as Orak, the king; Umba, his consort; the messenger god, Foebus; Andrak, artisan and builder of ships; Kragon, hawk-winged god of wisdom and war; and the much-coveted Dira, goddess of slave girls. In the myths she had belonged, at one time or another, to various of the gods, who won her, or to whom she was given or sold. She is usually represented as being the property of Orak, the king. She is hated by Umba, the consort of the king, and by other goddesses as well. She is commonly represented as kneeling, or dancing, or humbly serving. In representations she is often seen at the feet of other gods. She is commonly represented as collared, or chained. She serves also as a goddess of love and beauty. Our small company was now quite close to the main gate in the outermost wall, one of the more than twelve surrounding the palace.

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Citizens fell back before the group, and many looked on, with some curiosity, or interest, having noted the barbarian. They saw only of course a fellow clad in skins, large, formidable in appearance, broadshouldered, narrow-waisted, long-armed, large-headed, with keen eyes, and light hair, one who walked not like one from the empire, but rather as one from beyond its perimeters, one from another reality, one, curious and observant, feral and leonine, from farther, stranger, harsher worlds. We do not blame them, of course, nor hold them accountable. There was no reason then, you see, why anyone should have marked anything unusual or portentous in this particular barbarian. Surely he was no different countless others. Even we, had we seen him then, even we, would not have marked him, we would not have known him, we, no more than the others, would not have known who it was saw. No one, you see, knew him then. At the small door, in the larger outer gate, the party halted. "It will be a moment," said the officer of the palace entering the small door. "Ho," said one of the guards. The giant looked down, to his right, as he waited. There, to his surprise, holding her embroidered leel about her, that it not, torn, fall from her, knelt the woman from the street. She was kneeling, tears in her eyes, at the thigh of the barbarian. She looked up at him, timidly, fearfully. The guards looked on, puzzled. "Get up, woman," said the companion of the giant, irritably. "You are

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a citizen of the empire!" But she did not rise. Rather, she remained as she was, clutching the leel about her, almost as in terror. As the giant had turned, to regard her, she was now, fully, at his feet, kneeling before him. "I do not need the whip, to obey," she said. The giant shrugged. The use of the whip, whether needed not, was at the discretion of the master. She looked to the side, not daring to meet his eyes. He did not command her to open her robes. "Whom shall I announce?" asked an attendant, returning with the officer of the palace escort. This question irritated the companion of the giant. The attendant, a herald of sorts, looked at the barbarian. "I am Otto," he said, "chieftain of the Wolfungs." "I," said his companion, irritatedly, "am Julian, of the Aurelianii," and then he added, with some irony, and bitter pointedness, "kin to the emperor." "Please enter, noble sirs," said the herald, politely.

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The giant and his companion then entered the first gate. Already several cameras, monitored from within the walls, had recorded their presence, even from the time they had reached the outer edge of the plaza. This form of surveillance was continued by relays of similar devices, visual and aural, within. After they had entered the woman remained kneeling beside the gate, for some time. "Begone!" finally said a guard. She then rose, obediently, and hurried away, until, in the vicinity of one of the fountains, she stopped, and once again knelt, watching the gate. "I have never prayed to you before, Dira," she whispered, "but I do now, for you are now my goddess and I am now your devotee. Give me your grace, dear Dira, that I may serve him well!"

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CHAPTER 3 The adz is not an ax, though it bears resemblances to that device. Perhaps you are familiar with it. The large, flattish, curved blade is fixed crosswise to the handle, rather like that of a hoe, except that the instrument is not intended for use with the soil, nor is it as delicate as the hoe. A heavy, broad ringlike socket, one with the blade, contains the handle. The typical function of the device is to shape and trim wood, fashioning, for example, heavy beams and planks. It may also, of course, gouge and slice stumps, split kindling, and such. Whereas small adzes may be used by carvers, with chisels and knives and other instruments, in decorative work, as on the jambs of doors and gates, on high-seat pillars, on the figureheads and sternposts of river craft, such as ply the routes between fortified trading towns, and such, it is the larger adz that we are concerned with here. Its blade is better than a foot in length, and the handle is some four feet in length. It can be wielded efficiently only by a very strong man, or by a creature of some comparable or greater strength. It has a place in the traditions of numerous peoples, in particular, naturally, those of the forest. The ax and the adz, as the spear, and, later, the sword, are, in a sense, symbols of those peoples. Very briefly, this may be accounted for. Long ago, in the unnumbered times, long before calendars, long before even the rock markings, so long ago that one has now lost track not only of the moons, and the seasons, but the years, and the cycles, marked by the planting of a sacred oak, once every thousand years, the forest peoples were hunters and herdsmen. It was only later that they became farmers, as well. The typical settlement consisted of a cluster of huts, sometimes surrounded by a palisade, surrounded by a common grazing ground, in a clearing in the forest, the animals taken

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out in the morning and watched, and brought back, within the palisade, in the evening. As population increased, that of the villagers, and their animals, more land was needed, and so the forest was encroached upon. This pattern tended to be continued, and hastened, when agriculture, to be sure, of a primitive sort, was added to the economic repertoire of the peoples. One commonly cleared land for farming by burning off trees and brush, a practice in consequence of which the soil was incidentally enriched with wood ash. In some years, however, the rains would drain away the enriching minerals and the land would no longer produce its initial yields, at which time the peoples, as land was plentiful, and the forests seemed endless, would migrate, a pattern which was repeated again and again. Even in the days of mere hunting and herding, as hunters ranged further, and the commons must be larger to support more animals, the men of one village would tend to encounter those of others. These encounters were not always of a peaceful nature. Such encounters became more frequent with the development of agriculture, and the attendant regular movements, or migrations, of villagers. The village existence, with its isolation and precariousness, tended to develop both a sense of community within the village and a suspicion of strangers, and others, outside the village. It may be helpful, too, to understand that the practice of hunting was never abandoned by these peoples. Hunting, too, whether conceived of as a mere economic activity analogous to food gathering, which is not to understand, truly, the thrill of the chase, the ambush, the kill, or as a mere sport, which, too, tends to obscure, or trivialize, its darker, more profound appeals, provides training in certain skills which are not unallied to those of war, for example, the tracking, the stalking, patience, deception, pursuit, the kill, and such. One might think of war as a kind of hunt,

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doubtless the most dangerous, and the hunt as a kind of war, the least dangerous, the most innocent, of wars. Many times, of course, as villages grew crowded, portions of villages, only, would migrate. The village would put out a colony, so to speak. These colonies, with land and game, would flourish. Linguistic and cultural ties would tend to exist, at least latently, among these related groups. Herein, it is speculated, one finds the origin of tribes, groups of related families, or clans. Naturally one tribe, or group of tribes, so to speak, might encounter others, say, of different origins, and competition of territory and resources might ensure, with not unpredictable consequences. Those tribes which were the strongest, the fiercest, the most skilled, the least merciful, tended to be victorious in such rivalries, supplanting their foes, destroying them, driving them away, enslaving them, such things. Some of these tribes, those living near seas, or inlets, or rivers, or whose wanderings brought them to such places, and learning of the existence of different forms of folks, not all of the forests, added trading, and, of course, piracy, or raiding, to their other pursuits. Indeed, whether a vessel was a trader or a raider would often depend on the nature, and strength, of what they encountered in their farings abroad. I mention these things in order to shed more light on the nature of the forest peoples, and perhaps similar peoples. For example, the Alemanni, or, as the empire will have it, the Aatii, and the Vandals, were both forest peoples, and, because of common origins and challenges, were not too much unlike, basically, despite their terrible enmity, which had lasted for generations, until the substantial pacification, or near destruction, of the Vandals by forces of the empire. All this has to do, actually, with the adz, a particular adz which we shall encounter later, on what we shall speak of as the Meeting World. Even though the Alemanni, that nation, so to speak,

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and her composite tribes, such as the Drisriaks, now possessed, to some extent, weaponry, and devices, and ships, which permitted them to at least harry, if not threaten, the empire, they still retained, as some peoples, do, a sense of tradition, and certain practices, the origins of which have been lost in the mists of time, antedating even a thousand of the thousand-year-old oaks. The adz, like the ax, and the spear, and the sword, was a part of this tradition, and these practices. The particular adz we have in mind lay now in a leather case on the flagship of the fleet of Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper, king of the Drisriaks, the largest and most fierce of the tribes of the Alemanni nation. In the same compartment, near the adz, on a shallow bronze plate, and covered with a purple cloth, was a heavy, sturdy, muchly scarred, peeled stump, one which had been brought from the home world of the Alemanni.

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CHAPTER 4 "Call to the attention of the emperor," snapped Julian, turning about, angrily, in the antechamber, addressing a servitor, bearing sherbets, "that his cousin, Julian, of the Aurelianii, and Otto, first among the Wolfungs, await their audience." "Sherbets, milords," said the servitor, placing two bowls on the marble table in the room, that between two couches. Elsewhere in the room were curule chairs. Julian was on his feet, as he had been, after the first hour, striding the length of the room. Otto, whom we have hitherto spoken of as the giant, who was chieftain of the Wolfungs, a minor tribe of the Vandals, sat, crosslegged, to one side, his back to the wall, facing the door. He did not wish to sit upon the curule chairs. It was not that he could not sit upon such devices, or found them unfamiliar, or uncomfortable, for he had known such on Terennia, and on Tangara, and similar things on the ship. Indeed, he had stools, benches, and a throne, or high seat, of sorts, of crude wood, in the main village of the Wolfungs, which village contained the hut of the chieftain, his hut, larger than the other huts. The reason he did not wish to sit upon the curule chairs was because, lifting the corner of the small, silken rugs upon which they sat, he had detected a fine line in the floor which, subsequently traced, suggested an opening, marking a section of the floor through which, if released, a catch undone, a bolt drawn, the chair might

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descend. "There are doubtless various panels in the room" had said Julian, irritably, "through which one might exit, if one were knowledgeable, eluding pursuers, avoiding unwanted meetings, through which guards might enter, surprising occupants, making arrests, and such. The traps beneath those chairs may even be benign, leading to stairwells from the room, or giving entry to it. Move the chairs, if you wish." "Why are you angry?" had asked Otto. "I do not care to be kept waiting," said Julian. He was in dress uniform, that of an ensign in the imperial navy, white, with gold braid, but, too, with three purple cords at the left shoulder, indicating the loftiness of his birth, his closeness to the imperial family itself. "I am sorry, milord," said the servitor. This response had infuriated Julian. "There is nothing untoward, nor unexpected in this," said Julian. "No, milord." "The audience has been long arranged," said Julian. "Yes, milord." "You understand clearly who I am, who we are."

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"I am sure the emperor will see you shortly," said the servitor. "Convey my displeasure to the arbiter of protocol," said Julian. The face of the servitor went white. Otto gathered that the arbiter of protocol must be a powerful man. "Convey it," said Julian. "I shall commend the matter to the attention of my superior," said the servitor. "Go," said Julian. "Yes, milord." Julian, though one of the wealthiest men in the empire, though a member of the patricians, of the senatorial class, though kin to the imperial family itself, had, following a tradition of forebears of the Aurelianii, of service to the empire, entered the imperial navy. He had qualified for a commission, and trained, as though he might have been no more than another ambitious scion of the lower honestori. He was a gifted, dedicated officer. He performed his duties conscientiously. He accorded every due respect to his military superiors. Had he been unknown he would doubtless have been accounted, with little thought given to the matter, an excellent officer, and would have been innocently

and

deservedly

popular with

both

subordinates

and

superiors alike, fair, if severe, with the former, expecting them to

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meet standards scarcely less exacting than those he set himself, and cooperative and dutiful in his relations with the latter. On the other hand, he was not unknown. He was of the Aurelianii. Accordingly men sought to enter his command, hoping to advance themselves in the service, and higher

officers must

view

him

with

the

keenest

ambivalence. Though he was young and less experienced, his blood was among the highest and noblest in the empire, and his station was one to which one might not hope to attain save perhaps through royal marriage or through a special imperial appointment to the rank of patrician, doubtless conjoined with the gift of an auspicious post, or command, say, that of prefect, or treasurer, or master of the imperial police, or palace guard, or master of ships, master of the mobile forces, master of the borders, master of the horse, such things. One must treat such a subordinate with care. Perhaps, if one is politically astute, one may advance him in such a way as to advance oneself as well. And how uncertain a thing to have him in one's command, such an opportunity, yet such a danger, as well. Was it not, in a sense, like being under scrutiny, like being in the capital itself? The servitor then withdrew from the antechamber. "You can move the chair," had said Julian. "Then they might suspect I had discovered the door beneath the chair," had said Otto. "They already know," said Julian. Otto had regard him, puzzled.

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"You remember the screens on the ship?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Otto. He had eagerly learned all he could on the ship which had brought them to the summer world. Julian had then pointed to an aperture in the wall, high, near the ceiling. It was then that Otto had risen and gone to sit, cross-legged, to one side. It was then unlikely that he could be seen from the vantage of the aperture. It had been shortly thereafter that the servitor had entered with sherbets, and had looked quickly about the room. He had seen Otto in his place. Otto did not doubt but what he had entered to ascertain his position in the room. Shortly after they had been ushered into the room, better than two hours ago, the servitor had appeared, offering them a choice between the ices and sherbets. "Inform the emperor we await his pleasure," had said Julian, in fury. He had been already deeply angered, from what he interpreted as the first insult, that of the outer gate, when the herald had inquired as to the identities of those he should announce. The audience had been

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prearranged. Was he not anticipated? Was he not recognized? Did they not know who he was? Then, what Julian took as a second insult, he had not been immediately introduced, warmly welcomed, into the presence of his kinsman, the emperor. Rather, he had been ushered into this room, to wait, as though he might be no more than some petitioner, or sycophant, some provincial magistrate, from some minor world, some ambassador from some unimportant client world, such things. Flavored ices, not sherbets had been brought. The ices, in their bowls of translucent quartz, perhaps from the mines of Jaria, brought then in all likelihood through the pass, or tunnel, of Aureus, had melted, how forming soft, foamlike pools of yellow and purple. They had not been touched by either Julian or Otto. The sherbets were now on the table, in their shallow silver bowls, with matching silver teetos, which is perhaps best translated as 'spoons'. They are, however, actually narrow, hollow, rodlike utensils with a small, concave, rather spatulate termination. The concave spatulate termination justifies us, I would think, in speaking of the utensil as a spoon. I should add, however, that it may also be used to draw fluids upward into the mouth, and, in this sense, can function as a straw. Julian left the sherbets where they had been placed. He did not touch them, no more than the ices. He felt, perhaps, that the acceptance of

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even these trivial hospitalities might somehow seem to indicate an accommodation to his inconvenience, as though he might then seem to find it at least marginally acceptable. Otto, although he was commonly curious about many matters, did not, either, sample the ices or the sherbets. There had been openings beneath the chairs. He recalled how the servitor, in his second visit to the room, bringing, surprisingly, unrequested, the sherbets, had looked about, and then, relievedly, marked his position. His guess had been correct then, it seemed, that he had not been visible from the aperture, not in that location. Julian continued to pace the room. Otto, the giant, did not betray impatience. Yet some have lamented that greater courtesy was not shown in this matter by the imperial court, that the audience was not more promptly granted. Otto watched a fly alight on the rim of one of the bowls of sherbet. There were flies here, too, then, even within the palace. Then there came another fly, and another. So there are flies in the palace, thought Otto. They were there, crawling there, like raisins, on the rim of a silver bowl, a vessel worth perhaps a rifle, even on a world where such were scarce, the possession of which could mean a magistracy. He wondered if the flies

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comprehended the perils of their delicious arctic? Doubtless some would become lost, perhaps even die, freezing, ensnared in the viscous trove. Otto considered the couches about the table. On reclined on them while eating. That was something one had to learn to do, to eat in such a position. Was it so comfortable, so luxurious, so civilized, really, he wondered. They had not had such arrangements on the Alaria, he recalled. To be sure, worlds differ, customs differ, and one can get fewer people at a table with such an arrangement. But Otto did not think he would care to get used to such an arrangement. It is difficult to rise quickly from such a couch, to unsheath a weapon, to defend oneself. Better the stool or bench, which could be kicked back, from which one could spring to one's feet. Julian sat down, on one of the curule chairs. He did not move it. That is dangerous, my friend, thought Otto. Perhaps it is always dangerous to sit in such chairs, on the high seats, thought Otto. But men will sit upon them, and kill to do so. Do not all thrones rest on no more than a latch, or bolt, which might, perhaps when one expects it least, be withdrawn?

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Otto's thoughts, as he waited, drifted back to the Meeting World, and a time when Julian, in virtue of complex circumstances, had been little more than his prisoner.

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CHAPTER 5 "Do not cry out, or betray emotion," had said Otto to his companion, who was at his heel, in a short, ragged tunic, much as might have been a slave. But on his body there was no sign of bondage, nor had he been branded, that the mark on his body might bespeak one subject, as much as a slave girl, to exchange, to barter, to gifting and pricing. "I will not," said Julian. They were flanked by Ortungs. An Ortung ship, one which still bore the scars of the encounter with the Alaria, had come to orbit over Varna, which was the world to which two life rafts, or escape capsules, caught in similar gravitational geodesics, had drifted, that following their departure from the Alaria. In the first capsule had been a gladiator, one who had been carefully trained in the school of Pulendius on Terennia, he, and a prize won in contest, a dark-haired girl, named Janina, who need not significantly concern us, as she was slave. In the second capsule had been one man and three women. The three women were as follows, a wealthy, lovely, highly intelligent, mature woman, and two younger women, a slender, attractive blonde and an exquisitely figured, delicately and sensitively featured brunette, the sort made for chains, and surely one beautiful enough to bring a good price in almost any market. The man had been a young naval officer, an ensign in the imperial navy. It was a muddy track they followed, as there had been a rain that

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morning. The landing craft, or lighter, as one might think of it, a small vessel suitable for comings and goings, for negotiating the shallows of space, from the Ortung ship, had come down gently, not far away, in a circular, rain-soaked meadow, small, delicate animals fleeing beneath its descending shadow and heat. From it several individuals had disembarked, the broad-bladed, green, wet grass, fragrant, edged with rain, soon cutting at their ankles, muchly different from the grass about the craft, farther out oddly dried, despite the invading dampness surging back into the meadow, and close in, even yards from the twelve

thrust

chambers,

blackened

and

burned.

Among

those

disembarking were Otto and Julian. They had come from Varna. The entire matter had to do with a challenge. "There seems no reason for your counsel," remarked Julian. "We have not yet come to the grove," said Otto. "I do not understand," said Julian. "The Ortungs have borrowed certain practices from the Timbri," said Otto. In this area, the path was, now, less muddy, and, to some extent, graveled. Clearly this was a path now, a real path, or walk, one bearing some signs of attention, no longer a simple track, such as might have been consequent on the passage of some party in single file, their numbers obscured, deliberately perhaps, by the linearity of

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their progression. The soles of their sandals, as they followed the path, pressed, here and there, small stones deeper into the soft soil. Tiny alkaline trickles of water, whitish, made their way, sometimes haltingly, in no more than a sudden succession of intermittent drops, backward, behind the walkers, down the slope, among the tiny, awash, dislodged stones. The Vandalii or Vandal nation, consisting of its five tribes, the smallest and least auspicious among them the Wolfungs, were not untypical of barbarian peoples. Such tended, almost as a matter of habit, and surely of custom, to enjoy uneasy, if not actually hostile, relations with their neighbors, wherever they might be found, which was often at hand, given the frequent movements, the periodic migrations, of such folk. These enmities tended to be long-lasting, and the hostilities involved, though intermittent, as one group might be forced to give way to another, tended to be pursued with vigor and cruelty. The surviving, successful tribes, particularly as lands, and worlds, became more scarce, tended, through culture, breeding, and tradition, through trials and raids, and the lessons of songs and deeds, to become stronger, prouder, less patient, quicker to anger, more cruel and more warlike, as the less adept, gentler, weaker, more pacifistic tribes, in accordance with the decrees of reality, recorded in the judgments of history, tended to be ruthlessly supplanted, destroyed, enslaved, made tributary, such things. In the light of such considerations, and in order that a fuller understanding of these matters may be conveyed, we mention that the Alemanni, of which the Drisriaks were a tribe, and the Ortungs a secessionist tribe, were a particularly successful people. It should also be pointed out that the Alemanni and the Vandals, another of the fiercest, and once one of the

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most

successful,

of

such

barbarous

nations,

were

traditional,

hereditary, enemies. The empire, of course, introduced into these scarlet equations new and terrible variables, its own existence and ambitions, new, powerful, unfamiliar weaponry, discord, bribery, intimidation, treachery, and such. In some generations of war with the empire the Vandals, despite some initial successes with weaponry furnished by enemies of the empire, were gradually reduced and decimated, the tribes scattered, denied significant weaponry and such. The remnants of the Wolfungs, for example, generations ago, had bee transported to an exile world, far from familiar spacelanes. Its name was Varna. There they had been left, it seemed forgotten, though doubtless their presence was noted on some imperial records, that in case, for example, in some byway of time or politics, it might seem suitable for the empire to recollect them and recall them, perhaps as federates, or as woodsmen, to clear worlds, or peasants, to sow and reap, to supply produce, perhaps to remote stations, or to the limitanei, the far-flung border troops. The Alemanni, it might be noted, on the other hand, had never had more than a series of terrible skirmishes with the empire. Always they had managed to draw back, and then wait, and then begin again their testing, their probing, their sniffing and prowling at the imperial borders. Sometimes, even, their ships had penetrated to the capitals of provincial worlds. Had the Alemanni been differently situated, in both space and time, and had they encountered the empire earlier, and under conditions comparable to those of the Vandalii, it seems not unlikely that their fate might have been similar. But they had not. It was only in the last generation that they had significantly appeared on the horizon of the empire. "You need not have come with me," said Otto to his companion,

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Julian. "The matter obtains between the Ortungs and the Wolfungs." "I am curious to see how these things are resolved," said Julian. "It will not be difficult to understand," said Otto. In the records of the empire this world had only a number, and not a name, as many worlds. We do not know the number, nor are we sure, today, of the world, for much which might have been useful for making such determinations has been lost. The number of the world would have been, as we do know, the number of its star, followed by a numerical suffix, giving its position, counting outward from the star. The world presumably still exists, of course, on which the events took place which we are recounting. We just do not know which world it is. Possibilities

have

been

proposed,

but

they

remain

confessedly

conjectural. The world did have a name in the logs of the Alemanni, but, even so, the matter remains obscure. The Alemanni name, cumbersomely transliterated as 'Tenguthaxichai', is said to mean "Tengutha's Camp," or, perhaps, "The Camp of Tengutha," the nature of the genitive indicator being a matter of dispute among scholars. I personally favor "Tengutha's Camp" as there is some reason to believe, from other constructions, that the expression transliterated as 'ichai' in Alemanni may have meant a hidden camp, or lair. We do not know who the Tengutha in question might have been, but the name itself was common in several of the barbarian nations. We choose to avoid these various problems by referring to this world as the Meeting World, to be sure a title which might serve to designate almost any world. Meeting worlds, however, at least worlds chosen for meetings of the sort with which we are concerned, where disputes among

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barbarians were to be resolved, worlds rather like, in a sense, those of lonely beaches on desert islands, or those like the surface of barren skerries in the icy sea, were normally isolated, uninhabited worlds, worlds where detection and interference, you see, were unlikely. "You did not bring weapons," said Julian. "It was I who issued the challenge," said Otto. "It is they who will choose the weapons." The remnant of the Wolfungs, exiled on Varna, now armed with no more than primitive weapons, and eking out their living in the forests, in the ancient manners, had been discovered by scouts of the Drisriaks, the parent tribe, or conjectured such, of the Alemanni nation. Much pleasure had it given the Drisriaks to discover their ancient enemies in such straits, in effect, disarmed and at their mercy. Many of the Wolfungs had been slaughtered, in the festivals of blood, saving, of course, the fairest of their daughters, which constitute always delicious, pleasing spoils for the conquerors. The Wolfungs had then, kneeling, denied chieftains, their heads to the dirt, humbled to the yoke of their masters, been permitted to survive, as a tributary people. This tribute was regularly collected by envoys of the Drisriaks, a tribute consisting largely of produce, amber, resin, precious woods, furs, herbs, and women. Some two years ago, however, Ortog, a prince of the Drisriaks, with followers, and ships, declared his house secessionist, and himself king of a new tribe, the Ortungs, or Ortungen. Ortog then, as he had when a prince of the Drisriaks, plied the crafts of his people, in such matters as piracy, trading, reaving where feasible within the empire, collecting tributes, and so on. It was

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shortly before his envoys, now in the name of the Ortungen, came to collect the tribute from the Wolfungs that the two aforementioned life rafts, or escape capsules, from a sacked and gutted, then destroyed, putative cruise ship, the Alaria, had beached on Varna. Ortog, who had earlier fallen into the hands of bounty hunters and traitors, and had been turned over to imperial forces at the remote station of Tinos, had been a prisoner on the Alaria, being transported to the Telnarian worlds, when she was overtaken by his ships and disabled. "I hear it again," said Julian, "the clash of cymbals!" "The Timbri," said Otto, "are fond of such instruments in their observances." "There is singing, too," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. The singing was in female voices, for such were the officiants, priestesses. The party continued to wend its way upward, on the graveled, wet path. Preceding Otto were two men, Hendrix and Gundlicht, of the Ortungen, men of Ortog, who had come, earlier, to the Wolfungs for the tribute. They had been surprised to learn that the Wolfungs had taken a chieftain, which they had forbidden to them, and that the tribute was refused. It had not been deemed appropriate, however, to

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return to the ship, arm the weaponry, and destroy the Wolfungs, and their forests, for a thousand latimeasures. The explanation for this had to do with a set of unusual circumstances. "I hear again the cymbals," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. The singing, too, could be heard, once more. It began to rain again. Above, in a sort of level place, through which the path led, and then, beyond it, once more ascended, toward the top of a hill, there was a thick copse. It is a small thing we do here, thought Otto. It does not matter much. What is the life, or death, or the fates and fortunes, of a few men, or rabbits or dogs, to the world. Gundlicht, in one hand, clutched what appeared to be a tightly rolled bundle of soiled, brocaded fabric. It was damp with rain. "That is the grove, above," said Otto. Again, tiny trickles of water, alkaline rivulets, flowed between the small stones, much as rivers might have flooded about boulders strewn in their path. The whitish waters stained the soles of their sandals, and, as they occasionally fought for footing, it splashed about

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their ankles, lashed from the grass in the meadows below. Sometimes a passing sandal dislodged a small rock, a pebble even, breaking some tiny dam, and the water rushed in its frenzied smallness down the slope. How the most fearsome of natural phenomena can be enacted on small stages, for the forces at work here, on the slope, were not so much different from those which, on grander platforms, might have awed and discomfited populations, for the smallest of winds, bending a blade of grass, is not so different, save in force and volume, from the mighty storms which uproot forests, nor the stirring of a hand in a bowl of water so different, save in its dimensions, from the vast, thunderous waves that can shake and drown continents. But even the trickles, the small drops, in their numbers, conjoined, confluent, become weighty with menace. Molecules of gas constitute both the breeze and the hurricane, as drops of water form both the gentle rain and the violent sea. But it is hard to know, thought Otto, the turning out, of small things. "Look," said Julian, pointing downward. Dilute, in the rivulets, mixing in with the whitish wash descending the slope, were tenuous streaks of red, serpentine in the gravel. "Do not stop," said Hendrix. "What is that?" asked Julian. "It does not concern you," said Hendrix. "It is blood," said Otto.

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The gladiator had come to be raised on the shields of the Wolfungs, as their chieftain. It was he who had refused the tribute to the Ortungs, he who had issued the challenge to Ortog, king of the Ortungs. "Aii!" said Julian, as they reached the level, as he caught sight of a dark shape, back among the shadows, suspended from a branch. The path led through the grove. "What is it?" asked Julian of Gundlicht, who was ahead, on the right. "Silence, pig," said Gundlicht. "Do not speak so to him," said Otto. "He is a free man." "He is a Telnarian pig," said Gundlicht. "He is a citizen of the empire," said Otto. "So, too, as I understand it," laughed Gundlicht, "were three others in your village." "But they were women," said Otto. Gundlicht laughed again, knowingly. The path was now on the level. The trees of the copse, or grove,

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were thick on either side. It had stopped raining now, but it was still half-dark, from the roiling clouds. There was little sound but that of the passage of the men, the tiny sounds of small stones being trod upon, the descent of drops of water from the branches of trees. "There, another, back there, amongst the trees," said Julian. "Keep silent," said Hendrix. "This is a holy place." There were the tracks of a two-wheeled cart to one side. These could be easily discerned, from some damp pressed-down grass, to the left of the path, and, here and there, where a wheel had left the path, by marks in the mud. "There is another, there," said Julian. "You cannot see much from the path," said Gundlicht. "Wait," said Julian. "Do not stop," said Hendrix. "Let him go," said Otto. The group waited on the level, and Julian entered the grove. Otto, in a moment, followed him, and then Hendrix and Gundlicht. Otto and Julian were not prisoners. They had come because of the challenge. "It is dark here," said Julian.

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"One can see well enough," said Otto. The creak of a rope was heard. Julian brushed back leaves. His hand was wet. There was the smell of crushed leaves, of wet, dark branches. There were many shadows. Rain dripped from the leaves and branches. "What manner of place is this?" asked Julian. There was at that moment, startling them, as they were now closer to the sound, again the clash of cymbals, and the sound of female voices, raised in song. "It is going to clear," said Gundlicht, looking up, through the branches. Beneath the wet, dark matting of leaves, hidden in delicate tunnels, in fragile palaces, dwelt grubs. Julian stepped back, quickly, as a filch, its fur slick with rain skittered away. "Let us return to the path," said Otto. "Wait," said Julian.

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He proceeded more deeply into the grove. "Ai!"

he

cried

suddenly,

for

in

the

darkness,

and

shadows,

inadvertently coming upon it, he had literally struck against it, heavy, feeling the ribs through the fur, the fur wet. He pushed it back. It swung away, heavily. He stepped to the side, avoiding it as it returned to its place, suspended. "What is it?" asked Julian. "Speak softly," said Hendrix. "Can you not see, Telnarian pig?" said Gundlicht. "It is a dog," said Otto. There were several other bodies, too, nearby, and an indefinite number in the grove. The dog's head was oddly pointed upward, the legs oddly dangling beside the body. The rope was about its throat. "There is a sheep," said Otto. "Look there," said Julian. "That is a horse sacrifice," said Hendrix. "And here is a pig, Telnarian pig," said Gundlicht to Julian.

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The porcine creature hung upside down, holes cut in its rear shanks, through which the rope had been run. Its throat was cut open. In places only the dangling end of a rope swung free from a branch. "Let us return to the path," said Hendrix. It was at that time that they heard again the cymbals, and once more voices, those of women, raised in song. "What is the meaning of the cymbals?" asked Julian. "They mask other sounds," said Otto. They turned about, and began to make their way back to the path. "Wait," said Julian. "There, look." "Yes," said Gundlicht. "What is it?" asked Julian. "Go closer," said Gundlicht. Julian regarded the object dangling from the branch. "Do not those of the empire perform sacrifices?" asked Otto.

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"Sometimes," said Julian. "White bulls, fully grown beasts, with gilded horns and hoofs, such things." "But it is done cleanly," said Julian. The bronze blade, of course, bronze from immemorial tradition, moved swiftly in the sure hands of the priests, and the animal would sink to its knees or side, its head lolling, the lavers, held in the hands of neophytes, filling then with the hot blood. "Sometimes it is not so cleanly done, in the arena," said Otto. "Those are not sacrifices," said Julian. "These things are done in the manner of the Timbri," said Hendrix. "We would not do things in this way," said Gundlicht. "I am pleased to hear it," said Julian. "We would have hung them more properly," said Gundlicht. "Of course," said Julian. "Their seeresses came to have influence over Ortog," said Gundlicht. "It had to do with the readings, the prophecies," said Hendrix.

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"I see," said Julian. "Step carefully," said Hendrix. Some bones, some knobs of vertebrae, and some ribs, like white branches, wet from the rain, lay among the dark, crumbled leaves. To one side there was a skull. "The ropes break, in time," said Gundlicht. The eyes of a filch, beady and bright, observed them, peering up from beneath leaves, where it had taken refuge. In the grove there was no sound of birds. They were not now active, because of the rain. The filch drew back, quickly, under the leaves. Such a creature, though an omnivore, and surely not averse to scavenging, would profit little from the grisly trove introduced into its environment. There are temporal limits imposed on viable scavenging for mammalian and mammalianlike creatures. By the time portions of such weights might fall naturally to the leaves, the laws of chemistry would have had their say, producing cadaverine alkaloids. The taste of these is aversive to such creatures, apparently experienced as repelling and abhorrent. Those of their ancestors, or of generative life forms, for whom the taste was acceptable, or even reinforcive, presumably died, poisoned. We leave it to others to ponder on the interplay of that which is found marvelous in the living of it and

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healthfulness, and that which is found inhibiting, diminishing and depressing in the living of it, and disease and death. The party then returned to the path, where a number of Ortungen, from the ship, had been awaiting them. Shortly thereafter the sun came out. On the ascent, having resumed it, they noted more blood, dark in the gravel. It had washed down, with the water, from above. To be sure, there was not much of it. They continued to ply their way toward the top of the path. Birds sang. These creatures were again, now, active in the grove below. They, unlike the filchen, fluttering about, pecking, alighting, had no difficulty in reaching the weights prior to the formation of natural toxins. To be sure, the weights were not always without some profit even to the tiny filchen, as bits of matter might fall to the leaves, dropped by birds, perhaps lost in their small disputes, or even worms, or maggots, gorged, bright and swollen, like pearls. It was hot now.

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Otto shaded his eyes. Water steamed from the flat surfaces of rocks to the side. In a few minutes they had reached the top of the path. Several bodies lay there, some in the mud, near a cart, others on the cart. Much ropage was wrapped about these bodies. It seemed the bodies were otherwise naked. Their ankles had been crossed and bound. To the crossed, bound ankles of each was attached a length of rope, some ten feet in length. The throat of each was cut, a gash going back, deep into the neck. The eyes of some of these bodies was still open, quite widely. "Come along," said Hendrix. The path had, at its height, debouched into a wide, circular area, and near the center of this area there was a small platform, something like a yard high, and, near the platform, was an altarlike structure, of flat stones. Above this structure there reared two vertical posts, one planted on each side of it, with a heavy crosspost lashed in place, high, between the two vertical posts. Two Ortungs, from within the clearing, were making their way rather in the direction of the group with which we have been concerned, but actually toward the vicinity of the cart. They dragged a body behind them, which Julian, looking back, saw them turn about, and then leave near the cart, with others.

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There were several individuals near the center of the clearing, some on the platform, some about it, others about the altar. "That is our king, Ortog, on the platform," said Hendrix, "the tallest, he helmed in gold." Otto said nothing. He had met the magnificent Ortog before, on the Alaria, on a measure of sand. Ortog had not known the stadium blade. It had not been a good match. The gladiator had declined to administer a death blow. Shortly thereafter the Alaria had come under attack by pursuing Ortung ships. From where they were, several yards away, they saw two of the Ortungs drag a roped man toward the altar. About the altar were several women in long, white gowns. Some of these held sistrums and cymbals. The man did not protest. The sistrums began to jangle. Cymbals were poised. Ortungs threw a rope, attached to the man's bound ankles, over the crossbar. The music became more agitated as he was drawn upward, by his ankles, until he hung, head down, over the altar. A curved

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object lay, flattish, to the right, on the altar. This object, as would be clearly observed shortly, was a large, bronze, sicklelike knife. One of the white-gowned women, she who seemed first among them, threw over her head the hood of her gown, covering her head, as is customary in such a rite. Four other women now crowded close about the suspended figure. They seized the roped body, to hold it in place. Two others brought forth a large bronze vessel, rather like a shallow caldron. It had three clawlike feet. It was carried by two circular rings, or handles, which, when released, hung down, beside the vessel. This low caldronlike vessel, on its clawlike feet, they placed on the altar. The head, as it hung downward, was almost within it, and much of the hair was actually within it, and could not be seen for its sides. "Ortog was betrayed some months ago," said Hendrix. "He was captured by bounty hunters, with the aid of traitors. He was taken to Tinos, an outpost of the empire, and delivered there to his enemies." "Such as this dog!" said Gundlicht, striking Julian, who drew back, angrily. "Desist," said Otto. "He is only a half-naked thrall, in rags," said Gundlicht, puzzled. "He is a free man, and with me," said Otto. "You would defend a dog of the empire?" asked Gundlicht. "He is free. He is with me." said Otto.

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"Ortog," said Hendrix, "was rescued, while being conveyed to Telnaria." "Yes," said Otto. Otto did not mention that there had been no intention of conveying Ortog as far as Telnaria. "Do you know who those pigs are?" asked Hendrix of Otto, turning, indicating the bodies, in the mud, and on the cart, behind them some yards, to their left. "No," said Otto. "Do you know who that is?" asked Hendrix, turning back toward the altar, indicating the rope-swathed figure dangling head down over the altar. "No," said Otto. Then, in the midst of a din of cymbals, the white-gowned, hooded woman, who seemed chief among the others, who was a priestess, of the rites of the Timbri, her head now covered in the folds of her hood, drew back, by the hair, with her left hand, the man's head, while with her right hand she lifted from the surface of the altar, where it lay near one of the three clawlike feet of the caldron, the large, bronze, sicklelike blade.

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There was a climactic clash of cymbals. "It is done," said Hendrix. "It takes some time for them to die," said Gundlicht. Once more Otto and Julian heard female voices raised in song, as they had earlier, on the trail, and in the grove. The officiant had now uncovered her head. "So who are these men?" asked Otto, looking back. "Ortog was given into the hands of bounty hunters, by traitors, and even those he thought his brothers," said Hendrix. "And they were hunted down?" asked Otto. "To the last man," said Hendrix. "I see," said Otto. "And he," said Hendrix, indicating the body dangling over the altar, and the bronze vessel, "was the leader of the bounty hunters." "He died well," said Otto. "And he was only a brigand, not even of a people," said Hendrix.

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Otto shrugged. "I am proud of him," said Hendrix. In a time two men removed the caldronlike vessel from the altar, that which had been brought to it by two women. They carried it to the side, where the two women were waiting. The women removed the lid from a large bronze vat, on a heavy wooden sledge, which would be drawn by chains. Into this vat the men emptied the contents of the caldronlike vessel, after which the women replaced the lid. The two men returned the caldronlike vessel to the vicinity of the altar. The two women in white came then to stand beside it. Other men were lowering the body from the framework at the altar. It was dragged past the group with which we have been concerned. The bloodied hair left streaks on the turf behind it. "I did not know the Ortungs practiced the rites of the Timbri," said Otto. "It is the influence of the priestess, Huta, of the Timbri," said Hendrix, with distaste. "She it is who with her tricks, and the readings, convinced Ortog that he should be king and not prince, who put it into his head that he should found his own tribe." "But you, and Gundlicht, like Ortog, were Drisriak," said Otto. "How is it that you followed him?" "We took rings from him," said Hendrix. "We would die for him, he is our lord."

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Loyalties among the barbarian peoples, it might be mentioned, are seldom simple. Seldom, unlike those of more civilized groups, are their loyalties to abstractions, such as institutions or states. Loyalties tend rather to be based on blood and debt, and are owed, in the final analysis, more to leaders, and, derivatively, to lines or families, than anything else. Indeed, it is out of these basic forms of primitive allegiance that the tribal forms tend to emerge. Even in the tribal matrix the primary loyalty is customarily viewed as being owed to one's lord, the giver of shelter, the provider of loaves. There was a sudden howl of misery coming from behind the altar, and a twisting, struggling figure, but one almost totally covered with rope, was dragged into view. "Ortog! Ortog!" it cried. "Have mercy on me! Do not hurt me! Do not do this to me! We have played together as children! We have stood back-to-back, as men! Have mercy! Mercy!" Ortog raised his hand, to the women, and the cymbals began to clash. The mouth of the man continued to move, crying out. Tears streamed down his face. But he could not be heard, because of the sound of the cymbals. He was thrown across the altar, and, by the trailing rope on his ankles, hoisted by two men into position, the rope being then fastened in such a way as to suspend him, his head and throat at the

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convenience of the officiant. Otto inclined his head to Hendrix, who spoke to him, his lips close to the giant's ear. "That is Andrax, leader of the conspirators," said Hendrix. "He has been saved for last, and had been permitted, by intent to watch the fate of his predecessors." Otto nodded. The mouth of the suspended man continued to move, frantically, wildly, but it was not clear if sound were being emitted, and was simply not audible because of the din, or if no sound were being emitted, perhaps because the vocal cords had failed him, and there was nothing remaining, then, but the frenzied, terror-stricken, wild movements of a contorted visage. Four women came to hold him steady, which they could do only with difficulty. Two other women brought the caldronlike vessel, which had been earlier emptied into the vat on the rude sledge, from the side of the altar and placed it on the altar, as they had before. The women holding the man, as he was taller, pulled his head up and back, and then released it, so that it was then partly within the rim of the vessel. The priestess, once again, with two hands, drew over her head the hood of her gown. There was a fiery climactic clash of cymbals.

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The figure then squirmed, twisting on the rope. No longer was there any question of its capacity to utter sound. "He is not dying well," said Hendrix. "You are not proud of him," said Otto. "No," said Hendrix, "in spite of the fact that he is of the people." "He is not of the people," said Gundlicht. "He is a traitor." "True," said Hendrix. "Are you not all traitors?" asked Otto. "We have followed Ortog, who is our lord," said Hendrix. "We are of the people, still," said Gundlicht, "of the Alemanni." "But not of the Drisriaks," said Otto. "No," said Hendrix, "not of the Drisriaks." "You do not approve of the rites of the Timbri," speculated Otto. "No," said Hendrix, "but we abide the will of Ortog, our lord." "And what would you prefer?" asked Otto.

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"The old ways," said Hendrix, shrugging. "The adz and the block." The officiant had now thrown back the hood of her gown. She had high cheekbones. Her hair was long, and dark. "That is Huta, the priestess," said Otto. "Yes," said Hendrix. Once again, then, were the voices of the women, saving that of the high priestess, raised in song. "It is over now," said Hendrix. "It is hot," said Gundlicht. "It will be good for visibility," said Hendrix. "Yes," said Gundlicht. The tall figure on the platform, that in the golden helm, turned to regard the group with which we have been concerned. A man beside him lifted his hand. "We may approach," said Hendrix. "Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungen, will see you now." "I do not see Gerune, the sister of Ortog, on the platform," said Otto.

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Hendrix stiffened. "She is with the women, in the tents," said Gundlicht. "Remain in the background," said Otto to Julian, "lest Ortog recognize you, from the Alaria." Julian nodded. It was unlikely, however, that anyone who had been on the Alaria would have recognized in the barefoot, ragged fellow at the heel of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, the impeccably groomed young officer, in full dress uniform, with purple cords at the left shoulder, of the Alaria. Surely he could be no more than the meanest of servants and was perhaps even a field slave, fit for a collar and kennel at night, and shackles during the day. "Come along," said Hendrix. "Ortog will see you now."

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CHAPTER 6 How strange it seemed to her that he should appear there, there, in the threshold of the library, of her office, he so massive, so watchful, so unexpectedly there, there in the court complex on Terennia, and that she had not inquired as to what he might wish for she knew without asking what he wanted and would have and that she was that for which he had come and could he know that beneath the judicial gown, so voluminous and grand, so somber and stately, there were only wisps of silk which she had purchased in a shop of the Alaria and had scarcely dared to wear and now how could it be that that was all she wore beneath the somber vesture of the court, that must be wrong, and she had leapt to her feet and fled toward the wall which had disappeared before her, and she found herself on wild, stony slopes, in the moonlight, that could not be right, for there was no such terrain in the vicinity of the courts, but there she was, and she saw him behind her, standing where the wall should be, and then she fled in terror, running from him, over those wild, stony slopes, a stunted tree here or there, with long, dark branches reaching out to snatch at her gown, billowing behind her, a patch of brush here and there, which could tear at her flesh, scratching it in a thousand places, making it bloody, which could be smelled by wolves, and she running lost her footwear, first the half boot on her left foot, and then that from her right, why was she not wearing stockings, and was running, stumbling, gasping, looking behind her, was he behind her still, surely he was gone now, she was frantic, her feet were bare, bruised and cut now on the stones, and she ran, the long dark garmenture of the court flying behind her, and then she stopped.

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No, he was behind her still, not feet away! Again she ran and the gown melted from her and she was clad in naught but the bits of silk from the Alaria and fleeing thusly before him. Were they the only two living things in this wild, frantic, windswept moonlit world? No, for she could hear somewhere, somewhere behind her, and behind him, the thunder of the movements of large numbers of horses, and the songs of thousands of men. She could see behind her now, far back, the lights of a thousand fires, some great encampment. Where were the ships of the empire, the legions come to protect her? She turned again wildly to flee but had hardly hurried thence a step when about her body, like a whisper of much portent, there descended and tightened, then so terribly tight, she could not hope to slip it, a rope of dark, braided leather, pinning her arms to her sides, cutting back into her flesh, and at the slightest release of its tension she fell forward, heavily onto her left shoulder, and then he was crouching near her, she dared not look at him, and he moved her, turning her, not gently, to her belly and she lay there then, prone on the stones. While the rope, that snake of braided leather, was still on her she felt her ankles seized in massive hands and crossed, and then, quickly, with a narrow thong and three tight loops, bound, tightly, making it

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impossible for her to rise to her feet. The braided rope was then removed from her body, and she sensed him standing beside her, looking down at her, thinking whatever thoughts he chose, coiling the rope. He then again crouched beside her and her hands were taken up, behind the back of her head, and then, the palms of her hands, facing the back of her head, tied together there, with her long, dark hair. This was done in such a way that even had she torn the hair from her head, her wrists would have still been securely fastened to one another. Another loop of her hair, about her throat, secured her hands in place, where they were, behind the back of her head, this, too, done in such a way that even if the hair were torn from her head, the loop would remain in place, like a neck cord. She then lay quietly thusly secured. She felt the flat of a knife, cold thrust betwixt her flesh and the silk she wore, and then turned and moved, the back of the blade against her flesh, like a fine line. Then, in a moment, she heard the knife snapped back into its sheath. He stood. She trembled. His booted foot turned her, to her back. She lay at his feet, the bits of silk beneath her. He then reached down and with a cry of delight, of triumph, of exultation, lifted her over his head, her head and feet down, her body bent like a bow, lifted her upward, high, exultant, toward the moon. Then he placed her on her knees on the stones, and looked at her, and then turned away. She struggled frantically, on her knees. She almost fell. She saw gleaming eyes to the side, those of beasts. Her flanks and thighs and calves had in her flight been cut by the brush and thorns. He turned about. Could he have known that she would in another instant have screamed piteously, begging for him to return to

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her side, to come back for her? In the moonlight surely he could not sense the trembling of her lip. She thought to kneel straightly, proudly, defiantly, before him, but then she knelt down a little, as she did not wish to be beaten. But she did not lower her head to where she could not see his eyes, should he approach, for in them she hoped to read her fate. He considered her. She tried to kneel a little straighter, not more proudly, nor more insolently, but more attractively, a little more beautifully, a bit more interestingly. Surely she might at least make an interesting gift, if only for some loyal subordinate. But he must not give her away! He must keep her! She would do anything to be kept. Did he not know she had seen him in a thousand dreams, thusly stalwart, thusly armed, thusly imperious, thusly commanding, thusly uncompromising? He came again toward her, over the stones, and took from her ankles the thong, that she might stand. She lifted her chin, timidly, beggingly, that he might tie his rope about her neck, that forming then a tether to lead her, and then, you see, she would have no choice but to follow him, tethered in that fashion, helpless, vulnerable, at his mercy, no more then than a lovely, curved beast, who might somehow prove of interest to someone, hopefully to someone, hopefully, indeed, desperately she wished, to him, but about his lips there was only the tiniest of smiles. Did he know the bonds that already held her, stronger than stout chains, those of what she needed and craved, those of her condition, and nature, those of what she was, in the most secret recesses of her heart? Please, tether me, she thought. You must give me no choice!

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Tether me! Will you not grant me even that, a simple tether? Will you not throw even such a tiny sop to my pride? He turned and began to walk rapidly away, toward the campfires in the distance. She staggered to her feet. She heard a growl to her left. It frightened her, terribly. She felt the hot breath of a beast on her calf. She could see its shaggy form, silverish, in the moonlight. Had she been able to free and lower her hands she might have touched it. With a cry of shame, and delight, and fear, she hurried after the retreating figure, leaving behind her her old life. In a moment it seemed she found herself in a brightly lit tent, one resplendent with golden hangings. A fitter was measuring her for chains, and then, as she sat, her ankles were shackled. Her captor observed this. She was then knelt. The bonds of her hair were slashed away, freeing her wrists, She sobbed that her hair was thusly cut, so callously, so casually. Her captor had observed this, unmoved. He had

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not objected. She could not then be a high girl, to be so treated. She knelt, holding her hands out, as the fitter indicated, before her. She watched him, as he watched her small wrists being fitted with manacles. He then carried her to the side of the tent, where other women lay, or knelt, or reclined. He threw her among the women, the other women, she now only one more among them, and perhaps not even so much as they. He fastened a chain, run from a heavy stake driven in the ground, a stake from which other chains, too, ran, to the chain which linked her ankle shackles. With the bonds on her, kneeling there, with the other women, she suddenly realized that now, at last, finally, here, in this place, all choices had indeed been removed from her. No longer were choices hers. She was now, irrevocably, what she was, whether she wished it or not. She trembled in terror, understanding what she now was, and that there was no going back. It was what she was, and would remain. Her fate, and destiny, like that of the other women in the tent, were now inalterable. There was no going back. "I am owned?" she said. The fitter laughed.

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"Yes," said her captor, he who caught her in the moonlight, he who had brought her here, putting her with the others. She knew herself now a different sort of being than ever she had been before, save in her heart. But now it was real, and public, as much as being a pig or dog. She felt terribly helpless, and vulnerable and frightened. He saw that she knew now what she was, simply, and that she knew herself his, just as simply, and he smiled, and she saw that he found in this some satisfaction. She, kneeling, lifted her hands to him. "Brand me," she said. "Collar me. Whip me!" And it seemed to her that there were stripes upon her back, which impressed her bondage upon her, and a mark, upon her thigh, which would be recognized throughout galaxies by magistrates and merchants, and on her fair throat, light, closely fitting, gleaming, locked, a collar. "I would have a name, Master!" she wept. "You have not yet earned a name," he told her, and then turned about, and left. She moved a bit after him, her hands extended to him, but, in a moment, was held up, short, and could move no further, could not

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follow him, because of the chain. She felt herself then being stirred, being poked with a stick. She lay on a thin, narrow, straw-filled pallet. It was covered with canvas. It lay directly on the floor. She pulled the small blanket more closely about her. She had not heard the key in the lock. "Brand me," she whispered. "Collar me." But then, beneath the cover, her fingers felt her left thigh. There was a mark there. And then her fingers went to her throat. She felt a chain there, leading up to a heavy collar, which she vaguely recollected had been put on her, over the house collar. The heavier collar fastened her to a ring in the wall, in the cell. Again she drifted back, toward the tent with golden hangings, "Whip me," she said. "Do you wish to be whipped?" asked a voice, from somewhere, seemingly intrusive, alien, far off. "No, no!" she said, quickly. It seemed she could recall the whip, or a whip, from somewhere. "No, please, do not whip me!" she whimpered, turning, squirming, pulling the blanket up about her. It seemed she remembered the whip, or some whip, from somewhere, someplace. "I

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will do whatever you want," she said, in a small voice, frightened. "Please do not whip me." There was laughter, from somewhere. The laughter of a man. "Please give me a name," she moaned. "You have a name, a house name," said a voice. "It is 'Flora'." She then felt the blanket drawn away from her, and she pulled her legs up tightly, and lifted her head, looking up, and saw one of the keepers, a stick in one hand. There was a tiny lamp in the corridor, outside the bars. "Come, Flora," said he, "the day begins." Yes, thought the girl. I am here, truly. And I need not beg the whip, for I have been whipped, at least once, for instructional purposes. I hope they do not do it again. I am eager to obey them. I will do my best to please them. And I am branded. The tiny slave rose is there, high, on the left thigh, just under the hip. It is tiny, but it is clear. There is no mistaking it. And I do wear a collar, though a house collar, beneath a holding collar, keeping me to the wall. She then went to her knees at the side of the pallet and put her head down to the floor, rendering obeisance to the keeper. He crouched near her and she, her head still down, felt the key fitted in the holding

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collar lock, and the holding collar, with a sound of chain, was removed from her, and dropped to the side. The keeper then again stood. She then kissed his feet, softly, tenderly, as she had been taught. "Are you ready for your lessons, Flora?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "Kneel up," he said. She straightened her body, and knelt in one of the positions she had been taught. "You have come along well, Flora," he said. "It is hard to believe that you are from Terennia." She was silent, not knowing if it were permitted to respond. "You are incredibly beautiful," he said. "Sometimes," he said, "those from worlds like Terennia, where they have been starved, and denied, turn out best, becoming the most feminine, the softest, the most eager, the most vulnerable, the most piteously needful, the most passionate, the most uninhibited, the most helpless and shameless, and beautiful, of all. Yet it all, in the end, depends on the female." He put the stick beside her cheek, and she moved her cheek a little, against it, looking up at him.

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"You understand that Terennia is now behind you, forever, do you not, my pretty little slut?" "Yes, Master," she said. He regarded her. "You are beautiful enough to be sold to a high family on a pleasure planet," he said. "And as your training progresses, you will become more beautiful, and more helpless, and more needful," he said. "You do not know, little bitch, so ignorant and simple, and naive, as you now kneel before me, how helpless you will become, how much at the mercy of men, and your needs." "You are not a man," he said. "No, Master," she said. "What may be asked of you?" "Anything." "What is expected of you?" "Everything," she said.

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"Is it your intention to be hot, devoted and dutiful?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Are you to be obedient?" "Yes," she said. "What is to be the nature of your obedience?" he asked. "Instantaneous and total," she said. "What is your hope?" he asked. "To be found pleasing," she said. "What is your intention?" he asked. "To be pleasing." "Subject to what qualifications or reservations?" "Subject to no qualifications or reservations," she said. "None?" he asked. "None whatsoever," she said. "You are then to be fully, and totally, pleasing?"

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"Yes, Master." Again he examined her. "In time, Flora," said he, "so feminine, so soft, so yielding, so helplessly passionate, you will become a piteous, begging dream of pleasure for a man, a meaningless slut, of course, and one despised and scorned, but one for whom planets might be bartered." She did not respond, as she did not know if it were permitted. "You may follow me from the cell," he said. He then left the cell, and she, on her hands and knees, followed him, for she had not been given permission to rise. In the hall she waited behind other girls, in a line, also on all fours, who had been released earlier from their cells. In time she, with the others, those who had been earlier released, and those who were subsequently released, followed the man with the stick, who was one of their keepers, in the house of the connoisseur, their heads down, not permitted to lift them, from the corridor of cells, one of several in the house, to the waste pits and washing bowls, and thence to the feeding troughs, and thence to the training rooms. She was eager to learn all she could. She could not believe what she had learned already, things of which once she had not even dreamed.

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And small, homely tasks, too, were taught her, things she might once have regarded as beneath her, but which were quite appropriate for her now, given what she now was, and seemly surely, in any event, for one such as she, for one of her disposition, with such small, delicate hands. Too, she was becoming aware in herself of rising tides of passion, and needfulness. Already she had begun to suspect what men might do to her, and how much at their mercy she was. She hoped that they would take pity on her, and be kind to her, if only because she was so helpless, and so needful, so desperately needful, and only a slave.

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CHAPTER 7 "It is a fine tent," said Otto. "We may die within it," said Julian. In the tent were many of the high men of the Otungs. Among them, too, other than ranking tribesmen, the aristocracy of the Otungs, or Ortungen, were comitates, retainers, of various nations, peoples and species. Clerks, too, were present, for the recording of documents, the witnessing of proceedings, the signing of names, and such. There was a cleared place in the center of the tent. In this cleared space, on the dirt floor, strewn with rushes, stood Otto, his arms folded. Behind him, and to his left, closer than he would have cared, more prominently visible than he might have wished, stood Julian. He had intended to remain

in

the

background,

but

he

had

been

thrust

forward,

contemptuously, following a brief sign from Hendrix to the guards. Hendrix thought it useful, and pertinent, that the nature, and lowliness, of the companion of Otto, a young fellow barefoot and in rags, and a mere citizen of the empire, one with no people, with no tribal entitlements or rights, surely no more than a mere thrall, be evident. In this way Hendrix made clear to Ortog, and the others, that Otto, although he might be chieftain of the Wolfungs, was much alone. Was he not hapless, unaccompanied by high men? Where were his princely trappings, where his comitates, his retinue? How poor, or few, or weak, or cowardly, were the Wolfungs! There was the reputed chieftain of the Wolfungs, with no uniformed, gift-bearing servitors or stern, calm men-at-arms, with gleaming blades and shields of polished silver, only a ragged fellow with him, barefoot and dirty, the sort who

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might tend pigs for his masters by day and be penned with them, chained, by night. Even one who was of the despised empire! Otto, of course, had not wanted Astubux, or Axel, or others of the Wolfungs, their high men, to come to the Meeting World. What had to be done there was his to do alone, if it could be done at all. Rather their place was with the tribe. If he failed it must be they who must try to sustain and profit the people, the Wolfungs, either by submitting to the conditions of the Alemanni, accommodating them with tribute, or, if this was impossible, leading the people again into the forests, trying to conceal themselves therein, fleeing once more, as times before, from the Alemanni, whether Ortungs or Drisriaks. Julian, the young man, had requested permission to accompany Otto, and to this request Otto had acceded. Julian had had his reasons for desiring to accompany Otto, and Otto had had his reasons for acceding to his request. "The slaves are lovely," said Otto, looking to his right, to the side of the dais, which was a few feet before him. There, kneeling, were three blond slaves. They were women taken from the Alaria, and Otto, when on the ship, had seen them, here and there, in the lounge, and elsewhere, though, to be sure, not as they now were. Once, after the attack, and boarding, of the ship, though Otto had not seen them at this later time, they had been chained at the side of the stage in the ship's auditorium, the auditorium then being used by the Ortungs as a command center. "They are beautiful, and well curved," said Otto. "Yes," said Julian.

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There was no difficulty in making these determinations. The women did not now, you see, in spoiled, supercilious regal splendor, wear their exorbitantly expensive robes, and their fine silks and jewels, as they had when Otto had seen them earlier, in the lounge and elsewhere. Rather, they wore now, as had been exactly the case when they had been put at the side of the stage on the Alaria as he had not seen them earlier, only chains. "They are display slaves," said Julian. "But doubtless they are often put to other uses, too," said Otto. "Doubtless," said Julian. Otto regarded the women. Perhaps once, even in chains, they might have dared to meet his gaze, or even responded with stiffening, resentment or defiance, such naive resistances, but now, even though they had doubtless been only recently familiarized with their new condition, they looked away, not daring to meet his eyes, or surely not without permission. How different they were from what they had been before, and how little time had elapsed! They were obviously highly intelligent. They had learned a great deal in a very short time. Already their bodies had lost much of the stiffness, the tension, the defensiveness, of the free woman. Their expressions, their attitudes, were entirely different. Otto continued to regard them.

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Before they had been far above him, scarcely deigning to notice him, save, perhaps, as one might notice a magnificent animal, paying him a coin perhaps, that he might attend upon them in the privacy of their compartments, but they were not far above him now, as they were slaves, and he a chieftain. There was now in them a needfulness, a beauty and vulnerability. They were quite different from what they had been before. Slavery produces a remarkable transformation in a woman. He considered them, appraisingly, appreciatively, pondering on their value. In most markets, he speculated, it would have been considerable. They knelt, suitably, in appropriate positions. Perhaps they were not unaware of his scrutiny. Perhaps, they had, too, secretly, a furtive glance here and there, considered him. It is hard for a slave not to do such things, not to wonder at what it might be, to be in the arms of a given master, his to do with as he pleases, to be subject to his whip, as they are fully, thrillingly, aware of their own vulnerability, that they can be purchased, and owned, that they must obey, and, with all their zeal, strive to please. How beautiful they had become.

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What truly strong man does not desire to own a woman? Knowing themselves under his scrutiny, and knowing themselves slaves, they trembled. What truly feminine woman does not desire her master, wherever he may be? One of the blond slaves stole a glance at Otto. But Otto's face, at that instant, had been dark with anger. He had, at that moment, recalled another woman, you see, a dark-haired woman, slim and exquisite, one who had once been an officer of a court, on Terennia, too, one whose mother, a judge, had sentenced him to the arena. And he had later trusted her, that lovely, exquisite creature, but she had betrayed his trust. How he despised her! In what utter contempt did he hold her! How he hated her! The blond slave quickly, alarmed, lowered her head. She did not wish to be thrown to dogs.

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The exquisite young dark-haired woman, who had been the officer of the court, had come eventually into his power. Her thigh now bore a mark, one which would be recognized throughout the galaxies. He had had it put on her, with a hot iron. In the village of the chieftain on Varna she now served, his claiming disk on a cord, knotted about her neck. He had kept her, for his amusement, and for low tasks. He had not even seen fit to give her a name. He had never even deigned to put her to slave use. Let her moan at night, naked in her cage, ignored, neglected, putting her hands through the bars, pleading for his touch, for the humble solace of a slave. How he despised, and hated, and desired, her! "The Ortungs are rich," said Otto, looking about himself. "Surely less so than the Drisriaks," said Julian. "Note the treasures, the chests open, they fearing not one coin will vanish," said Otto. "They are careless, or naive," said Julian. "It is called honor," said Otto. "Perhaps," said Julian. "Ortog is rich," said Otto.

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"He is ostentatious," said Julian. Otto had been raised in the tiny festung of Sim Giadini. That is near the heights of Barrionuevo, on the world of Tangara. The contents of one of the smallest of the several coffers scattered about, with rolls of rich cloth and such, among which the high men, and others, stood, would have surely sufficed to pay the tithes of his village to the festung of Sim Giadini for a thousand years. One of the kneeling women, glimpsing Julian, suddenly gasped, lifting her small hands, the wrists chained, to her face. But, a slave, she dared not speak. Too, his eyes warned her to silence. Then, tears in her eyes, she blushed scarlet, that he should see her so. And was he, too, now a thrall, a slave, subject to the huge, blue-eyed, blond-haired brute with him? Had he, one of his station, of the empire, come to this, no more than a ragged slave or servitor, at the shoulder of a barbarian? Otto, too, had noted her response, and, seeing his eyes upon her, as well as those of Julian, she put her head down, with the tiniest sound of chain, that from the collar on her neck. Hendrix, too, had noted her response, but made little of it, supposing it to register little more than her dismay at seeing Julian, one presumably such as she herself once was, one of the empire, but one here, in this place, as herself, in a position of unimportance and lowliness, and of service, if not of actual bondage.

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Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks, on the dais, standing, was in converse with others about him. He had not, as yet, acknowledged the presence of Otto and Julian. Hendrix was amused at the response of the female slave. Did she think that men of the empire would rescue her? Let her then behold one, the barefoot fellow in rags behind the bold Wolfung. Let him hope that he might be spared to tend flocks for his masters. Let her compare, she on her knees, a man of the empire with his betters, setting him against, to his disadvantage, true men, the Ortungs, and their allies, mighty men, muscular and keen-eyed, clad in glossy furs, with golden rings and jeweled weapons. And even if the men of the empire should come, in a thousand ships, with

their

bombs,

and

rays,

and

flaming

cannons,

lingering

technologies from other ages, did she think, truly, given what she now was, and what had been done with her, that she would be rescued, and restored to wealth and dignity? No, her value was now quite other than it had been. Indeed, it was now, for the first time, real, in a quite practical sense, for a price could be set on it. On thousands of worlds within the empire, and beyond it, you see, slavery was wholly legal. On these worlds, it was not only accepted, but acclaimed and prized. Indeed, on many of them, it had been specifically instituted as a remedy, or partial remedy, for serious social problems, such as the conservation of resources, the protection of the environment, and the control and management of the population, with respect not only to such mechanics as size and distribution, but with respect to subtler considerations, such as the diversity and quality of the gene pool.

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Others found it, or one of its many equivalents, a natural ingredient in a stable, orderly society, one in which various parts were harmoniously interrelated, in such a way as to produce a healthy whole. Others saw in it a recognition of, and a civilized refinement of, and enhancement of, the order of nature. Other societies, of course, thought little of it, no more than of the air they breathed or the soft rains which grew their crops. It was part of the way things were, like the earth and the wind. They did not think to question these things, or how they might have come to be, no more than an erect posture, a prehensile appendage, binocular vision. Such things, their ways, if they stopped to reflect on such matters, seemed more rational to them than a myth of sameness, which no one believed, coupled paradoxically with an ideal of success, betraying the myth itself, challenging everyone, in a chaos of competitions, pitting individual against individual, group against group, to stake their future and self-esteem on obtaining a prize which, in the nature of things, almost no one could win. Ortog now, still standing on the dais, turned to regard Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs. He recalled him well. The last time he had seem him, or looked upon him closely, had been on the Alaria, in a small makeshift arena, an illuminated patch of sand in one of the holds, amidst tiered benches. Another of the blond women, kneeling at the side of the dais, not she who had blushed and lowered her head, looked at Julian. Their eyes met. Her lip curled slightly. In her eyes there was contempt for him.

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She scorned him, for his lowliness, for his rags. Her masters were far above him, were far more than he. But Julian's eyes strayed, as though inadvertently, to the steel collar on her neck, with its chain, running to the stout ring, to which other chains, too, were fixed. As though idly, he viewed the light, lovely, but inflexible, unslippable rings encircling her small wrists. Then his glance wandered, but obviously so, to the shackles clasping her slim, fair ankles. Then, at his leisure, he surveyed her enchained beauty. She tried to hold herself straight beneath such a gaze but then her lip trembled, and in her eyes, where insolence had reigned before, there now flickered understanding, and fear. For all his filth, and rags, he was a free man, or seemed so, and was at least a man, where she was naught but female and slave. She knew she could be put upon a slave block and sold. She knew she could be sent to him, even one such as he, even though he might be a mere thrall, on her hands and knees, carrying to him, in her teeth, delicately, so as not to mark it, a whip. She looked down, and away. "Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs," announced Hendrix, addressing himself to Ortog, who stood on the dais. "And Julian, of the empire," said Otto. "And Julian, a worthless dog, of the empire," added Hendrix. "Who is free," said Otto. The blond woman who had earlier looked with disdain upon Julian

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shuddered. He was free! "Who is free, a free worthless dog of the empire," added Hendrix. She did not raise her head. Hendrix's insult to Julian, or to Otto, or both, was immaterial to the realities involved, realities as obdurate, and incontrovertible, as the collar on her neck, and the chains on her limbs. She was a thousand times lower than Julian, a thousand times lower than he, even were he a worthless dog, for he was free and she was slave. "I am Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks," said Ortog. He made no reference to their former meeting, or to the business which had occurred on the Alaria. Otto nodded, his arms folded upon his mighty chest. "Send for Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks," said Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks, sitting himself on the royal stool, on the log dais, floored with planks, it at one end of the spacious, slopingly turreted tent, handing his golden helm to a shieldsman. "She is shamed, she would not come, milord," said a free woman. She was standing back, in her long dress, it was brown, to one side. In the hand of Gundlicht was the small, closely rolled bundle of soiled, brocaded cloth, that which he had brought with him, from the ship. He had received it in the hut of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.

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"Her presence is awaited," said Ortog. "She is indisposed," said the woman. "Bring her," said Ortog. There was a sound of delight from one of the three women chained to the side of the dais. Ortog glanced in their direction. The women looked down, and were silent, frightened. Such excuses would not serve them, you see, for they were owned, and must be ready, at any moment, to render any service, or pleasure, no matter how exquisite or intimate, that the master might desire. He does not wait upon their convenience, or pleasure. It is they who must wait, zealously, upon his. Instant obedience is the least of what is expected of a slave. They knew, of course, the common sisterhood which they shared with free women, who they now recognized as being in nature, if not in law, as much slave as they. The resentment of the slave for the free woman, eluding her slavery, and pretending it did not exist, and their fear and hatred of them, are not so much unlike, really, the seemingly irrational hatred, and intense concealed envy, which free women feel for slaves. The thought that Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, princess of the Ortungs, was to be summoned

to

the

tent,

before

the

assembly,

pleased

them

considerably. Too, in the pens and kennels, and at their work, they

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had heard the delicious rumors, which one scarcely dared whisper, as to how the lofty Gerune had been paraded through the corridors of the Alaria, bound, and gagged, and on a rope, as naked as a slave. Some fellow, it seemed, had thus managed to make his way publicly, but unsuspected, seemingly merely conducting a prisoner to her place of incarceration or enslavement, to an obscure, neglected area where escape capsules had been stored. In the ship, in the march through the corridors, she had been seen by literally hundreds of jeering, lustful Ortungs, as exposed to their gaze, their crude banter and raillery, as any stripped captive or slave. Naturally this considerably please the slaves. "Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, princess of the Ortungs," called a herald, from a side entrance to the tent. There, in the threshold of that smaller entrance, her long, thick, braided blond hair, in two plaits, falling behind her, even to the back of her knees, slimly erect, splendid in rich, barbaric garments, angrily, obviously not pleased at all, two warriors behind her, stood Gerune. Otto regarded her. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. Julian, too, regarded her. He had seen her briefly before, in a corridor of the Alaria, in the vicinity of some locks, in one of which an escape capsule had been positioned. She was quite as beautiful as he, too, remembered her. "Greetings, my brother, milord," said Gerune.

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"Greetings, noble sister," said Ortog. Gerune's eyes briefly met those of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, and then she looked away. In this brief exchange of looks each had seen, in the eyes of the other, the recollection of a relationship, an intimacy which had once obtained betwixt them, that of captor and captive, that it was at his hands that she, though a princess of the Drisriaks and Ortungs, had been, as might have been any woman, stripped and bound. Her eyes and those of Julian, too, met. She could not be blamed, surely, if, in the first instant, she did not recognized the handsome young officer from the Alaria in the ragged servitor in attendance on the Wolfung chieftain, for he had been but briefly glimpsed in the corridor outside the locks. But then, after a moment, she recollected him quite well, even in his present appearance. She blushed. And the certainty of her recollection was doubtless abetted, at least, and made far more embarrassing, by the openness of the way he looked upon her, with a maleness, and relish, he did not feign to conceal. Reddened she then further. He, though of the empire, had seen her at the feet of the chieftain, then a mere gladiator clad in Ortung armor, near the lock. There was a small stir in the tent. The slaves, with a tiny sound of chains, looked too, toward Gerune. Once she, too, had been as helplessly in the hands of a man as they now were, irremediably and institutionally.

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But Gerune was free. She did not deign to so much as glance at the slaves. She is indeed beautiful, thought Julian. Gerune looked away from him. "Approach, noble and beloved sister," said Ortog. Many barbarians, you see, and those of many civilized worlds, and of many groups, political or otherwise, wish to view their women, though not necessarily those of others, in certain fashions, fashions to which the real woman, the natural woman, in all her delicacy, complexity and depth, is largely irrelevant. Ortog indicated a place at his side where she might stand. To this place Gerune, holding her long skirts closely about her, began to make her way. There was, from somewhere in the tent, to the right, as one would face the dais, back among the men, a tiny ripple of laughter, but, as Ortog looked up, angrily, it was quickly suppressed. In her approach to her place Gerune, at the laughter, had stopped. Then she had resumed her journey.

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She had now ascended the dais, and was at the side of Ortog. "I am not well, milord," she said to Ortog. "I would be excused." "Bring a stool for the princess," said Ortog. One was brought, and upon it the princess, reluctantly, took her seat. It was quiet in the tent. "Let the proceedings being," said Ortog. A clerk came forward, who held a set of three waxed tablets, tied together at the top by string. On such tablets matters may be scraped away, put in other form, rearranged, and such, later to be copied in a proper hand on parchment, to which Ortog might put his sign. "The

purpose

of

this

court

is

to

dispel

scandalous

rumors,

uncomplimentary to the house of Ortog," said the clerk. There was some laughter from among those of the assembly. There were doubtless several there who had witnessed, though unknowingly at the time, the discomfiture of the princess, Gerune. "Or to establish their veracity," said Ortog. There was a murmur of assent to this among the men present. Gerune looked up, startled.

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"It is charged," said the clerk, "that the body of the princess Gerune was, on the fourth day of the codung before last, publicly bared on the ship Alaria, as brazenly as that of an ordinary market slave." "That is false!" cried Gerune, leaping to her feet. One of the blond slaves looked at her, with amusement, but kept her hands down, on her spread thighs. On most worlds in the galaxies pleasure slaves kneel with their knees spread, as this is a beautiful position and serves, too, to remind them that they are slaves. It also increases a sense of vulnerability in the woman, and is psychologically arousing. In some women this simple position, kneeling, and thusly, is all that is required for the conquest of frigidity. "No," said Otto, his arms remaining folded upon his mighty chest. "It is true." "Do you, Gerune, noble princess, recognize this man?" inquired the clerk, indicating Otto. "No!" she cried. "That is strange, Princess," said Otto, "for I recall you well." "Fool," she cried. "Do you not know the danger in which you stand!"

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"Shall I describe her to you, intimately?" Otto asked Ortog. "Beast!" wept Gerune. "That will not be necessary," said Ortog. "Permit me to be excused, milord!" said Gerune. "No," said Ortog. "I have a grievous headache!" she wept. "Sit down," said he, "woman." The blond slaves laughed. "Lash them," said Ortog. The lash fell amongst the former citizenesses of the empire. The slaves cried out with misery. Men laughed. "Enough," said Ortog, not even glancing at the chastised slaves. The leather blade desisted then in its admonitory rebuke. The slaves then, in misery, weeping, gasping, shuddering, remained

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crouched down, keeping their heads to the earthen floor, making themselves small in their chains. There was more laughter, that of mighty masters. Julian was momentarily embarrassed for the women. But perhaps they now understood better that they were only slaves. Gerune had resumed her seat. Her face was set, angrily. She had been furious at the slaves, who had laughed at her discomfiture, laughing at her, clearly, as though she might be naught but another woman, a woman being put in her place by strong men, a woman no different, ultimately, than they. But, even more, she resented the fashion in which she had been treated by her brother, that she was to resume her seat, that she was to remain in the tent, that she was, despite her wishes, to await the outcome of the proceedings. Also, she was alarmed, for she had taken for granted that the court was so arranged that the charge against her, on her word, and on the expected denial of the chieftain of the Wolfungs, who surely was not mad, would be dismissed. But it seemed her word was not being taken as sufficient and, to her amazement, the Wolfung seemed determined to acknowledge his role in the alleged events of the fourth day of a recent codung. She might be a princess, but she was, when all was said and done, only a woman. She, like the slaves, and other women, were ultimately at the mercy of men. This thought,

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now brought home to her, more clearly than it had ever been before, save, of course, for a particular set of events on the Alaria, disturbed her, and, on some deep level, thrilled her. She was also apprehensive because she now realized that she did not understand, clearly, what was going on about her, or how she figured in these matters. There seemed to be political currents about her, deep, obscure currents which eluded her. "The princess," said the clerk, "denies the allegations involved in the charge." "Yes," said Gerune, firmly. There was some laughter from the assembly. The slaves, their backs striped, kept their heads down. "Is he who putatively subjected the princess to this outrage present?" inquired the clerk. "There was no outrage. They are all lies. It is only a story," said the princess. "I am he," said Otto. There was a response in the assembly to this claim, one of satisfaction. The slaves dared to raise their heads, to look with awe upon Otto, one who had dared to treat a princess as though she might be no

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more than they, only a slave. "Two matters, it seems, must be clarified," said the clerk. "First we must have assurance that this outrage was committed, and secondly, that he who so boldly claims this deed for his own is he who has that right." "Who amongst you," called Ortog to the assembly, "has witnessed the matter of the charge?" "None has witnessed it, as you can see, milord," said Gerune. "It is my understanding, milord," said a man, "that we may speak openly and freely." "Such was the custom in the courts of the Drisriaks," said Ortog, "and so, too, it is in the court of the Ortungs. It is thus among all the Alemanni." "Hundreds witnessed the parade of one whom they took to be a captive or slave," said the fellow, a tall fellow in a long cloak, with a ring of gold on his upper left arm. "But it was not I!" cried the princess. "It must have been another, not I!" "More than seventy yeomen have been marshaled outside," said the man, "who are prepared to supply evidence in the matter, either positive or negative. Too, we have brought together the officer and his

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men who recovered the woman in question, in the corridors of the Alaria, the woman who, at that time, insisted vociferously and determinedly upon her identity as the princess Gerune." "Dismiss this matter, my brother," begged Gerune. "Bring in some of these men, and the officer and his men, those who recovered she who claimed to be the princess," said Ortog. "Please!" protested Gerune. Several men were introduced into the tent, including those who had recovered the woman in question. "Hold your head up," said Ortog to his sister. Tears in her eyes, clutching her robes about her, she did so. "Examine her closely," said Ortog to the men. "Make no mistake in this matter." Surely, thought Gerune, they will have been instructed to deny such a damaging identification. "Forgive me, milord," said a man, "but it is she." "Yes, milord," said another, "it is she." "No!" cried Gerune.

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"I am sorry, milady," said a man. To her misery the men, and the officer and his men, as well, several of whom regarded her with great closeness, clearly intent on responsibly discharging their duty to the court, were unanimous, however regrettably so, in their testimony. Gerune paled, and then reddened, under this examination. She felt almost as though she might have been a slave. To be sure, there were many differences. For example, she was not naked, nor was she handled, nor her mouth forced open, that the quality and condition of her small, fine teeth be ascertained. "It is she, undoubtedly, milord," said the last of several witnesses. Gerune even remembered some of these men from the trek through the corridors, the jeering tones, the bestial leers, the approving looks, the gestures indicating what she might expect, if she had fallen into their hands, rather than into those of another. "Be it accepted then," said Ortog, "that it was done onto the princess Gerune, on the Alaria, on the fourth day of the codung before last, substantially as was specified in the charge." "Have you no feelings for me, my brother?" asked Gerune. "I must seek truth, and do justice," said Ortog. "I am king."

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"How you have reduced my value," said Gerune. "I joined with you for love, fleeing with you and others the hall of our father." "You joined with me, that you would be the highest woman in the Ortungs," said Ortog. "Of what value am I now," she asked. "How will you arrange my marriage? How will you mate me now to the advantage of the Ortungs?" "Such matters are no longer of importance," said Ortog. "And you have already contributed to the advantage of the Ortungs." "How so, milord?" she asked. "I do not understand." "Proceed," said Ortog to the clerk. "Milord!" protested Gerune. "Is he who stands now before you, milady," asked the clerk, "he who on the fourth day of the codung before last removed, or caused to be removed, your regal habiliments and placed you in bonds more suitable to a slave than a princess?" Gerune was silent. "Thence, and thusly, marching you, exhibited, through the corridors of the ship Alaria?"

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"No," said Gerune. There was a stir of surprise in the assembly. Otto, too, regarded her with surprise. "Surely you desire some terrible vengeance, dear sister," said Ortog. "It was not he," murmured Gerune, her head down. "I do not understand," said Ortog. "She is a woman," said his shieldsman, who held the golden helmet. "She has felt the ropes." "Strange," said Ortog. Gerune lifted her head a little. Briefly she met the eyes of Otto, who was puzzled. She looked away from him. She then met the eyes of Julian, who, too, was puzzled. She then again lowered her head. "I can prove the matter," said Otto. Gerune stiffened. "I did as it is thought with the princess," said Otto, "as it was congenial to my plan for escape from the ship and, as she was a woman, as it pleased me. Her royal garments, too, in accord with my plan, and as it pleased me, and that she might understand herself and her relationship to me better, I put on a slave, one whom I had won in

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contest." Gerune looked up, angrily. Ortog's face flushed with fury. There was a cry of rage from the assembly. The chained slaves stole glances at one another. How pleased they were! How they hated Gerune! "These garments were on the slave when we made good our escape from the Alaria," said Otto. "I kept them." He pointed to the soiled bundle in the hand of Gundlicht. "Those are the garments," said Otto. "Let them be examined, and identified. I returned them to your envoy on Varna." Women of the princess were called forth and they, with others, confirmed that the garments were those of the princess, which she had had upon her on the fourth day of the codung before last. Some of these women had even sewn the garments themselves, and others had adorned the princess with them on the day in question. The jewelry, too, by certain merchants, and craftsmen, was identified, some even by their marks. "The court accepts," said Ortog, "that he before us now, he who claims the deeds involved in these matters, is fully and lawfully entitled to do so, that they are, as he claims, his." There was a response of satisfaction from the assembly.

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"You are a fool," said Gerune to Otto. His eyes flashed for a moment, and Gerune, in spite of her position and power, and the men about her, shrank back. She could scarcely dare conjecture what it might be to be alone with such a man, and at his mercy. "You are Otto, who claims to be the chieftain of the Wolfungs." said Ortog. "I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs," said Otto. "They have no chieftains," said Ortog. "I have been lifted on the shields," said Otto. "We have forbidden the Wolfungs chieftains," said Ortog. "Surely you know this. The Wolfungs, of the Vandals, are a tribe tributary to their betters, first the Drisriaks, now the Ortungs, and are permitted to exist only upon their sufferance." "Do the Drisriaks know you come for the tribute of the Wolfungs?" asked Otto. "As it is explained to me, you refused the tribute," said Ortog. "Yes, they did, milord," said Hendrix.

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"Yes, milord," said Gundlicht. "You returned, empty-handed, from Varna, bringing no grain, no pelts, no women." "Yes, milord," said Hendrix. "Yes, milord," said Gundlicht. "They had no grain, no pelts?" asked Ortog. "They had such things," said Hendrix. "And no satisfactory women?" inquired Ortog. "They had some beauties," said Gundlicht. "But they are not now in our collars?" "No, milord," said Gundlicht. "The tribute was refused?" said Ortog. "Yes, milord," said Gundlicht. "Is this true?" Ortog asked Otto. "Yes," said Otto.

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"Why?" asked Ortog. "The Wolfungs are no longer a tributary tribe to the Drisriaks, or the Ortungs," said Otto. "And why is that?" asked Ortog. Otto shrugged. "I have been lifted upon the shields," he said. "You are well aware, I trust," said Ortog, "that our ships could burn away your forests, and destroy the Wolfungs, once and for all." "Some might escape," said Otto. "We could destroy your world," said Ortog. "Who are the Ortungs?" asked Otto. "We are Alemanni," said Ortog. "You are not a true tribe," said Otto. "You have no recognition, no legitimacy. It is only that you have broken away from the Drisriaks." "We have ships, and cannon!" cried Ortog. "So, too, have bands of brigands," said Otto. "You are bold," said Ortog.

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Otto was silent. "We could destroy Varna," said Ortog. "But that would not expunge the insult," said Otto. "No," mused Ortog, "that would not expunge the insult." He looked at Gerune, who looked away. "You would be, I conjecture," said Otto, "more than a band of brigands." Men cried out, angrily. Some stepped forward, blades half drawn, from the side. Ortog motioned them back. Otto had not moved, but continued to stand, his arms folded across his chest, before Ortog, seated on the dais. "Antiquity, and custom, do not, in themselves, bestow legitimacy," said Ortog. "But may be taken as the tokens thereof," said Otto. "The most ancient, and honorable, of tribes must have had beginnings," said Ortog, "though these beginnings may not have been understood at the time." "Doubtless," said Otto. "And I doubt not, as well, that at the foot of every dynasty, at the founding of every tribe, though we many not remember him, though his name may be lost, there was once a

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brigand, or soldier, or seeker of fortune, or pirate." "Lying dog!" cried a man. "Do you object?" asked Ortog. "No," said Otto. "I see you as such a man," said Ortog. Otto shrugged. "We carry legitimacy in our holsters, in our scabbards," said Ortog. "It is true that in the end," said Otto, "there is only the weight of the rock, the point of the stick, the blade of the knife." Ortog looked down at the soiled clothing, the garments, the jewelry, and such, which had been identified as that of the princess. These things lay across his knees. "But I have been lifted on the shields," said Otto. "I, too, have been lifted on the shields," said Ortog, looking up, angrily. "But only by renegades," said Otto. "Slay him!" cried a man.

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"Hold," said Ortog. "Legitimacy, in the normal course of things, is an accretion," said Otto, "bestowed in a moment of forgetfulness, a gift of time, taken for granted thereafter." Ortog did not speak. "But sometimes history may be hurried on a little," said Otto. "Speak clearly," said Ortog. "I come before you," said Otto, "bearing a priceless gift, one I do not think you will care to refuse, the free and uncoerced recognition of the Ortungen as a tribe of the Alemanni nation." Ortog looked closely at Otto. "I bring you legitimacy, or the supposition thereof, as though wrapped in a cloth of gold." "That could be weighty, milord," said the clerk. "The Wolfungs are a traditional and unquestioned tribe of the Vandal peoples." "It is for such a purpose," asked Ortog, skeptically, "to benefit the Ortungen, that you have entered into the ritual of the challenge?" "Not at all," said Otto. "The Wolfungs are muchly at the mercy of the

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Ortungen, as hitherto of the Drisriaks. I would change that. It is for that reason that I have issued the challenge. You, or your champion, must meet me in combat. If you, or your champion, are victorious, I shall be slain, the Wolfungs will have no chieftain, which is what you have wished, and things will be as before. If, on the other hand, I am victorious, you will abandon all claims upon the lives and goods of the Wolfungs." "You have done grievous insult onto my sister, the princess Gerune," said Ortog. "Accept then the challenge," said Otto. "I could have you slain now," said Ortog. "But only as a brigand might order a killing," said Otto. "It is the challenge of one chieftain to another, milord," said the clerk. "Such things have not been done for a thousand years," said Ortog. "I have issued the challenge," said Otto. "Such challenges can only be between chieftains of tribes," said the clerk to Ortog. "He is chieftain of the Wolfungs, of the Vandals. He has seen fit to accord you this challenge. Seize this opportunity, milord. It is a rare one. In accepting it, you are acknowledged chieftain of the Ortungs, and the Ortungs a tribe, that in the eyes not only of the Wolfungen, an acknowledged tribe of the Vandals, but in those of all

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the Vandal peoples, and of a hundred other peoples, as well." "Does milord hesitate?" asked Ortog's shieldsman. "What is your origin, your true people?" asked Ortog of Otto. "I do not know," said Otto. "I was raised in the festung village of Sim Giadini. It is on Tangara." "You are only a peasant," said Ortog. "How could I, a chieftain, in honor and propriety, accept a challenge from one such as you?" "I have been lifted upon the shields," said Otto. "He has the look of an Otung," said one of the men from the side. Ortog was silent. He had, himself, long ago, on the Alaria, vouchsafed a similar speculation. Julian looked closely at the first fellow who had spoken, and then at Ortog. The Otungs, or Otungen, were the largest, and fiercest, tribe of the Vandal peoples. "No matter, milord," said the clerk. "He has been lifted upon the shields. Accept the challenge." "Do not hesitate, milord!" called a man from the fellows to the left of

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the dais. "Such a thing would consolidate the people, milord," said the clerk. "Your sister," said Otto, "is well curved, and would bring a high price upon a slave block." Men cried out with rage. "Beware," said Ortog. Otto shrugged. "She is only a woman," he said. "You permitted yourself to be captured," said Ortog, angrily, to Gerune. "I could not help it, milord," said Gerune. "I was overpowered." "I see," snarled Ortog. "I am a woman," said Gerune. "Only a woman," snarled Ortog. "I am a princess!" she said. "And you were taken as easily as any woman. You could have been made a slave."

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"I am a princess!" she cried. "Only a woman," snarled Ortog. "And that becomes clearer," said Otto, "if her regal robes were to be again removed." "Beware, Wolfung!" said Ortog. "Accept the challenge!" urged the clerk. "Accept the challenge!" said the shieldsman. "As I have issued the challenge," said Otto, "you may, as is the custom of our two peoples, choose the weapons." Ortog looked down at the garments, the jewelry, and such, of the princess Gerune, which had been removed from her on the Alaria, and returned to Hendrix and Gundlicht on Varna, some days ago. These various items still lay across his knees. "You have shamed me, and the Ortungs," said Ortog to Gerune. "I am sorry, milord," said Gerune, tears in her eyes. "You may, of course," said Otto, "choose a champion." "I have a mind," said Ortog to Gerune, "to keep you in the tents from now on, to conceal you from the eyes of those you shamed."

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Gerune looked at him, stricken. "You would have less freedom than a slave girl," said Ortog. "Please, no, milord," wept Gerune. "And it would be fitting to force you to wear these soiled rags, which have been put upon the body of a slave girl, until they stink and rot, and fall off your body," he said, "as a badge of your shame." "It would be better," said Otto, "to have her keep her body washed and perfumed, and clad as that of a slave, as such a garmenture is enhancing to the beauty of a woman." Gerune looked at him, startled. Perhaps she had never realized that men might speculate as to what she, or, indeed, other women, might look like, clad as slaves. She wrung her hands, then, wildly, in misery, and looked down, at just that time, at the three slaves to her left, kneeling there, chained in their place. There were all regarding her. Then they looked away, frightened, crying out, for Gerune, in hysterical helplessness, in rage, in fury, that they should dare look upon her, and as though they might share some smug, common sisterhood with her, they only slaves, leapt to her feet and, sobbing, seized a whip, from a keeper, and threw herself down, amongst them, sobbing wildly, striking wildly, hysterically, about. At a sign from Ortog the keeper wrenched the whip away from Gerune. Ortog then, as she stood there to the left, on the

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rush-strewn earthen floor, below the dais, amongst the cowering, beaten slaves, she half bent over, weeping helplessly, indicated that she should resume her seat. She turned suddenly, defiantly, and fled toward the side entrance of the tent but her way, there, was blocked by two warriors, those who had conducted her to the tent. She turned about, and then ascended, again, to the surface of the dais, resuming her seat. There was laughter from among the men. The free women in the tent, some of them her own women, looked down. Even their lofty mistress, to such men, Ortungs, and others, was only a woman. "I have issued the challenge," said Otto. Ortog angrily seized up the jewelry and robes from where they lay, across his knees, and then held them before himself for a moment, and then, wadding them together, hurled them angrily to his left, to the floor, to the foot of the dais. "Take those things," said Ortog to a frightened free woman. She hurried to gather up the items.

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"Put them among the stores from which we clothe slaves for our pleasure," said Ortog. "The robes, too, milord?" asked the woman, from her knees. She was not more than a yard or two from Otto. "But first, of course," said Ortog, "they must be cut into revealing rags." "Yes, milord!" said the women. In a moment she had gathered together the jewelry, the bracelets, the necklaces, the chains and such, and the robes, and hurried from the tent. "That was not necessary, milord," said Gerune. "You have shamed me, and the Ortungs," said Ortog. "The challenge has been issued," Otto said. "Accept it, milord," said the clerk. "Accept it, milord," said the shieldsman, with the golden helmet. "You," said Ortog, paying no attention to the others about him, "you, step forward."

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He was pointing at Julian. Julian, reluctantly, stepped forward, from where he had been standing, rather behind the left shoulder of Otto. "I see you have with you," said Ortog to Otto, "a lowly, and despicable thrall." "He is, of course," said Otto, "a free man, of the empire." "Step forward," said Ortog to Julian. Julian took another step forward. "I think we have met before," said Ortog. "Yes," said Julian. "You are an officer in the imperial navy," said Ortog, "but, I take it, no ordinary officer. I saw you on the Alaria, and noted your place of honor, and the deference accorded to you." "Who is he, milord?" inquired his shieldsman. "As you see," said Ortog, "a worthless dog, clad in rags." "Milord?" said the clerk. "He has some relation to the imperial family," said Ortog. "I am sure

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of it." Men gasped. Some even stepped back, so dreaded and awesome seemed the mysterious empire. It was one thing to mock and scorn the empire, but they were only too well aware of its power. Seldom would they stand against its ships. It would not have occurred to them to meet it in force. Its history, its deeds, its terrors, its terribleness, loomed large in their imagination and fears. One of the most potent defenses of the empire was its simple presence, so extensive and subtle, looming so mightily in titanic legend. "Rope him, like a pig, and put him on his knees," said Ortog. Julian was rudely seized and bound, and thrown on his knees before Ortog. Men breathed easier. "You were, when last I saw you, as I recall, leveling a pistol at me, on an imperial ship," said Ortog to Julian. "Unfortunately," said Julian, "I did not receive an opportunity to fire." It was at that time that the ship had been first struck by the pursuing Ortung fleet. "I think you will bring an excellent ransom," said Ortog. Otto had not attempted to interfere with Julian's discomfiture.

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He did not care to be diverted from his purpose. "The challenge has been issued," Otto reminded Ortog. "That is true, milord," said the clerk to Ortog. "On our camp world," said Ortog to Julian, "you will tend pigs, but, as you are of high birth, your chains will be of gold." "On what world do you think it would be appropriate for your sister to be sold as a slave girl?" asked Otto. Ortog regarded him, irritably. "Her particular form of beauty might bring a higher or lower price on certain worlds," speculated Otto. This was true. Certain worlds preferred blondes, and certain worlds redheads, and so on. The princess Gerune was, as we have noted, blond. This tended to be a popular hair color on many worlds, for slaves. "Take him away," said Ortog, pointing to Julian. "It will take some time to arrange for his ransom." Julian was dragged to his feet, and rudely conducted, stumbling, from the tent.

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"Secure recognition for us," said a man, pleading, from the side. "Such a recognition, by tribal custom, must carry weight even with your father, Abrogastes," said a man. "Accept the challenge," urged the clerk. "Accept the challenge," urged the shieldsman, he with the golden helmet in his grasp. "Accept the challenge," pressed others. Ortog regarded Otto, evenly. "The challenge, of course," he said, "is accepted."

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CHAPTER 8 The blade of the adz, the larger adz, one of the sort with which we are concerned here, is better than a foot in length. The handle, in which the blade is fixed, socketed, crosswise, is some four feet, or approximately so, in length. It can be wielded efficiently only by a very strong man, or a creature of some comparable, or greater, strength. This instrument has a place in the traditions of numerous peoples, in particular, as one would suppose, those of the forests. Indeed, the adz, as the ax and the spear, and, later, the sword, is, in a sense, a symbol of such peoples. The particular adz we have in mind is now enclosed in a leather case. In the same compartment in which we find the adz, on a shallow bronze plate, and covered with a purple cloth, was a heavy, sturdy, muchly scarred, peeled stump, indeed, one which had been brought, some time ago, from the home world of the Alemanni peoples. We beg the indulgence of the reader, in reminding him of these things. It may also be recalled, though it is not recounted in this manuscript, that some days ago, while Hendrix and Gundlicht were entertained in the hut of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, one of their radios, that of the Ortungs, was surreptitiously used to broadcast a message to an imperial fleet, supposed to be in the quadrant, presumably having come in response to distress calls from the Alaria, which vessel had been destroyed after the Ortungs had taken their leave of her.

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One of the risks of transmitting such a message, of course, is that one does not know who or what may hear it. This message had, in fact, been overheard. The vessels, however, did not turn toward Varna, which was speculated to be its source. Their objective was other than Varna. They themselves traveled in radio silence.

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CHAPTER 9 "I have been sent to you, and have been commanded to address you as 'Milord'," she said. The two warriors, behind her, withdrew from the threshold of the waiting tent, closing the flap behind her. She was enveloped in a dark cloak and hood, and her head was down. She spoke softly. Otto could barely hear her. He approached her and brushed back the hood, and she raised her head. "Gerune!" he cried. "Yes," she said, angrily. "It is the princess," said Julian. His limbs were confined in chains of gold. "You stink of swine," she said to him, angrily. Julian had been permitted to come to the tent of Otto, that he might there, on the morrow, render him service, that in the manner of the second. Otto had brought none other with him, that by his own will.

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"Why have you been brought to the tent?" asked Julian. Gerune looked at him, in fury. Then she lifted her chin, disdainfully, as Otto undid the string at the throat of the cloak and, gently, parted it, and lifted it back. Gerune was quite beautiful. About her neck, on a string, was a tiny key. "Do not dare to look upon me!" Gerune hissed to Julian. But his eyes marveled at her loveliness, relishing it in the full, exciting glory of masculine passion. Gerune could not resist, had she been so minded, the lifting away of the dark cloak. Otto put the cloak over his arm, and turned her about. Her tiny wrists were confined behind her body, in the delicate, tasteful, but efficient, inflexible cuffs of a female slave. Doubtless it was to these devices that the tiny key at her throat, on its string, answered. "It seems your brother thinks highly of you," said Otto. "I have shamed the Ortungs," she said.

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"It is for that that you have been sent here, on this night," said Otto. "Yes," she said. "It is my punishment. I am to serve you, as might a female slave. Then, suitably chastened, after the morrow's combat, I am to be sequestered, put from public view, and, though free, will be less free even than a female slave." "It is unfortunate," said Julian. "You would make an excellent female slave." "Dog!" she cried. "You are a woman," said Julian. "You would learn quickly enough, under the whip." She viewed him with fury. "Naked dog!" she snarled. Julian was not naked but his tunic had been muchly torn away, considerably baring the young aristocrat's form. This had amused the herders in whose keeping he had been placed. "Naked, chained dog," she snarled. His wrists were before his body, confined in golden manacles. His ankles were shackled, in shackles of gold, these joined by a short chain, that, too of gold.

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"Free your wrists," said he, "female." She looked away. "Your necklace is fetching," he said. She tossed her head, causing the tiny key on its string to dance at her throat. "And your ensemble," said he, "is stunning, doubtless the latest fashion for barbarian princesses-being displayed in imperial markets." "For the evening," said Gerune to Otto, "I am yours. Do with me as you wish." "Is it true?" said Otto. "Yes," she said. Then she added, "Yes, milord." Otto reached for the key on its string. It was looped, and tied, rather closely about her neck, that she could not slip it. Fear entered briefly into her eyes. She drew back a bit from his hand, as it was near her beauty. He lowered his hand.

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"Perhaps you should cry out," suggested Julian. She looked at him, in fury. "But then your cries would doubtless be disregarded by those outside," he said. "Yes, they would be," she said. "And then perhaps," suggested he, "as you are subdued, and vanquished, your soft cries, your moans of helpless ecstasy, suitable for a slave girl, might be reported to your brother." She paled. "Forgive me, milady," said Otto. And he reached to the string about her neck and took it with two hands, gently. He then broke it. She looked at him, startled. She had not expected to be freed. To be sure, the hands of slave girls are often freed, that they may the better serve. But he had not simply jerked the string loose, taking it in one hand, snapping it free, peremptorily, against the back of her neck. He had freed her of the string carefully, but surely.

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He turned her about and as she trembled, his hands so near her, inserted the tiny key in the locks. In a moment she rubbed her wrists, her hands freed. "Milord?" she inquired. He tossed the cuffs to one side, with the key. "Garb yourself," said he. She took the cloak and drew it, closely, wonderingly, about her. "I do not understand," she said. He regarded her. "Milord," she added. "You are a free woman, and a princess," he said. "You will be treated with honor." She looked at him, wonderingly. He pointed to a corner of the tent, where some blankets were strewn on the ground. "There will be your place, milady," he said. "I advise you this night to be essentially silent and unobtrusive, for you are beautiful, and we are but men."

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"Yes, milord," she whispered. She then went to the place which Otto had indicated and knelt there. She made certain the cloak covered her, save for her throat and head, which were bared. "Perhaps you should not kneel," said Otto. This posture, in a woman, can enflame a man. "Yes, milord," she smiled. She then half knelt, half sat. Julian had often seen women in that posture in slave markets, chained by an ankle against a wall. She pulled the cloak up, about her throat. Then she looked down, demurely. A shapely ankle, with it small foot, peeped out from beneath the cloak, and then, as though self-consciously, with a superior smile at Julian, she drew it back, removing it from sight beneath the cloak. "She knows what she is doing," complained Julian, "the vixen." "How can it be?" asked Otto. "She is a free woman." "She is a woman," said Julian. Too, it must be remembered that once, some time ago, on the Alaria, the princess Gerune had felt bonds. The symbolism of such things, the psychological suggestions associated with them, their reverberant emotional impact, so inexplicable, seemingly ancient and mystical, the

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memories they recall, the truths at which they hint, are things no woman ever forgets. That evening food was brought to the tent. "Do not eat it," said Julian to Otto. "She is in the tent," said Otto. "I do not think it will have been tampered with." They could not know, outside, for example, whether or not Gerune would be permitted to eat. "They do not need to drug you, or poison you," said Gerune. "Why?" asked Otto. "They are not of the empire," said Gerune. "Bitch," said Julian. "Dog!" she exclaimed, angrily. She lay at the side of the tent, on the blankets, her weight partly on her right elbow, the cloak up about her. You could not see her well, because of the darkness. "You will eat first, bitch," said Julian.

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Gerune looked away. "I must eat, to keep up my strength," said Otto. He had not been fed in two days. "It will not matter," said Gerune. "Why do you say that?" asked Otto. "Because you will lose," said Gerune. "How do you know that?" demanded Julian. "You have no chance," she said, bitterly. "The weapons are unfamiliar, the chosen champion presumed invincible?" inquired Otto. "No," she said. "I do not understand," said Otto. "I will partake of the food," said Gerune. "You will indeed," Julian assured her. She looked up at him, angrily.

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Otto lit a small lamp in the tent and hung it on the forward pole. "Perhaps you should remove your cloak," said Julian. "The bodies of slave girls are exquisite in this sort of light." "Dog of the empire," she hissed. "Are you hungry?" inquired Julian. "Yes," she said. "Then, eat," said Julian. He took a chunk of bread from the broad trencher on which it had been brought, and threw it to the blankets before Gerune. "You throw me food as though I were a female slave!" she said. "And a slave would be grateful for as much," said Julian. "You are only a despicable thrall of the Wolfung!" she said. "I am a free man of the empire," said Julian. "And I am a princess of the Ortungen!" she said. "Would you prefer, Princess, to crawl to me, and take food in your mouth, from my hand, like the bitch you are, or as the slave you should be?"

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She looked down, trembling. It is common for slaves to be fed in such a fashion. They are, of course, being slaves, lower than bitches. She reached for the chunk of bread. "Wait, Princess," said Otto. He retrieved the piece of bread and handed it to her. "Thank you, milord," she said. "She is not a slave, she is free," said Otto to Julian. Julian watched carefully while Gerune finished the bread. He then, from the trencher, brought her samples of the food there, and, carefully, watched her eat each bit. Gerune looked up, angrily, at Julian. "We will wait some time," said Julian. "The effect may be delayed, and they may have an antidote for the princess." "Dog," said the princess. "She may have developed, over time, through graduated doses, an immunity to certain poisons," said Julian.

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Certain rulers, and high men, had done this. "I do not imbibe poisons," said the princess. The technique was dangerous, however, sometimes resulting in the sickness and death of the subject, and was also on the whole of little protective value, in virtue of the variety of toxins available to the potential assassin. A cabinet of antidotes, depending on the symptoms manifested,

was

generally

preferred.

Too,

of

course,

in

royal

households, the acquisition of foods and their preparation tended to be carefully supervised. A number of such households, too, utilized the time-honored practice of skilled food tasters. These, contrary to popular belief, were normally free persons, and were often trained chemists, physicians, and such. Their senses, particularly those of taste and smell, were both acute and highly trained. The services of such men, who were sometimes court physicians, as well, were valued far above those of animals and slaves. Sometimes, too, particularly within the empire, samples of certain foods, prior to being served, were literally subjected to chemical analysis. But even so, many were the emperors who had died at the table. It is interesting to add, in this respect, that little attention, on the whole, was paid, or needed to be paid, to such matters in barbarian courts. In the barbarian court there tended to be a unified ethos, an ordered oneness, an organic wholeness, a tribality, a community. There one was commonly environed with individuals known to one, with one's comrades in arms, one's brothers, so to speak. One had a history in common with them. It was quite different from the situation in civilization where one had about oneself not a community, not a band of brothers, but a world of

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milling, swarming strangers, an aggregate of self-seeking, often hostile, competitive units, innocent of honor and tradition, many of which might have something to gain, and little to fear, from shifts in power. Too, in the barbarian situation there was commonly at hand no maze of nameless streets, no anonymous crowds, so to speak, in which one might immediately lose oneself, seeking escape or refuge. In a barbarian community reprisals tended to be swift and sure. Their hunters were efficient and relentless. The barbarian community tends to be organic, with a structured hierarchy, its parts, each essential and celebrated, in harmony with one another. It knows that there is a jungle, but it keeps it at bay; it does not invite it within. It is joyous to feast with one's companions. It is dangerous to eat with strangers. "They can kill us now, if they want," said Otto. He picked a piece of meat from the trencher and, holding it in both hands, began to tear at it with his teeth. They had not been permitted utensils. "You see, dog of the empire," said Gerune, later, "the food is acceptable." "But poorly prepared," said Julian. "If you were mine, you would be taught to prepare food properly." "I, cook?" asked Gerune. "It would figure among several of your other duties," said Julian. "Such as?" she asked.

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"Surely you can guess," he said. "Dog, dog!" she cried. "It seems," said Otto, "that the food has not been tampered with." "It would not be necessary to do so," she said. "Why?" he asked. "You will see in the morning," she said, "milord." "You do not care to speak further of this matter?" asked Otto. "Beware the priestess Huta," said Gerune. "She of the Timbri?" said Otto. "Yes, milord," she said. "What has she to do with the Ortungs?" asked Otto. "She has come to have much influence over my brother," said Gerune. "Do you approve of this?" asked Otto. "No, milord," said Gerune.

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"In what way does she figure in the affairs of the morrow?" asked Julian. "You wear chains," she said, scornfully. "Would that you were truly a female slave," said Julian. "You might then be tortured. You would then speak." She drew back form him, shuddering, clutching the cloak more closely about her. "Speak further," said Otto. "What is to be done," she said, "is worthy only of the empire, not of my people." "You do not care for it?" asked Otto. "No, milord," she said. "Will you not speak further?" asked Otto. "I may not, milord," she said. "Speak!" cried Julian. "No, naked thrall," she hissed. "You require a taste of the whip, Princess," said Julian.

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"Dog!" she hissed. "I will lock your wrists behind you, in slave cuffs," said Julian, "and make you writhe, and cry out, like a slave girl!" "You would not dare!" she cried. He took a menacing step toward her, extending his chained hands toward her. "No," said Otto, sternly. Julian arrested his advance, angrily. "Would that you were my slave," he said. "You would learn quickly enough your fate!" She shrank back before him, even to the wall of the tent. "No," said Otto. "She is free." Julian turned away, angrily. "Let us retire," said Otto. He lifted the globe on the lamp. He blew out the tiny flame. "Milord," she said, late that night.

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"Yes," said Otto. "Do you want a woman, milord?" she asked. "You are free," he said. "You are not to survive the morrow," she said. "You are free," he said. "Yes, milord," she said.

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CHAPTER 10 "Let the auspices be taken," called Ortog, from a dais. This dais was outside, open to the sun and air, but it, and the area for viewers, and the field of the challenge itself, were within a large, oval, temporary enclosure, some seven to eight feet high, wall-like, formed of braced poles and yellow silk. This silk billowed in the wind. If one listened carefully one could hear it. Occasionally a bird's cry, too, could be heard, from somewhere beyond the enclosure. It was traditional that challenges be met in the open air, and on a natural surface, such as earth or grass. To be sure, they sometimes took place on a small island, in a river, or on a bleak skerry, offshore, or even, interestingly enough, in a stream itself, commonly one dividing warring territories. "As the king wishes," said Huta, of the Timbri, in her white gown. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes bright, her hair as dark as the night of sunless Sheol. "Let the truthful, consecrated blood, sacred to the ten thousand gods of Timbri, be brought," she called. Two women, perhaps acolytes, or novices, escorted two men who brought forth, and placed a few feet before the dais, on a surface of linked boards, supported by two trestles, a large, sealed container. "That will be blood from the sacrifices," said Julian, whispering to

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Otto. They stood rather alone, a bit before, and to one side, of the dais. On the dais, but clearly isolated there, stood Gerune. None regarded her. None would stand near her. She had, last night, been taken to the tent of the Wolfung. She had spent the night there. She had been put there, as much at his mercy, as much to be used as he might wish, as any slave girl. Not even her women would now look upon her. She wore, however, having been carefully dressed therein, within the women's tents, that she might appear resplendent upon the dais, adding glory to the day, intricately worked, regal, barbaric garments, these garments, too, with gold and jewels, muchly bedecked. The two men who had set the container on the surface of linked boards now withdrew. The two acolytes removed its lid. Otto looked about himself. There were many within the enclosure, much as there had been within the great tent, and many were the same individuals, warriors, soldiers, ambassadors, traders, guests, free men, free women. On the dais, with Ortog, were his shieldsman, and the clerk, and other high men. Hendrix and Gundlicht were to one side, to the right of the dais as

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one might face it. A priestess brought forth a large wooden pole, and plunged it into the container, and began to stir the liquid within it. She lifted it and blood, fresh and bright, dripped back into the container. Men cried out with awe. "How can it be fresh?" asked Otto. "Surely now it must be caked and hard." "It is done with chemicals," said Julian, irritably. "What are chemicals?" asked Otto. "Substances," said Julian, "iron, salt, a thousand things." Otto was silent. He had been raised in a festung village. There were many things he did not understand. "We are so helpless!" Julian said suddenly, angrily. He pulled a little at the golden manacles confining his wrists. Some men regarded him, and then looked away.

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Gerune turned, too, and looked at him, but then lifted her head, loftily, in misery, and looked away. "I wonder if Ortog has tried to contact an imperial fleet with respect to your ransom," said Otto. "Do not concern yourself with me," said Julian. "He will doubtless wait a time," said Otto. "It will be done through intermediaries. He will not wish to reveal his own position." "Consider your own peril, my friend," said Julian. "I wonder if your message, from Varna, was heard," said Otto. "It would seem not," said Julian. "Surely an imperial fleet would be in the quadrant," said Otto. "One does not know," said Julian. "The Alaria surely had time to transmit distress signals, calls for help," said Otto. "We are far from the scene of the Alaria's misfortune," said Julian. "You transmitted a message from Varna," said Otto. "It seems it was not heard," said Julian.

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"Bring a plain piece of cloth," said Huta to a priestess, "a simple piece of cloth, one no different from any other." A cloth was fetched. Surely there seemed nothing unusual about it. "Would you care to inspect this cloth, milord?" inquired Huta of Ortog. "No, milady," said Ortog. Huta held the cloth by its corners, and turned about, displaying it to the crowd. It was some two-foot square. "I should like to inspect it," said Otto. "You would detect nothing unusual in it," said Julian. "There are many slaves present," said Otto. This was true, and there was a purpose for it. Earlier, in the great tent, there had been, near the dais, rather at its foot, to the right, as one would face it, chained in place, only three slaves, three only, blond display slaves, women who had been taken from the Alaria, women who had been, in a former reality, one now quite abrogated and superseded, citizenesses of the empire. But there were now several slaves present, perhaps between forty and fifty, many kneeling, their

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wrists chained behind, or before, their bodies, in the first row of the viewers, the men standing behind them. "Yes," said Julian. "And one of the most beautiful is on the dais." "She is free," Otto reminded Julian. "She is a beautiful slut," said Julian, admiring Gerune. She looked down at him, and then glanced away, quickly. "Yes," said Otto. "Do you not think she would make an excellent slave?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "I think she would make an excellent slave." "You note," said Julian, "that her former garments, and jewelry, are about." "Yes," said Otto. And, indeed, it was to display such things that so many slaves were present. On each of the slaves present there was some shred, or particle, of what had been the regal garments of Gerune on the Alaria. Those garments had been cut, and torn, to pieces, until they were

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now little more than scarves and ribbons. At the foot of the dais, rather to its left, chained there much as they had been in the great tent, one might again notice the three blond display slaves, spoken of upon occasion earlier, the former citizenesses of the empire, taken from the Alaria. Their adornments, such as they were, may be taken as typical of those of the slaves present. One wore, knotted about her left ankle, much as though it might be a slave anklet, such things, metal and locked, used in some locales to identify slaves, a shred of cloth, cut from the garments which Gerune had worn on the Alaria. Another had such a strip of cloth thrust loosely, and then looped there, about her collar. The third had such a piece of cloth knotted about her upper left arm. These three, too, among them, shared the jewelry which had been worn by Gerune, bracelets, after the placement of which their manacles had been replaced, and several necklaces, thrown over their heads, the hair then taken back and lifted up, thence to be replaced attractively, arranged and smoothed, over the strings and chains. The hair of the women had not been cut since their capture. Long hair tends to be favored in slave girls, as it is attractive and there is much that can be done with it, both cosmetically and in the performance of their more intimate tasks. It may also serve, upon occasion, as a bond. Cutting the hair short, or shaving the head, is normally a punishment. To be sure, much depends on the tasks to which the girl is set. Long hair is less practical, for example, if she is to be put to the cleaning of stables. The length, style, arrangement and such of a slave's hair, is, as one would expect, a function of the will of the master. She must wear it as it pleases him, and may make no changes without his permission. It is so, of course, in effect, with the grooming of any animal.

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"How shamed must be Gerune, to see her garments, her jewelries, thus displayed on the bodies of mere slaves," said Otto. "Yes," said Julian, approvingly. "Do you not feel sorry for her?" asked Otto. "As she is a free woman, and I am a free man, in a sense, of course," said Julian. "But if she were a slave, then I would not feel sorry for her." "No," said Otto. "One would not feel sorry for her then." "Then she herself would be only a slave," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "Behold, milord," called Huta. "I dip within the consecrated blood, the blood of truth, the plain cloth, innocent of all design and preparation, and call upon the ten thousand gods of Timbri, if it be their will, to vouchsafe us a sign." She thrust her white-clad arms, to the elbows, into the container of blood, plunging the cloth into the liquid, then she straightened up, her sleeves scarlet with blood, but holding the cloth beneath the surface of the blood, it now stirred about her submerged wrists. "Vouchsafe us a sign, O gods of the Timbri!" she cried. Then she drew the cloth from the liquid and held it up, first to the dais, then turning, showing it to

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the crowd on all sides. Men cried out with awe. Women screamed. "Aiii!" cried Otto. The cloth bore upon its surface, outlined in blood, the sign of the Ortungs. "The auspices have been taken," announced Huta. "Come forward," Ortog called to Otto, who stepped before the dais, followed by Julian. The priestess Huta handed the cloth, it bearing the sign of the Ortungs, to another priestess, who folded it carefully, and carried it away. "You are Otto, claiming to be chieftain of the Wolfungs," said Ortog. "I am Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs," said Otto. "Let him be chieftain," whispered the clerk to Ortog. "He must be chieftain, for the matter to be proper." "I salute you," said Ortog, lifting his hand, "chieftain of the Wolfungs." "I am chieftain of the Wolfungs," Otto said. "Salute me," said Ortog. "I salute you," said Otto, lifting his hand, "Ortog, prince of the

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Drisriaks." "And king of the Ortungs," said Ortog. "And king of the Ortungs," said Otto. There was then much cheering in the enclosure, the raising of weapons, the clashing of them. Pistols, too, and rifles, were fired into the air. It seemed even, far off, that there was, too, the sound of gunfire. "We do not need your recognition to be what we are, a sovereign tribe of the Alemanni peoples, the Ortungs," said Ortog. "In any event," said Otto, "you have it." "Long live the Ortungs!" cried an ambassador. "Long live the Ortungs!" cried others. "You have what you wanted," said Otto. "Now I would have what I want, that the predations of the Ortungs against the Wolfungs cease." " 'Predations'?" asked Ortog. "The Wolfungs are tributary to the Ortungs," said the clerk. "That the Ortungs renounce all claim to the Wolfungs as tributaries," said Otto.

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"But we are fond of the Wolfungs," said Ortog, grinning. "Especially of their women," called a man from the side. There was laughter. "This matter rests," said Otto, "as I understand it, on the outcome of the challenge." "Agreed," said Ortog. "It is you who will meet me?" inquired Otto. "No," said Ortog. "You will choose weapons, then, and a champion, as is your right," said Otto. Once before Ortog and Otto had met in combat. It had occurred on a square of sand, in a small arena, one improvised in a section of the Alaria's gigantic hold. Otto was then a gladiator, being groomed by Pulendius, master of the school of Pulendius, and his trainers, for matches in major arenas. The experience was not one which Ortog was eager to repeat, nor was it one which he could, in justice, have been expected to repeat. Ortog was a king, not a pit killer. It was no dishonor for an unarmed,

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naked man to decline to enter the lair of a vi-cat. Even Abrogastes, his father, lord of the Drisriaks, fierce and terrible, would not be expected to accept such an invitation. Such a thing would not be courage, but insanity. Too, there were some risks to which a king, if only in virtue of his responsibilities, should not subject himself. "The arrangements will be explained to you by my advisor and confidante, Huta, of the Timbri," said Ortog. There was laughter. "What is one, and what is many?" inquired Huta. "I do not understand," said Otto. "Are the stars many?" asked Huta. "Yes," said Otto. "But they are all stars, are they not?" asked Huta. "Yes," said Otto. "Thus they are also one," said Huta. "I do not understand," said Otto.

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"Is the principle of individuation, of oneness, one of form or matter?" she asked. "I do not understand," said Otto. "Many can be one, and one can be many," she said. "I do not understand her speech," said Otto. "Perhaps she is very wise." "Or mad, or clever," said Julian. "Bring forth, milord, the champion," said Huta. "Bring forth the champion," said Ortog. From back, from among the men, a large, simple, slow-moving fellow, blond and blue-eyed, was led forth by the arm. He was very large, and broad-shouldered, but soft, and carried no weapons. His eyes were glazed. He did not seem clearly aware of what was about him. "He is drunk, or drugged," said Julian. "Choose another champion," said Otto. "Behold, the champion!" said Ortog, and gestured, again, to the side. Another such fellow, seemingly identical to the first, was led forth.

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"They are the same," said Otto, puzzled. "Twins," said Julian. "Bring forth the champion!" called Ortog, again. Another such fellow was conducted forth. "I am to fight three?" asked Otto. But again, and again, the call for the champion was issued. Then, at the end, as the crowd stood quiet, uneasy, there were brought before the dais ten such fellows, seemingly somnolent, narcotized. Men supported some of them. "It is called cloning," said Julian. "It is a process whereby genetic identicals may be produced." "There is the champion," said Huta, pointing to the ten men before the dais. "That is ten champions," said Julian. "It is one," said Huta. "They are one!" "Ten!" said Julian. "Were you given permission to speak, thrall?" asked Huta. Let his

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tongue be cut out!" she cried to Ortog. "No," said Ortog. "They do not seem to be fighters," said Otto. "They are not," said Ortog. "They are drunk, or sick," speculated Otto. "Drunk, or drugged," said Julian. "They will not be quick," said Otto. "They do not need to be," said Ortog. "Surely I am to fight them all, at the same time?" said Otto. "You will meet them one at a time," said Ortog. "I do not understand," said Otto. "Do you not fear he will win, milord?" inquired the clerk. "No," smiled Ortog. "Does milord intend to surrender so lightly his rights to the property and women of the Wolfungs?" asked Ortog's shieldsman.

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"Not at all," said Ortog. "The king of the Ortungs is generous," said Otto. "But I beg his indulgence, and request that he put before me a true fighter, a suitable champion, if he wishes, his finest warrior." "I am he," said Ortog. "How else is it that I have rings to give?" "Then meet me," said Otto, puzzled. "No," said Ortog. "I do not wish to slay drunken, or drugged, men," said Otto. "Why have these champions been drugged?" asked Julian. "That the champion be not too much aware of what is occurring," said Ortog. "I do not understand," said Otto. "Bring forth the device," said Ortog. "Do not do this thing, my brother!" cried out Gerune. "Be silent, shamed woman," he snarled. "She spoke without permission," said Julian.

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"She is free," said Otto. "If she were roped at my feet, as a slave," said Julian, "she would not have dared to speak." "No," said Otto, "but then things would be quite different." "Yes," said Julian. "Bring forth the device!" called Ortog. The apparatus was brought forth. Far off, it seemed there sounded a cry, perhaps that of a bird. The wind snapped the yellow silk which, with its poles, formed the wall of the enclosure. "Hold his arms!" cautioned Ortog. Four men seized Otto, and held him fast. Two others restrained Julian. Huta's laugh rang out merrily in the enclosure. It appeared at first a complicated device, but it was not really so. Two chairs, facing one another, with a heavy metal backing behind the head of each, were linked together beneath a small tablelike platform, on which, on an adjustable stand, its base fixed in the platform, was something which looked like a horizontal pipe, or tube. Feeding into

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this tube, vertically, entering it at the center, rather at the breech at the center of the horizontal tube, was another tube. "Put them in the chairs," said Ortog. There was a murmur of anger from the men about. Otto shook away those who would hold him and sat in one of the chairs. There were caliperlike grippers attached to the heavy metal backing, behind the head. He placed his head, unbidden, between these calipers, or pincers. They did not restrain his head, but merely positioned it. One could leave them only by moving forward, or downward, not to the side. Their purpose was to prevent any reflexive movements to the side. "No!" cried Julian. "Silence, thrall," said Huta. The first of the large, soft, somnolent individuals was placed in the seat opposite Otto. "The charge," said Huta, "is entered into the vertical tube, at this point. The tube is precisely made, as are the charges. The drop is a fair one, insofar as such things can be tooled, to the thousandths of an inch. There is, in so far as can be assured, exactly the same chance that the charge will fall to the left as to the right, exactly the same chance that it will enter the barrel to the left as the barrel to the right."

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"I understand," said Otto. "Do you wish to be tied in the chair?" asked a man. "No," said Otto. "You can reach the trigger?" asked a man. "Yes," said Otto. "If you do not wish to participate, you have lost the challenge," said another man. "Abandon the challenge," urged Julian. "I do not," said Otto. "It is too late to abandon the challenge," said Ortog. "The Ortungen are without honor!" cried Julian. "Your ransom is doubled!" said Ortog. "Do not interfere, my friend," said Otto, "if you would again see your worlds." The pipe was being adjusted now.

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The man opposite Otto was tied in the chair, not because he was unwilling to take that place, as he had little understanding of what was transpiring, but rather in order to hold him in position. "Do you understand what they are doing?" Julian asked Otto. "Yes," said Otto. "Your skills, such as they may be, and if you retain any, are herewith neutralized, completely," said Ortog. "The outcome is a matter of chance." "Of probabilities," said Julian, angrily. "He does not need to cooperate," said Ortog. "If he wishes, he may leave the chair, and be quickly, mercifully, put to death." "There is one chance in two that you will die on the first firing," said Julian. "The chance of escaping the first firing is one in two; the chance of escaping two firings in a row is one in four; the chance of escaping three firings in a row is one in eight; of four, one in sixteen; of five, one in thirty-two; of six, one in sixty-four; of seven, one in one hundred and twenty-eight; of eight, one in two hundred and fifty-six; of nine, one in five hundred and twelve; of ten, one in one thousand and twenty-four." "I am ready," said Otto. "You cannot even count so high, my friend," said Julian, despairing.

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"I know what a thousand is," said Otto. "I think I know. It is a great many." "You could have put him against dwarfs, or women!" raged Julian. "Like the leaves of a tree, like the stones on a beach," said Otto. Let those who are familiar with mathematics congratulate themselves on their knowledge of a simple number, such as a thousand, but let them, too, aside from marks on paper, and procedures of counting, and such, see if they can visualize that number, say, a thousand leaves or a thousand stones. Are they visualizing a thousand, truly, or nine hundred and fifty, or a thousand and ten? "Dwarfs are amusing," said Ortog. "And one would surely not wish to waste women in such a manner. They have much more pleasant uses." "Milord!" cried Huta, in horror. Her priestesses and acolytes gasped, too, some placing their hands to their breasts. They exchanged wild glances. Such women are vowed to chastity. "It is a high number, surely," said Otto. There was one trigger for the apparatus. It was mounted on a small, movable box, which we may refer to as the trigger box, or housing.

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This box rested on the table. From it, an insulated cord ran to the base of the stand. "Forgive me, Lady Huta," said Ortog. The pipe was adjusted on the stand. It was arranged in such a way as to be level with, and focused toward, the center of Otto's forehead. The barrel of the pipe, its muzzle, was somewhat lower on the fellow across from Otto. It was centered there just above the bridge of the nose. This was because Otto was the taller man. The muzzle, on each side, was about four inches from the faces of the men. "Place a charge," said Huta. One of the men who had been assisting the priestesses removed a spheroid from a box and dropped it into the vertical tube. "You may fire first," said Ortog. "Is there any advantage in firing first?" asked Otto. "None," said Ortog. "The trigger fires the device. One does not know where the charge is." "Let him fire first then," said Otto. "Wait, milord!" called Hendrix, from the side. "This is not the way of the Drisriaks, nor should it be the way of the Ortungs."

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"This is not a matter of steel, of a duel in which glory may be sought, a cutting with knives, the thrust of the blade, the sort of thing of which songs are made!" cried another man. "It has been decided," said Ortog. "It is a mockery of honor!" cried another. "All has been arranged," said Ortog, angrily. Overhead, but muchly unnoticed, there was a flight of birds, hurrying to the west. "I will be the champion of the Ortungs!" called Hendrix. "And you would die!" said Ortog. He himself, on the Alaria, had once crossed blades with the seated blond giant. He had not cared to do so again. "I am swift," called Gundlicht, stepping forward, "Let me fight him, in the ways of honor." "Yes!" called others. "Me!" called another. "No, I!" cried another. "He would kill any of you," screamed Ortog.

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"How can it be?" cried a man. "Can you not see the breeding, and the blood, in him?" inquired Ortog. "Let the match begin!" called Huta. "He is an Otung!" called Ortog. Otto did not move. The men were stilled for an instant. "Of royal blood!" cried Ortog. "I am a peasant, from the festung village of Sim Giadini," said Otto. Julian regarded Otto wildly. "I am sure of it!" said Ortog. "They are a race of warriors, the fiercest of the Vandal peoples!" said a man. "They were destroyed by the empire!" said another. "The Alemanni are the greatest of all the peoples!" cried a man.

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"Yes, yes!" shouted others. Julian's mind raced. These cries, and the stirring of the crowd, its murmuring, and unease, tended to obscure even the sounds of the wind at the yellow silk. "Let the match begin!" called out Huta. "Yes," said Ortog. "Let the match begin!" "No, milord," begged his shieldsman. "It has been arranged by the priestess Huta," said Ortog. "Please, milord!" begged a man. "It has been decided," said Ortog. "Milord!" protested another. "Who is king of the Ortungs?" asked Ortog. "Ortog is king of the Ortungs," said a man. "Let the match begin," said Ortog. "Let the match begin," said men.

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"Press the trigger!" said Huta. Her words were addressed to the man fastened in the seat opposite Otto. "The trigger! The trigger!" cried Huta. "Here, this," said one of the men who had been assisting the priestesses. He took the trigger housing, on its cord, running to the stand, and put it in the hands of the fellow opposite Otto. "Wait," said another man, he who had also been assisting the priestesses. He thrust up, and back, the head of the man opposite Otto, indeed, he held his head in place by the hair, pulling it back, that it would be properly positioned within the caliperlike grips attached to the shielding at the back of the seat. "Press the trigger," said the first man. "Trigger?" asked the lethargic form in the chair across from the chieftain of the Wolfungs. "This, this," said the first man. "I am the champion?" asked the man across from Otto. "Yes, you and the others, they are all the champion," said the man who had literally thrust the trigger housing into the fellow's hands.

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"It is glorious to be the champion," said the lethargic creature, slowly. "Yes, yes!" said the man near him. "I am glorious?" asked the lethargic form. "Yes! Press the trigger!" said the man. A second flight of birds passed overhead, hurrying like the first, to the west. The finger of the fellow opposite Otto slowly moved toward the trigger, or switch, and rested upon it. "Press it!" said the man nearest him. There was a sudden flash of fire and light, and a cry of horror from men, and screams from slave girls, and the fellow who had been standing behind the shielding of the fellow across from Otto, holding the fellow's head up, and back, by the hair, now held, dangling from his hand by the hair, half of a head, the eyes opened wildly, no longer seemingly dazed. There was a slick matting, smoking, of blood and flesh and brains smeared upon, and dripping from, the shielding across from Otto. Blood pumped up, like an underground spring, through the throat, and spilled out, over the remains of the lower jaw. Gerune screamed and threw her hands before her face. Slave girls

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wept, and put down their heads, shuddering, sickened. Some retched onto the grass. Many, those who could do so, buried their face in their chained hands. The three display slaves turned away, sick, moaning in horror, in their chains. "Get rid of that!" screamed Huta, pointing to the most of a body, still fastened opposite Otto. "Bring the champion!" called Ortog, shaken. The remainder of the man who had been fastened opposite Otto was freed from its place and dragged to one side. Another man, another of the original

ten, the champion, or

champions, if you like, was dragged toward the chair. "No!" he cried. It was the sight of what was before him, I suppose, the spattering, the stew, of blood and flesh, the cast-aside part of a head, the bleeding, still-convulsing body of the other, that had shocked him into some sort of soberness, or awareness. He was wrestled into this place, and bound there, bodily, save for his arms. "No!" he cried. Another charge was placed in the device. "No, no!" he cried.

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"Press the trigger or die!" cried Ortog. The fellow's hand, shaking, reached toward the trigger. But his hand did not reach the trigger box, for Otto had swept it toward himself. He then rose from the chair, to the consternation of all. "What are you doing?" cried Huta. Otto's hand was on the adjustable stand, that which provided the mount, the support, for the barrel. He tore this stand, in a rending of metal, from the platform. "Sit down! Take your place!" cried the fellow who had placed the spheroidal charge, it now dormant, like an unexploded bomb, within the apparatus. "Do so!" cried the other, his fellow. "The challenge has been met, and I am victorious," announced Otto. "No, no!" cried Ortog. Otto then set the device against himself, one barrel at his own chest, the other, opposite, trained on the breast of Ortog, who rose from his chair, turning white.

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Swords leapt from sheaths, weapons, with small, swift sounds, darted from holsters. "Kill him, kill him!" screamed Huta. "No, no!" cried Ortog, thrusting aside his chair, backing away a step. Otto's finger was on the trigger of the device. It was there tightly, the tiniest particle of energy away from activating it. The smallest reflex, the slightest jerk, as of a blow striking him, the lash or thrust of a blade, the impact of a projectile, even the breath of a ray, would fire the device. "Has the challenge not been met?" inquired Otto. "Am I not victorious? The opposing barrels of the device, torn from the tablelike platform, were aligned, the rear barrel to the chest of Otto, the forward barrel to toward the dais, and the breast of Ortog. Ortog's shieldsman inched toward his lord. "Do not move!" cried Otto, fiercely. "Go back," said Ortog, softly. The flash leaves the barrel with almost the speed of light. The shieldsman returned to his place.

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Ortog seemed much alone now on the dais. His high men had drawn away from him. Gerune now was closest to him. At the foot of the dais, on its left, looking outward, even the display slaves drew away, to the extent they could, huddling down, terrified. Their chains were taut against the common ring. Otto was ringed with weapons. He paid them no attention. "Well, milord," said Otto. "Who has won the challenge?" Ortog drew himself up. He was king. "The tribute of the Wolfungs is as nothing," said the clerk. "You can buy their women, or others, doubtless better, in a thousand markets," said his shieldsman. "The Wolfung has won, milord," called Hendrix. "The challenge has been met, and survived, milord!" called Gundlicht. "The Ortungs are now a recognized tribe," said his shieldsman, urgently.

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"That is what we want," said the clerk. "Give him the liberty of the Wolfungs, as a gift," pressed his shieldsman. "I have won their liberty," said Otto. "I await your answer, milord," said Otto. "The challenge has been met," said Ortog. There was a cheer from the men present. "No, no!" cried Huta. "You are victorious," said Ortog. Otto lowered the device. Weapons were sheathed. "No, no, milord!" cried Huta. "Be silent, woman," said Julian. "Chained thrall!" screamed Huta. She tried to strike Julian but he caught her wrists, and she struggled, briefly, futilely, helplessly.

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The other priestesses, and acolytes, cried out with dismay. "Respect the sacred person of the priestess!" cried Ortog. "She is only a woman," said Julian. The priestess cried out in fury. There were cries of protest, too, from her fellow priestesses, and the acolytes. "Unhand her," demanded Ortog. Julian then flung her hands down, contemptuously, away from him. She staggered back. There seemed cries, too, somehow, those of men, from some distance to the east. "I hear something," said a man. "I, too," said another. "Press the trigger, Wolfung," said Ortog to Otto. "As milord wishes," said Otto. "Yes, I hear it!" cried a man.

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Some of the kneeling slave girls raised their heads in alarm, looking about themselves. The three display slaves looked about themselves, trying to place the sound. "It is coming from the east," said a man. Otto pressed the trigger on the trigger housing, held in his hand. Almost instantly there burst from the forward barrel, that which had been trained on the breast of Ortog, it now held downward to Otto's right, a flash of fire. It tore open the turf. A hole now gaped there, better than six inches in width, and indeterminately deep. It smoked. Grass was charred at the edges. Ortog turned white. Men shuddered. "Now you may kill him, milord!" cried Huta. "Be silent, woman!" cried men. "No!" she cried. "No!" "Listen!" cried a man. "I am priestess of the Timbri!" cried Huta. "Be silent!" cried a man.

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"Listen, listen!" cried another. Ortog raised his head, listening. At that moment, suddenly, almost noiselessly, over the curtain, or wall, of yellow silk to the right, to the east, there appeared the dark, circular shape of a hoverer. It was not more than a yard above the silk. Leaning over the gunwales of the ship were riflemen. Rifle fire ripped downward, tearing into the throng. Then there was another such ship, and more fire. Men tried to run. Circular holes appeared suddenly, black-rimmed, and spreading, in the yellow wall. Armed men were seen on the other side. Slave girls screamed. Some leapt up and fell, tangled in their chains. Men cried out. Men pushed against one another, and buffeted one another. Many fell, stumbling over others. Otto seized Julian and flung him to the ground. Fire from the ground swept upward. More of the small, circular ships passed over the enclosure. Gerune huddled on the dais, her robes over her head. Wood splintered, burning, about her. Julian freed himself of Otto's grasp and, half hobbling, half crawling, fighting his chains, made his way to the dais. "How dare you touch me!" cried Gerune. But Julian had drawn her, forcibly, from the dais, and behind it, where he thrust her beneath its timbers. The three display slaves, too, had taken refuge there, and huddled helplessly there, in the smoke and fire. Others, too, slave and free, had fled beneath it. Men fled to the west, but some there reeled and fell, plunging backward, their chests smoking. Ortog stood on the dais, a pistol in his hand. He fired upward. None of the ships returned his fire. "There is another!" cried a man in misery. More fire was exchanged. Otto hurried to the dais and joined Julian. "It is lost!" said Otto. Men fired upward. More of the shallow, circular ships passed over

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the enclosure. "Where is he who holds the key to your chains?" demanded Otto. Julian looked about himself, wildly. "I do not know," said Julian, pulling at the chains. "There!" cried Julian. "There!" He pointed to a body near the front of the dais, that of one of Ortog's yeoman. Otto crawled to the body and drew it under the dais, and tore away the wallet at its belt. In moments he had freed Julian of his bonds. "We must flee," said Otto. "I will not leave without her," said Julian, indicating Gerune. She looked at him, wildly. "You love me!" cried Gerune. "You can judge of that when you are whipped," exclaimed Julian, angrily. "Dog!" she wept. "We must flee!" said Otto, seizing Julian by the arm. "It is no use," said a man. "We are surrounded." On the surface of the flaming, blackened, splintered dais, Ortog stood, alone, cursing, firing his pistol into the air, at the ships. He had not been fired upon. No one had returned his fire. Then, cursing, he flung his empty pistol from him. Already, in the enclosure, men were standing, their hands lifted, their

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weapons cast aside. Some of the slaves, who were out in the enclosure, knelt, lifting their chained wrists imploringly, beseechingly, to the ships. Then they put their heads down to the ground. Others, whose wrists were fastened behind them, already knelt with their heads to the ground, weeping, hoping to be spared, rendering obeisance to they knew not whom. "Slaves, out," called one of the surrendering men, his hands raised. The slaves who had taken refuge under the dais, with the exception of the three display slaves, who were chained in place, crept out, and went to the center of the enclosure, to kneel there, with the others. The three display slaves emerged from beneath the dais, and knelt there, as they had before. Their chains would permit them no more. Ortog stood on the surface of the dais, alone. Otto and Julian emerged from beneath the dais. Otto went toward the center of the enclosure. He did not raise his hands, but he was unarmed, and he stood in full view of the ships. It was obvious that he did not intend to offer any resistance. "Do not raise your arms," said Otto to Julian. "We are not as the others, and I want them to understand that." And so resistance was ended within the enclosure. There were slaves there, and priestesses, and acolytes, and many men, traders and others. Most of the men, with the exception of Ortog, and Otto, and

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Julian, stood with their arms raised. They were vulnerable to the ships. Too, they were clearly surrounded. They could see armed warriors about, many of them even within the remains of the enclosure, the tattered, burned yellow silk here and there fluttering from shattered, awry poles, like flags. Then a ship, moving very slowly, appeared above the remains of the wall of silk. It approached the center of the enclosure, and then stopped there, and remained in place, some twenty feet in the air. A man stood at the bow, with his hands on the gunwales of the small vessel. "It is Abrogastes," said a man, "lord of the Drisriaks."

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CHAPTER 11 "Aii!" cried men, drawing back. The sound is difficult to describe, but it is one that, once heard, is not to be soon forgotten. It is too swift to be a tearing sound. But, too, it is not like the descending ease of a curved blade, little more than a momentary whisper, the stroke delivered from behind, dividing the vertebrae, opening the neck, then arrested, with the small, sharp sound of touching wood. It is much more crude than that. It is more analogous to the blow of an ax, held in two hands, delivered downward, striking crosswise into a felled log, except that it lacks that ring, the resonance of men making their marks on the world, shaping wood to their ends. It is more like the sudden chopping through a different material, through, say, a twisted vine, and thence further vegetable matter, the sound not altogether unlike that of splitting a gourd or melon, the blow then stopped, muffled, the sound not clean or sharp, by the weighty, rude, scarred surface of the base. The muffling of the sound has to do with the damping effect, the insulation, so to speak, provided by the intervening material, that between the instrument and the base. There is little splintering, too, or what there is, better, tends to be obscured, the intervening material providing shielding from the bursting chips and needles of wood that

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would attend, say, the blow of an ax into wood. Too, of course, the base tends to be washed with fluid, after each stroke, suddenly, plentifully, and this causes many of the small particles of wood, drenched, to run down the sides of the base. The wielder of the instrument, wearing a large, leather workman's apron, stands before his work. In this fashion, the blood, for the most part, of which there is a great quantity, and which tends to leave the body with considerable force, sometimes to a distance of several feet, reaches him. Indeed, one cannot stand before the object of attention without being drenched with it. Indeed, sometimes the operator, or workman, if you prefer, is even temporarily blinded by it, and must wipe it from his eyes with the back of a forearm. This orientation, that before, or behind, if one wished, the object of attention, has to do with the manner in which the blade is fixed on the haft, or handle. If it were an ax, for example, the operator, or workman, so to speak, would merely have to stand to one side or the other, each operator, or workman, in such a business, having his preferred side, some preferring the left, others the right. One normally stands before the object of attention, of course, rather than behind it, because this orientation provides a much better access to it. The blow may be more accurately, and surely, delivered. The sound, it might be mentioned, is also conditioned by the fact that the blade is, purposefully, not ground as closely as that of an ax. It is, by intent, duller. The whole matter then has a certain roughness about it. One dares not speak of terribleness, or brutality here, for fear of injecting value judgments into the narrative. My purpose is not to praise or blame, but to recount, simply to relate, what happened. There is a conjecture that the adz is used, incidentally, imperfect implement as it might seem for such a purpose, precisely because it, unlike the ax, is not a weapon. Indeed, its

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deliberate dullness may be intended to emphasize that fact. To die by a weapon, you see, is regarded among certain warrior peoples as a very desirable end. Indeed, there is a thought among many of them that it is not only honorable, but glorious, to so perish, and that those who do so perish are beloved by the gods of war, such as Kragon, and are thence made welcome in a thousand halls and worlds beyond the stars, where they may feast and fight to their heart's content, until the end of time, until the stars grow cold, and the halls themselves, like the stars, grow dim and vanish. But there is no honor, you see, in dying by the adz. It is shameful to die so. It is not a weapon. It is a tool. Indeed, it is not even wielded by a warrior, but rather, and intentionally, by a workman. And how then, if one should perish so, so shamefully, so disgracefully, could one hope to enter into the far halls? Would one not find at the entrance the spear of Kragon barring one's way? Perhaps, at best, one might hope to glimpse the lights of such halls from afar, set among distant snowy hills, looking up from one's labors, those of the lowliest of villeins, in the darkness. Abrogastes, on the throne, on the dais, in the same tent in which Ortog had held his court earlier, made a sign with his hand. Women cried out with misery, recoiling. Yes, it is a terrible thing to die so. In a moment, Abrogastes made another sign. It is not a sound that is easy to forget.

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"Those!" said Abrogastes. "Bring them forward!" Nine men were brought forward, the large, simple, blond-haired, blue-eyed men who had figured in the challenge, that pertaining to the status of the Wolfungs. Abrogastes regarded them, curiously. "They are much the same," he said. "They are one, milord!" called the priestess Huta, from the side. "You set ten men on one?" Abrogastes asked Ortog, who, bound, and in the charge of two Drisriaks, stood below the dais. "One at a time," said Ortog. "In some machine, one at a time, which might kill either champion, regardless of courage or skill?" Ortog was silent. These things and their rationale, of course, had been explained to Abrogastes. "And how will that improve the bloodlines?" asked Abrogastes. Ortog looked away.

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"And how can such a thing please the gods?" asked Abrogastes. Ortog did not respond. "Were there such a thing as the Ortungs," said Abrogastes, "they would be shamed." "We are shamed, my father," said Ortog. "It dishonors our traditions, it mocks the ceremony of war, it shames the ritual of challenge." "It permits the gods to decide," said Ortog. "Do not slander the gods," said Abrogastes. "Do not put upon them the business of men. They wait upon men, to see what they will do. Men must be brave, and glorious, first, to win the favor of the gods. The friendship of the gods is not easily earned. It is a hard thing, and requires much effort." "I think there are no gods," said Ortog. "Blasphemy, milord!" cried Huta. She stood out a bit, in her white robes, with the bloodstained sleeves, from her fellow priestesses and acolytes. "These are the champion?" asked Abrogastes of Huta. "Yes," said Huta.

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"And they are one?" "Yes!" "But one died in the device, did he not?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "So one is dead, is he not?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "And they are one?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "Then they are all dead," said Abrogastes. "Milord?" asked Huta. "Kill it," said Abrogastes, indicating the nine men before him. Each then, who might have been a sturdy yeoman, patiently tilling his land, who might have hunted, and skated on frozen rivers, and climbed snowy mountains, and warmed himself at night with bowls of soup, cooked by a loving wife, was taken to the block where the workman, with one or more blows of the great adz, attended to his labors. "Your champion is dead," said Abrogastes to Ortog.

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"Yes," cried Huta. "The champion of the Ortungs is dead! Long live the Drisriaks!" Hendrix and Gundlicht, in their bonds, turned angry glances upon the priestess. "Long live Abrogastes! Long live the Drisriaks!" cried Huta. "Why did you yourself not meet the challenge?" asked Abrogastes of Ortog. "The Wolfung would have killed me," said Ortog. "Then choose another," said Abrogastes. "I know none whom he could not kill," said Ortog, angrily. "The challenge then should have been surrendered, in honor," said Abrogastes. Ortog shrugged. "He can kill you?" asked Abrogastes of Ortog, regarding Otto narrowly. "Yes," said Ortog. "How is that?" asked Abrogastes.

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"He is an Otung, and has been trained in arenas," said Ortog. "Is that true?" asked Abrogastes. "I am a peasant," said Otto, standing, unbound, Julian slightly behind him, "from the festung village of Sim Giadini, on Tangara. It is true that I have fought for the pleasure of populaces." "Many times?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Otto. "He is chieftain, too, of the Wolfungs!" cried Huta. "Yes," said Otto. "The Wolfungs are tributary to the Drisriaks," said Abrogastes. "No," said Otto. There was laughter from many Drisriak warriors. "You won the challenge," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Otto. "But it was meaningless, unnecessary," said Abrogastes, "for the Ortungs do not exist."

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"I have recognized them," said Otto, quietly. There were gasps of surprise from those present. Ortog, Gundlicht, Hendrix, Ortog's shieldsman, his clerk, others in the hall, turned wildly, elatedly, toward Otto. "Do not speak so!" whispered Julian, startled. "It is so spoken," said Otto, folding his arms upon his mighty chest. "The Ortungs, as of today, no longer exist," said Abrogastes. Otto shrugged. "How is that, my father?" inquired Ortog. "They

have

been

destroyed,

their

camps,

their

fleet,"

said

Abrogastes. Ortungs looked upon one another with dismay. "Surely some have escaped!" cried Ortog. "Perhaps, some, fugitives, filchen, fleeing for their lives." Gerune, who, unbound, in the full regalia in which she had witnessed the matter of the challenge, and its resolution, was sitting on the dais,

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on a chair, to the left of her father, put her face in her hands and wept. "The Ortungs are no more," said Abrogastes. "They are as grass, cast to the winds." Gerune's body shook with sobs. "Faithless daughter," said Abrogastes. "Long live Abrogastes! Long live the Drisriaks!" called Huta. "Traitorous son," snarled Abrogastes. "To the block with him!" called a man. "To the block with the traitorous princess, too!" called a man. Gerune looked up, in terror. "Yes!" cried Huta. "Both betrayed the Drisriaks!" cried a man. "Yes, yes!" said Huta. "To the block with them both!" cried men. "No, no, Father!" wept Gerune, falling to her knees before her father.

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His arm swept her to the side, and she then half knelt, half lay, by her chair, looking wildly about her. "To the block with them both, and all the Ortungs!" cried men. "Yes!" cried Huta. "Some Ortungs have sworn me allegiance," said Abrogastes. "I have given rings to some." Ortog looked up, suddenly, at his father. Other Ortungs, too, suddenly, wildly, regarded him. "The fault, it seems, was not theirs," said Abrogastes. "They were misled." "Who here was misled?" asked Abrogastes. "I," cried a man. "I," cried another. "And I, too," cried others. "Were you weak and foolish?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes," they cried. "Take them to the block," said Abrogastes.

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"No, mercy!" cried men. But again, and then again, and then again the brawny, leatheraproned workman raised the mighty implement, the long-handled, heavy adz. Even some of the Drisriaks turned away. The heavy blade, by now, you see, was muchly dulled. Abrogastes looked about himself, at his men, at Ortog, at Gerune, the

shieldsman,

the

clerk,

Hendrix

and

Gundlicht,

merchants,

ambassadors, warriors, Otto, Julian, Huta, the priestesses

and

acolytes, huddled to one side, and others. The eyes of Abrogastes glistened. The ground ran with blood. Some of the reeds, which had covered the earth within the tent, were soaked with blood. Parts of some, crushed and broken, drifted in shallow currents. Here and there, streams of blood, increased by new contributions, ran among the feet of those standing. Here and there, too, stood pools of blood. Many present, in the vicinity of the block, were spattered with it. Much of the earth within the tent was now no more than churned mud. Blood filled even the depressions of footprints. Body after body, and the parts thereof, were drawn, or thrown, outside. The cries of scavenging birds could be heard. They had come, many of them, from the grove, that on the approach to the place of the sacrifices. Too, like leaves, swarming and

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rustling, crept keen-sensed filchen, come from acres about, many, too, from the grove, gathering excitedly, as at a dump of offal. "You, forward!" said Abrogastes. He pointed at one of the few Ortungs left. The fellow, his arms pinioned behind him, was pushed forward. "Will you serve me?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes," said the man. "Take him to the block," said Abrogastes. "Kill me with a weapon," he begged, "that I may die well, that I may perish honorably!" Abrogastes lifted his hand. "That I may be permitted to go to the halls of the gods!" begged the man. Abrogastes made a sign with his hand. It took the adz, even with its weight and leverage, three strokes to complete its work. "It was a hard one, a tough one," said a man.

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"Yes," said another man. "But it is the tool, too," said a man. "Its edge is flattened." "Yes," said another man. The head of the implement, and the handle, to a foot below the blade, were thick with the slime of flesh and tissue. The workman wiped his broad face, and spit to the side. He squinted. He blinked, again and again. His eyes stung with sweat. It ran, too, down his face and neck, profusely, and his chest, and his arms and legs. His body was slick with sweat and blood. Abrogastes looked about. Men shrank back. "Those women," said Abrogastes, "put them forward." "They are my maidens!" said Gerune. "Take pity on them!" Ten women were pushed forward. "Those, too," said Abrogastes. Ten older women, too, of diverse births and station, attendants also on the princess, one of whom had carried away the jewelry and garments of Gerune from the council tent earlier, at the command of

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Ortog, were thrust forward. "Remove their clothing," said Abrogastes. "Father!" protested Gerune. "Of those, too," said Abrogastes. "Please, no, Father!" begged Gerune. Then the two groups of women stood in the tent, in the scarlet mud, in accordance with the words of Abrogastes, lord of the Drisriaks. "I am thinking of making these women slaves, all of them," said Abrogastes to Huta, priestess of the Timbri. "No, milord!" cried the women. "Please, no, milord!" They fell to their knees in the dark mud, moaning, weeping, and crying out, some extending their hands to Abrogastes for mercy. "What think you, milady?" asked Abrogastes of Huta. "Do you think these women might be suitable for slaves?" He indicated the two groups of women, the maidens and the older women. "Eminently so, milord," said Huta.

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"I think you are right," said Abrogastes. "One can see that they are slaves," said Huta. "Take them to the ships, and make them slaves," said Abrogastes. "Excellent, milord," called Huta. The two groups of women, weeping, were dragged to their feet and hurried from the tent. "They are not slaves!" said Gerune. "They will be, by nightfall," said Abrogastes. Huta laughed. In the council tent, there were, incidentally, no female slaves. Those, including the three blond display slaves we have referred to earlier, had all been gathered together, outside, and taken, bound hand and foot, in the small ships, the hoverers and floaters, to the larger shuttlers, some distance away, which would communicate with the corsairs, or lionships, in orbit. By now, unbound and stripped, each was in her tiered kennel, the gate's bars thrust shut, and locked in place. "He!" said Abrogastes. "Bring him forward!" The clerk was thrust forward. His hands were bound behind his back,

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with cord. "Are you Ortung?" inquired Abrogastes. "No, milord," said the clerk. "Are you Telnarian?" "No, milord." "You can read and write," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said the clerk. "Have you taken fee with Ortog?" "Yes, milord," said the clerk. "Have you served him well?" "I have done my best to serve him well," said the clerk. "What are your feelings toward the treacherous prince of the Drisriaks?" asked Abrogastes. "My feelings, milord?" asked the clerk. "You hate him, and have served him only out of fear, and have been secretly revolted by his treachery," suggested Abrogastes.

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"I am sorry, milord," said the clerk. "I cannot in truth give you the answer you desire." "Have you received rings from him?" "One such as I does not receive rings, milord," said the clerk. "You are his friend?" "My station is not such that I might be his friend," said the clerk. "Yet you have served him well?" "I have always endeavored to do so, milord," said the clerk. "Free him," said Abrogastes. The clerk, to his wonder, was freed. "As you served the Ortungs," said Abrogastes, "so you will now serve the Drisriaks." "Yes, milord," said the clerk. Abrogastes then turned his attention to Ortog. "I would be reconciled with my father," said Ortog.

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Abrogastes then regarded the shieldsman, bound to one side. "You are shieldsman to Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks?" asked Abrogastes. "To Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks," said the shieldsman, "and, too, king of the Ortungen!" Men gasped. "What is the duty of a shieldsman?" inquired Abrogastes. "To place the life of his lord above his own," said the shieldsman. "A shieldsman should then die before his lord," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said the man. "Take him to the block," said Abrogastes. "Hold!" cried the man. Abrogastes lifted his hand. "Let it be by the ax, or the blade of some weapon," said the man. "Lord!" cried Hendrix, suddenly, angrily, from where he stood, bound, amid Drisriak warriors. "Reflect! Show mercy to your son! These things are not his fault, though he may have been weak. If you seek blame here look no further than the wicked Huta, priestess of the Timbri!"

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"No!" cried Huta, alarmed. "Your son fell beneath her baneful influence," said Hendrix. "It was to her readings, her prophecies, and wiles and tricks, that Ortog succumbed. It was she who led him astray!" "No," said Ortog, "I would break, in any event, from the Drisriaks." "Were you unlike him in your youth, milord?" called Gundlicht, he, too, bound, near Hendrix. "I am king of the Drisriaks," said Abrogastes. "And what if you had not been?" asked Gundlicht. "But he has lost," said Abrogastes. "It is Huta who is to blame!" called Hendrix. "It is true she enflamed his ambition, and led him on," said Gundlicht. "Is this true, Lady Huta?" inquired Abrogastes. "Certainly not, milord!" said Huta. "I am priestess of the Timbri, the humble and obedient servant of the ten thousand gods of the Timbri. I, and my sisters, are holy women, sworn to chastity, sacred virgins all. We have no interest in the affairs of the world! We have no interests in material goods!"

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"And what of power?" asked Abrogastes. "We have, of course, no interest in such things," said Huta. "I am not fond of the rites of the Timbri," said Abrogastes. Otto recalled the sacrifices, those on the plateau above the grove. "Forgive me, milord," said Huta. "But it is not the place of their priestesses to question the observances and appointments of the ten thousand gods. It is ours only to humbly do their will." "I have heard there were signs," said Abrogastes. "Is that true?" he asked Ortog. Ortog shrugged in his bonds. "Yes," said Huta suddenly, elatedly, "we can prove our teachings, and our truth, by signs!" "It seems the signs were false," said Abrogastes. "Perhaps the priestesses of the Timbri may prove to be of use to you, milord," said Huta. "But the signs were false," said Abrogastes. "They are never false," said Huta.

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"But did they not favor the Ortungs?" asked Abrogastes. "Once, perhaps," said Huta. "Not long ago?" asked Abrogastes. "Might they not have been misread?" called one of the older priestesses. "Perhaps," said Huta, apprehensively. "It is sometimes difficult to read the signs, milord," called one of the priestesses. "The matter can be dark and difficult," said another. "But," cried Huta, "might it not be that the will of the gods has changed?" "Yes!" cried a priestess. "Yes!" said another. "Can it be that the will of the gods has changed?" asked Huta. "It is possible," cried a priestess. "Yes!" averred another.

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"Let us take again the auspices," said one of the priestesses. Hendrix laughed, bitterly. Abrogastes lifted his hand, for silence. "Bring a plain piece of cloth, a simple piece of cloth, one no different from any other," said Huta. "I will bring one," said one of the priestesses. It was she who had, earlier, outside, fetched another cloth, that which, after having been soaked in blood, had borne upon its surface, as though emblazoned there, the sign of the Ortungs. In moments the priestess, under guard, had returned to the tent, bearing with her a roll of cloth, tied closed with a string. She gave this cloth into the hands of Huta, and retired to her place. Huta undid the string and unrolled the cloth, which, like the other, was some two-foot square. She turned about, solemnly, displaying the cloth to those in the tent. Then she faced Abrogastes. "Would you care to inspect the cloth, milord?" asked Huta of Abrogastes.

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"Use another cloth," suggested Hendrix. "It would not do," said Huta, patiently, "as it would not have been blessed on the world of the Timbri." "Milord?" she asked Abrogastes. "I do not need to examine the cloth," said Abrogastes. "Let the auspices be taken!" called a priestess. "Let the auspices be taken," repeated the priestesses, and the acolytes. "Milord!" protested Hendrix. But Abrogastes lifted his hand, and there was silence. Huta knelt down in the tent, at the edge of a depression, one of those pools in the tent, smelling, and thick, half blood, half mud. "Let the blood be consecrated!" called the priestess who had brought the cloth. "It is consecrated!" said the priestesses. "It is consecrated," said the acolytes. "Let it be the blood of truth," called the priestess who had brought the cloth. "It is now the blood of truth," said Huta.

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"It is the blood of truth," said the priestesses. "It is the blood of truth," called the acolytes. "Behold, milord," called Huta, looking up at Abrogastes. "I press down within the consecrated blood, the blood of truth, this plain cloth, innocent of all design and preparation, and call upon the ten thousand gods of the Timbri, if it be their will, to vouchsafe us a sign." The cloth was pressed down, into the liquid, into the thickness of the half-clotted blood, in the mud. "Vouchsafe us a sign, O gods of the Timbri!" called Huta. She then lifted up the cloth, and then stood, displaying it. The Drisriak warriors in the tent cried out in awe. The cloth bore upon its surface, brightly, as though emblazoned there, the sign of the Drisriaks. "You see, milord?" called Huta. "There can be no mistaking so obvious a sign, milord," called the priestess who had fetched the cloth. "Its meaning is incontrovertible!" called another. Ortog seemed shaken.

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Men looked at one another, wildly. "The gods look upon you with favor, milord," said Huta to Abrogastes. "Glory to the Drisriaks!" cried a man. This cry was taken up, too, by many others. Even the merchants and ambassadors present, uneasy, fearful, bound and under guard, joined in this cry. "I am much impressed," said Abrogastes. "It is nothing, milord," said Huta. "I did not know you had such power," said Abrogastes. "The power comes not from us, milord, but from our gods," said Huta. "It seems," said Abrogastes, "that your gods tend to favor those with the heaviest armaments." "Milord?" asked Huta. "But I congratulate you on having planned well, on having prepared for various contingencies." "I do not understand you, milord," said Huta, uneasily. "What is it that you wish?" asked Abrogastes.

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"We ask nothing for ourselves, milord," said Huta. "It is seldom that a king encounters such restraint," said Abrogastes. "Surely you would have something?" "Perhaps that we might prove to be of some use to you, milord," said Huta. "How so," asked he. "The Drisriaks would be invincible, were they allied with the gods of the Timbri," said Huta. "Ah," said Abrogastes. "Secure victory," said Huta. "Ally yourself with our gods, milord." "And how could this alliance be brought about?" asked Abrogastes. "Through the offices of the priestesses of the Timbri," said Huta. "That would be a most inestimable gift, indeed," said Abrogastes. Huta bowed her head, modestly. "And what would you ask for this priceless favor?" inquired Abrogastes.

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"We ask nothing, as we have no concern with the affairs of the world, nor with material possessions." "You would ask nothing?" "The generosity of Abrogastes, lord of the Drisriaks, is, of course, well known," said Huta. "What is it that is most prized by you?" asked Abrogastes. "What is it that you most desire?" "Surely milord knows," said Huta. "What?" asked he. "We are holy women, sacred virgins," said Huta. "Yes?" said Abrogastes. "What we most desire is that we serve our gods well, and then, when all is done, join them." "You have served your gods well," said Abrogastes. "Milord?" said Huta. "Go to join them," he said. "Milord!" cried Huta.

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Blades leapt forth from sheaths, and at a sign from Abrogastes, Drisriak warriors seized the priestesses, and began, seizing their hair and putting them to their knees, to put them to the sword. There was screaming. Ambassadors, merchants, and others drew back. "Spare those two," said Abrogastes, pointing to the two young acolytes. Then, after bloody moments, screams, seizing, plunging bodies, reddened blades, only Huta herself, and the two acolytes, were left. Huta, on her knees before the dais, the hand of a warrior in her hair, tightly knotted there, looked up, wildly, in terror, at Abrogastes, lord of the Drisriaks. "The gods of the Alemanni, of the Drisriaks," said Abrogastes, "are not the gods of the Timbri." "Mercy, milord!" cried Huta. Abrogastes lifted his hand. "No, no, milord!" wept Huta. Abrogastes motioned that the warrior who held the priestess should

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release her. The priestess looked wildly about her. "My gods are false gods!" she cried. The two young acolytes, one on her knees, the other on all fours, looked at her, wildly. "They are false gods!" cried Huta. "And why have you done what you have done?" asked Abrogastes. "I wanted power!" she cried. "It is not appropriate that women have power," said Abrogastes. "No, milord!" said Huta. "Forgive me, milord!" "When women have power, they abuse it," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord!" wept Huta. "Thus they should not have power," said Abrogastes. "No, milord!" cried Huta. "How did you bring out the sign of the Drisriaks on the cloth?" asked Abrogastes.

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"It has to do with washes, and stains, and reactions," wept Huta. "The blood interacts with chemicals in a prepared pattern, that causing the pattern to emerge." "You had such cloths prepared for various contingencies," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "And the other matters, the sayings, the readings, the prophecies, such things." "They are false, milord," she said. "One relies on vagueness, on research, on inquiries, on the hopes of those who attend one, on sensitivity to the responses of the interrogator, to his movements, to his expressions of attention, any number of things." "They are all false things," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "They, and other such things, are familiar to conjurors, mountebanks, tellers of fortune, and such throughout the galaxies." Abrogastes made again to raise his hand. "No, no, milord!" cried Huta. She put her hands to the collar of her robes.

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Abrogastes regarded her. Swiftly Huta tore her robes down about her shoulders. The two acolytes regarded her with horror. Then, with a wild look at Abrogastes, Huta tore down her robes, until they lay back, upon her calves, as she knelt. "No!" cried the acolytes. "Strip yourselves, little fools," said Huta, "if you would live. The game is done! These are men!" "The game?" cried one of the acolytes. "Yes," snapped Huta. "But the gods!" cried the second of the acolytes. "They are false!" said Huta. "We must die for our faith," said one of the acolytes. "The faith is false," said Huta. "It is an infantile fabrication." The acolytes wept, looking about themselves. "Die, if you will," said Huta.

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"It is not true?" wept one. "No," said Huta. The second acolyte seemed paralyzed with misery and fear. "Consider your bodies!" said Huta. "They are made for men. Strip!" The first acolyte, with numb fingers, kneeling, drew away her robes. "See!" said Huta. "That is what you are, a woman! Understand it!" The second acolyte then, suddenly, forcibly, fighting with closures, divested herself of her robes. "Yes, yes!" said Huta. "Kneel well! Good! See? See? You are not a man! You are quite different from a man! You are a woman! Understand it! Accept it! Rejoice in it! You are precious! Men will pay much for you!" The acolytes exchanged terrified glances. Then one, suddenly, made a wild, tiny, helpless sound, one it seemed of misery, and yet, one, too, of elation, and utter irrepressible relief, and joy. "The fighting is done!" she sobbed. "It is done, finished!" "Yes! Yes!" wept the other, thankfully.

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"Take them away, make them slaves," said Abrogastes. The two young women lifted their wrists willingly, even eagerly, to the cords that bound them. Then, each, her wrists bound before her, and on a tether formed from the binding on her wrists, was conducted from the tent. Huta then, in the midst of her discarded robes, knelt before Abrogastes. She looked up at him. "And what of you?" asked Abrogastes. "I beg mercy, milord," she wept. "Kill her, milord!" cried a man. "Let her die the death of a thousand tortures!" cried another. "Yes!" cried another. "Please, no, milord!" begged Huta. "What shall be done with her?" inquired Abrogastes. "Slay her!" cried men. "I beg to be looked upon, as a man looks upon a woman," she said.

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"Is that not a fair request from a woman?" asked Abrogastes. "Not from such as she!" cried a man. "Please, milord," begged Huta. "You are not without interest," he said. "Find me pleasing," she begged. "I would as soon cut your throat as look at you," he said, in anger. "Please, no, milord," she said. "Yet your body is luscious," he said. "Let it please you, milord," she begged. "You look well, stripped," he said, musingly. "Thank you, milord," she said. "I wonder what you would bring in a market," said Abrogastes. "Please do not think of me so," she wept. "Perhaps you would like for your beauty to purchase your life," said Abrogastes.

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"Yes, yes!" she said. "Perhaps it might," he said, "at least for a brief time." "You are generous, milord!" she cried with joy. "Your life, perhaps for a brief time," he said, "-but not your freedom." "Milord?" said Huta. "Oh! No, no, milord!" "If you wish," said Abrogastes, "you may declare yourself a slave." "But I would then be no more than a dog or pig!" she cried. "You would be less," said Abrogastes. "Please, no, milord!" she cried. Abrogastes raised his hand, and the warrior nearest Huta took her hair in his hand, and pulled her head back. A knife went to her throat. "No, no!" said Huta, frantically, shaking her head. The warrior released Huta and stepped back, that at a sign from Abrogastes.

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"I declare myself a slave," said Huta. "I am a slave." There were sounds of satisfaction from the men about, for little love was lost for the former priestess of the Timbri, no more now than any other woman in bondage. "You are now subject to claim," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," she said. "I claim you," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," she said. "Whose are you?" he asked. "Yours, milord," she said. "Your name is 'Huta,'" he said. "Yes, milord," she said. "Bring a collar for this slave," said Abrogastes, "a heavy one." Such a collar was brought and placed on the slave. It was of heavy iron, a half inch thick and some two and a half inches in height. It fitted closely. It was fastened with a hasp and staple, and stout padlock, the lock in front, dangling.

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Huta winced. "Crawl to my son, Ortog," said Abrogastes, "and kiss his feet." Huta obeyed, and then she lifted her head, to look up at him, fearfully. Ortog did not look down upon her. "What do you think of my new slave?" asked Abrogastes. Ortog then looked down at Huta, and then, again, lifted his head, and looked away. "Surely you could find better in any market," he said. "Here, girl," said Abrogastes, snapping his fingers. "Lie here, at the side of my chair, on the dais." Huta crept to the surface of the dais, and, frightened, lay down, near the right, front leg of the chair of Abrogastes. "Look up at me," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta. "When women have power, they abuse it," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Huta.

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"Thus they should not have power," said Abrogastes. "No, milord," said Huta. "Do you have power now?" asked Abrogastes. "No, milord," she said. "Are you absolutely powerless?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes, milord!" she said. He looked down upon her. "Yes, Master," she said. Abrogastes then turned his attention again to the shieldsman who had been standing to one side. Unnoticed, Huta, naked and collared, lying at the side of the chair of Abrogastes, no more than a slave, and Gerune, a princess, sitting on his left, on her chair, her back straight, in her regalia, exchanged glances. In Gerune's eyes there was a strange mixture of emotions, hatred, contempt, pity, and many others, and among them, another emotion, a strange one, one she fought to deny and suppress, that, it seemed, could it be possible, of envy. But Huta turned her eyes away quickly, perhaps failing to note the hint of envy, or perhaps more than a hint, in the countenance of Gerune, fearing as she did to look into

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the eyes of a free woman. Slaves can be much beaten for such things. Too, it was with strange emotions that Huta lay in her place, in shame, in misery, in fear. But she was aware of other feelings, too, feelings which she tried desperately to force from her mind, an incredible exhilaration and relief of sorts, a sense, paradoxically, of total liberation. Each inch of her, too, seemed alive. Had she been so much as touched, anywhere, she would have cried out helplessly. But, too, of course, she was conscious, very conscious, of the weighty collar on her neck. It had been put on her, and she could not remove it, no more than could have any other slave girl. She squirmed a little, and then lay fearfully still, frightened that someone might have seen her. It was not necessary for her to wear such a heavy, uncomfortable collar. A lighter one would do quite as well. But she knew that such matters were not up to her. She looked up, a little, and saw a man's eyes upon her. Then she put down her head, trembling. How he had dared to look upon her! Did he think she was a slave? But, of course, now, she was a slave! Suddenly she feared men. She knew she belonged to them, and must serve them. She considered, suddenly, with momentary alarm, that she, now a

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slave, would be branded. She did not think that Abrogastes would put the mark on her with his own hand. That would be too much an honor for her. No, doubtless some common fellow, skilled in such matters, one used to the handling of irons and women, would do the job, doubtless she only one in a lot of several. She hoped the mark would be pretty. In any event it would be on her. And its meaning would be recognized throughout the galaxies. She lifted her head, again, and saw that another fellow, too, had his eyes upon her, as she lay, like a dog, at the side of her master's chair. Never before had she been looked at in that fashion! She knew she must now respond to men, uninhibitedly and totally, in the fullness of her long-suppressed female passion, for inertness and frigidity were no longer permitted her. She must now learn to obey and feel. If necessary the lash would instruct her in such matters. Another man's eyes were upon her, too. And she was not yet even marked! She hoped the brand would not hurt too much. After a little while, she told herself, it would not hurt. But the mark would still be upon her, even then, that mark whose meaning was recognized throughout the galaxies. It was with strange feelings, mixed and tumultuous, that she lay at

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the side of her master's chair. A warrior hurried to the side of Abrogastes and spoke to him, confidentially. Abrogastes nodded, impassively. These things were noted by Julian. But then the attention of all was focused on Abrogastes, who addressed himself to the shieldsman. "Will you serve me?" asked Abrogastes. "No, milord," said the shieldsman. "Go to the block," said Abrogastes. "You would deny me even death by the blade," said the shieldsman. "Yes," said Abrogastes. The shieldsman then shook away the warriors who would have held his arms and went to the block, and knelt before it, putting down his head. The workman grasped again the handle of the mighty adz. "Hold," said Abrogastes. The workman lowered the adz.

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"Would you enter the halls of Kragon?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, milord!" said the shieldsman. "A blade might be used," said Abrogastes. "Milord!" said the shieldsman. "But on one condition," said Abrogastes. "Milord?" asked the man. "Forswear your lord," said Abrogastes. "Never!" said the shieldsman. "You would be a villein until the end of time, laboring in the darkness, rather than forswear your lord?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said the shieldsman. "I release you!" cried Ortog. "No, milord," said the shieldsman. "Free him," said Abrogastes. "I have need of such a shieldsman." The shieldsman was freed of his bonds and he stood, unsteadily, his

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eyes wild. He went to kneel before Ortog. "I forswear you," said Ortog. "You are no more my shieldsman." Tears ran down the face of Ortog. "Milord!" wept the shieldsman. Then he rose up to go before the dais and knelt before Abrogastes. "I am your man," he said. "You are my man," said Abrogastes. Abrogastes then turned to regard Ortog. "How is it that you can inspire such loyalty in a man?" asked Abrogastes. "Surely it is no different from what your men feel for you," said Ortog. "Such loyalty might well be learned by a son," said Abrogastes. "It might have been better taught by a father!" cried Hendrix, from the side. "No!" said Ortog. Then he turned, again, to face Abrogastes. "I am

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too much like you, to follow you," said Ortog. "You left the Drisriaks," said Abrogastes. "In such ways tribes begin," said Ortog. "But you have lost," said Abrogastes. "Yes," said Ortog, "I have lost." "And there are costs to be paid, penalties to be exacted," said Abrogastes. "I am ready," said Ortog. "You are a traitor to the Alemanni, to the Drisriaks," said Abrogastes. Ortog did not respond. "You should have been your own champion, or have chosen another, fairly," said Abrogastes. Ortog looked at the slave, lying at the side of the chair of Abrogastes, but then looked away. She did not meet his eyes. "He can kill you?" asked Abrogastes, indicating Otto, who stood back, Julian a little behind him.

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"Yes," said Ortog, angrily. "I would see what a traitor can do," said Abrogastes. "Wolfung!" he cried, rising up from the chair, and pointing to Otto. "Milord?" asked Otto. "You will fight," said Abrogastes. "Am I invited to do so?" asked Otto. "Yes," said Abrogastes. "It will be my pleasure to accept," said Otto. "He is no executioner!" cried Julian to Abrogastes. "Be silent," said Otto. Julian, startled, stepped back. "Let the king of the Ortungs choose his weapon," said Otto. "The

prince

of

the

Drisriaks

may

choose

his

weapon,"

said

Abrogastes. "Free me," said Ortog.

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His bonds were severed. "I choose the ax," said Ortog. "You may choose the ax, or some comparable weapon, one neither clearly superior to nor inferior to the ax," said Abrogastes to Otto. "This," said Otto, striding angrily to the workman and tearing from his startled grasp the bloody adz, "is my weapon!" He brandished it, angrily. "That is not a weapon!" cried Abrogastes. "I have chosen it as my weapon," said Otto, "and the challenge has begun!" "It is a weapon, so chosen, milord!" said the spared clerk to Abrogastes. Abrogastes turned an angry glance upon him, and the clerk put down his head. "He is right, milord," said a man. "You are a clever rogue, Wolfung," said Abrogastes, resuming his seat. "It is a weapon!" cried a man.

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"Those who perished by the adz feast now in the halls of Kragon!" said another. The Drisriak warriors lifted their hands, and weapons, and cheered. Abrogastes looked about himself, scowling. "It is so, milord!" cried men, joyfully. "It seems only fair, milord," said Otto, "that if you would permit your son to perish by a weapon, for you did not know what he or I might choose, then, so, too, you should be willing to permit his followers to have similarly perished." "Yes, milord!" cried men, eagerly. "I have chosen the adz," said Otto. "Is it a weapon, milord?" Abrogastes looked at Ortog, narrowly. "It seems, my father," said Ortog, "that you bear me love still." "Yes," said Abrogastes. "It is a weapon." Men cheered. An ax was brought and placed in the hands of Ortog.

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"I am grateful to you, Wolfung," said Ortog. "It is controversial," said Abrogastes, angrily, "the matter of weapons and such." "Some claim, milord," said the clerk, "that only those who die in battle are worthy of the halls of Kragon." "Others, milord," said a man, "that only those who die with a weapon in their grasp." "And in such things, milord," said a man, "it is said that it is only warriors who may enter the halls of the gods." "Perhaps they will need their clerks," said the clerk. There was laughter. "And what of women, Father," asked Gerune, suddenly. "Have they no place in the halls of the gods?" "Doubtless some serve there," said a man. There was laughter. "But they cannot earn their way there?" asked Gerune. "No," said a man. "Those who are there are selected to be there, as choiceless as women purchased at a market, to serve as cupbearers

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and slaves." "I see," said Gerune. "Perhaps the gods have no concern with us," said Abrogastes. "Perhaps there are no gods," said Ortog, bitterly. "What think you, Wolfung?" asked Abrogastes. "Are there gods?" "I do not know, milord," said Otto. "What think you, little Huta?" asked Abrogastes, looking downward, to his right. "I do not know, Master," she said, frightened. "I am only a slave." "It is a suitable answer," said Abrogastes. "Do not cover yourself," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Much is obscure," said the clerk. "The adherents of Floon claim to know the answers to all," said a man. Floon was a gentle, itinerant teacher, a humble salamanderlike creature, from a largely aqueous world, who had preached peace and

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love, and such things. He had died in an electric chair, or, perhaps better, a burning rack. Already the first wars in his name had been waged. "They are fools," said another man. "They grow stronger," said another man. "Let us consider the suns, and rocks, and iron, and ships, and the blades of weapons, and gold!" said Abrogastes. "Yes!" said men. And then he looked down at Huta, to his right, "And the bodies of women!" he added. Huta looked down, frightened. Gerune stiffened. "Yes!" said men. "They are real," said Abrogastes. "Yes, yes!" said men. "Fight!" said Abrogastes to Ortog and Otto. "When have I obeyed you, Father?" asked Ortog.

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Then he turned to Otto. "I salute you, Wolfung," he said, "for the honor you have shown me, undeserving though I have been, and for the respect you have shown my people, the Ortungs, unworthy though we may have been." Then he struck down at the stump with the ax, half burying the blade in the stump. Then he turned to Otto. "Strike," he said. "I am ready." But Otto lifted the adz and with a mighty blow drove the head of the adz deeply into the stump, to the very socket of the weapon. Men cried out with wonder, seeing the force of such a blow. Hendrix and Gundlicht cried out with joy. Ortog turned to Abrogastes. "I bid recognition for the Ortungs, my father," he said. "Let the Ortungs be. I would be reconciled with you." "Come to my arms," said Abrogastes, rising. Ortog, tears in his eyes, advanced to his father, his arms open. He stepped to the height of the dais. Huta screamed. Ortog fell back, stumbling from the dais. Abrogastes, on the height of the dais, his eyes terrible, looked down upon his son, now fallen to the earth.

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In the hand of Abrogastes, gripped there, was a bloody knife. "Do you think I am so easily cheated?" asked Abrogastes of those within the tent. "My brother!" cried Gerune, and fled from the dais, to kneel beside Ortog. "He was your son!" cried a man. "I have many sons," said Abrogastes. "He wanted reconciliation!" said another. "Now we are reconciled," said Abrogastes, wiping his weapon on his thigh, then sheathing it. "A blade was used," said a man. "Even now Ortog enters the halls of Kragon," said another. "It is for the best," said another. "Perhaps we will meet again, each in the beauty of our youth, in the halls of Kragon, my son," said Abrogastes. "And we may then dispute these matters properly." "And afterwards," said a man, "lift cups together, feasting in joy."

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"Who will win?" asked a man. "I will win," said Abrogastes. "To whom in the hall will go the hero's portion?" asked another man. "It will be mine," said Abrogastes. Gerune knelt beside Ortog, weeping. "Thus perishes a traitor," said Abrogastes. "Remove him," said Abrogastes. "Bring spears," said a man. "Lash a cloak between them." "Release those two," said Abrogastes, pointing to Hendrix and Gundlicht. "Take your lord to the grove," said Abrogastes. "Yes, milord," said Hendrix and Gundlicht. "I would precede them, with a candle, if I may, milord," said the clerk. "He was not your lord," said Abrogastes.

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"You are devoted to him?" said Abrogastes. "Then precede him, as you will," said Abrogastes. "I would follow them, if I may, milord," said the shieldsman. "Why?" asked Abrogastes. "He was my lord," said the shieldsman. "Do so," said Abrogastes. "Thank you, milord," said the shieldsman. It was now late in the day, and it was half dark in the tent. In a short time the simple bier, of two spears, with a cloak lashed between them, was prepared. Ortog was placed upon the bier. Otto threw his own cloak over the body. The bier was lifted to the shoulders of Hendrix and Gundlicht. It was then carried from the tent. Preceding the bier was the clerk, who carried a lighted candle. Following it, some paces behind, his sword upon his shoulder, was the shieldsman. Gerune was left behind, kneeling where she had been, sobbing, before the dais.

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Abrogastes, who had resumed his seat during the preparation of the bier, had now again risen. "Stand up," said Abrogastes to Huta. "Yes, Master," she said. "Oh!" she said, as her wrists were lashed together, tightly, behind her back. "Prepare the ships," said Abrogastes to a man. "Yes, milord," he said. Then, from the dais, he looked down on Gerune. "We are not yet done here," said Abrogastes. "There is one more to deal with, the traitress, Gerune." Gerune looked up, frightened. "Take her to the block," said Abrogastes. "She is your daughter!" cried a man. "I have many daughters," said Abrogastes. "Please, no, Father!" cried Gerune. But she was dragged by a warrior to the stump. There she was placed on her knees and a warrior, crouching beside her, tied her

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hands behind her back. The workman worked the ax and adz free from the stump. Gerune's head, by the hair, was drawn forward, and down. She whimpered. The workman seized the adz and lifted it. "No," cried Julian. "No!" "Silence," said Otto. Julian stepped back, uncertain, confused. "It seems a simple end for her, milord," said Otto. "Is it not quick, and honorable?" "How speak you, Wolfung?" asked Abrogastes. Abrogastes made a sign to the workman, and he lowered the adz, and stood back. Gerune could lift her head only a little from the block, held there by the hair as she was. She looked to Otto, and then to her father. "She is only a female," said Otto. "And it is said that she was marched naked, bound, through the corridors of an imperial ship, the Alaria, thus muchly shaming the Drisriaks." "Yes?" said Abrogastes.

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"Surely then some other end might be more appropriate for her," said Otto. "Something more terrible and shameful?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes," said Otto. "Something suitable for a traitress?" "Yes," said Otto. "Remove her clothing and throw her to the mud," said Abrogastes. "Please, no, Father!" cried Gerune. But it was done, as Abrogastes had commanded. Gerune then lay in the mud, stripped, her hands still tied behind her back. "Traitress!" said Abrogastes. "Forgive me!" wept Gerune. "For treachery there is no forgiveness!" said Abrogastes. "Mercy!" she wept. "There is none for a traitress," said Abrogastes.

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"You cannot treat me in this fashion!" cried Gerune. "I am a princess!" "Lie in the mud, traitorous princess, as naked and bound as a slave!" said Abrogastes. "No, no!" cried Gerune. "And when I pronounce my next words," said Abrogastes, "you will no longer be a princess!" "Please, no, Father!" wept Gerune. "You are no longer a princess," he said. She sobbed, no longer a princess. "What think you, Huta?" asked Abrogastes. "I am only a slave, Master!" said Huta. "Do not forget it," said Abrogastes. "No, Master!" said Huta. "I am your daughter!" cried Gerune. "When I pronounce my next words," said Abrogastes, "you will no

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longer be my daughter." "No," she cried, "no!" "You are no longer my daughter," said Abrogastes. She sobbed, disowned, forsworn. Men cried out with approbation. "Do not treat me thusly!" she wept. "If I am no longer a princess or your daughter, show me at least the respect that is my due as a free woman!" "Prepare!" said Abrogastes. "No, Father!" she cried. "Traitress," he said. "Please, no, Father!" she cried. "When I speak my next words," said Abrogastes, "you will no longer be a free woman." "No, no!" she cried. "You are a slave," he said.

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She sobbed wildly, lying bound in the mud, a slave. Drisriaks cheered. Surely it was suitable punishment for one who had once been a traitorous princess. "She is subject to claimancy," said Abrogastes. Men drew back, looking upon the slave with contempt. "Who wants her?" asked Abrogastes. Men regarded her with disgust. "None wants her?" asked Abrogastes. No one spoke. "Surely her body is not without some interest," said Abrogastes. "And I speculate that she would bring a reasonable price in a market." Doubtless these things were true, for the slave was quite beautiful, but yet none spoke. "Would she not look well under the whip?" asked Abrogastes. Then he looked at Huta. Huta quickly lowered her head. Men laughed.

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"I think, milord," said a man, "that we do not find her of interest." "The adz!" cried a man. "The adz!" cried another. "Send her to the block!" cried another. A warrior appeared in the entrance of the tent, the front entrance, behind the Drisriaks, the merchants, the warriors, Otto, Julian, and others. He made a sign to Abrogastes. Abrogastes lifted his hand, for silence. "There is little time," he said. "We are going to the ships." Julian and Otto exchanged glances. Those in the tent who were merchants and ambassadors, and artisans, craftsmen, and such, who had been at the court of Ortog began to tremble. Abrogastes waved his hand toward them. "Go your ways," said he. "Thank you, milord!" they cried and, freed, hurriedly, undetained, unobstructed, left the tent.

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"Let the signal for the return to the ships be sounded," said Abrogastes. A warrior quickly left the tent. "Take this slave," said Abrogastes, indicating Huta, "and see that she is placed, well bound and helpless, in my hoverer." "Yes, milord," said a warrior, and seized Huta by the upper left arm, and conducted her rudely, in her collar, with her hands tied behind her back, from the tent. "Wolfung," said Abrogastes. "Milord?" asked Otto. "We will come soon for the tribute," said Abrogastes. "I think you will not find it, milord," said Otto. "We shall see," said Abrogastes. "Kill him, now, while you may," urged a man. "He may not," said Otto, "for I am come here for a challenge, in which matter I have been successful." "I shall not detain you," said Abrogastes.

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Otto nodded. "Beware in the future, Wolfung," said Abrogastes. "And may you beware as well, milord," said Otto. "He has the audacity of an Otung!" cried a man. "See that the tribute is ready, when it is called for," said Abrogastes. "Do not delay, milord," said a man. "Time is short. Cut off the head of the slave." "Cut off her head!" cried others. "No!" cried Julian, loudly, stepping out from behind Otto. " 'No'?" inquired Abrogastes. "I will take her," said Julian. "You, a thrall?" asked Abrogastes. "A thrall can own nothing." "I am not a thrall, milord," said Julian, firmly. Abrogastes looked to Otto. "He is a free man," said Otto.

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"I am a citizen of the empire," said Julian. "Kill him!" said a man, drawing his knife. "You are here in some ambassadorial capacity?" inquired Abrogastes. "No, milord," said Julian. "And how have you been employed here?" inquired Abrogastes. "I have been tending pigs, milord," said Julian. This announcement was greeted with laughter from the Drisriaks. "It is fitting," said a man, "that those of the empire, whom we see fit to spare, should tend our pigs." There was more laughter. "You are filthy, and barefoot, and in rags," said Abrogastes. Julian went to kneel in the mud, next to the distraught Gerune. He lifted her head in his hands. He looked into her eyes, which were bright with terror, and tears. "You are well curved," he said. "Dog!" she wept.

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"Do you want to die?" he asked. "What does it matter?" she asked. "You are right," said Julian. "You are only a slave. What does it matter?" She regarded him, startled. "You are right," he said. "It does not matter." Tears sprang anew to her eyes. "Put the slut at the block!" said a man. The slave looked wildly about. "Do you want to die?" Julian asked her. "No," she said. "Speak more clearly," said Julian. "I do not want to die," she said. "Speak more clearly," he said, angrily. "I do not want to die-Master," she said.

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"Ah," said men. "It seems the slut learns quickly," said a man. "They all do," said another. Julian then stood up, and stepped back from the slave. "Kneel," he said. The slave, bound, straggled to her knees. "Excellent," said men. "You are well curved," said Julian. "Thank you, Master," she said. There was laughter. "Here," said Julian, pointing to his feet. "Go, stupid slave, to his feet, and kiss them," said a man. The slave, on her knees, moved to Julian, and put down her head, to his feet. "Aii!" said men.

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She then straightened up, and regarded Julian with awe. "I will take her," he said. "Give her to him," men urged Abrogastes. "Let her belong to a tender of pigs!" "She is yours," said Abrogastes. "Thank you, milord," said Julian. The slave collapsed to the mud near the feet of Julian. "I thought I knew her," said Abrogastes. "I thought that she would require a strong and unflinching master. I see that any master will do." "As you say, milord," said Julian. Outside now there was a piercing whistle. It was the signal for returning to the ships. "You," said Julian, pointing to the fellow who had, when he had learned that Julian was of the empire, drawn his knife. "Give me your knife," said Julian. The man looked at Abrogastes. "Do it," said Abrogastes.

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Julian took the knife and then crouched beside the slave. "Master?" she asked. "You are Gerune," he said, naming her. "Yes, Master," she said. He reached to her hair. "What are you going to do, Master?" she asked. "You have long, fine hair," he said. It was blond hair, in two long, thick braids, which, had she stood, would have fallen to the back of her knees. It had never been cut. "Master?" she asked. "A slave," he said, "does not need such long, fine hair." "Master?" she asked. "Oh!" she wept, for he, gathering the hair together, in handfuls, cut it from her, close to the head. Then he stood up, and returned the knife to the warrior, who sheathed it.

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Gerune wept. "Such hair," said Julian, "was more fit for a princess than a slave." She put down her head, sobbing. "You are now more fit for lowly tasks," said Julian. "Yes, Master," she wept. Abrogastes stepped from the dais. Abrogastes made a sign to the workman, he who had wielded the adz, and to two warriors. "Remove the block and tray," he said. "Yes, milord," they said. The whistle sounded once more outside. Abrogastes looked about himself. He looked back to the dais. He regarded the trampled, muddied earth. He regarded the pools of blood, the broken reeds, the footprints. He recalled the vengeances, the slaughters and enslavements of the afternoon. He regarded the workman, his leather apron, and his arms, drenched with blood. He looked back to where Ortog had fallen. He looked down, at the bound slave.

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He then looked at this men. "It is good!" he said. He then, followed by his men, left the tent. Otto followed the others out. Julian, too, a moment later, left the tent. He carried a bound slave. "She is unconscious," said Otto, considering the slave in Julian's arm, her head back. "It is just as well," said Julian. "She should give you much pleasure at the foot of the couch," said Otto, regarding the slave. "I will see to it," said Julian. The hoverer of Abrogastes was not far away, only some yards from the tent. Filchen scurried about, disturbed. Birds rose into the air, like protesting leaves in the wind. But, in a few moments, the birds descended again. And soon the filchen, too, wary, their tiny ears upright, their small, round eyes bright, creeping back, returned to their feeding.

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Julian looked up at the sky. "I think it would be well to conceal ourselves," said Otto, "until we know the nature of the new arrivals." "The woods?" said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. They were now quite near the hoverer of Abrogastes. Already the lord of the Drisriaks was within the hoverer, his hands on the gunwales. "The tent, milord?" a man asked of Abrogastes. "Burn it," said Abrogastes. A torch was lit. "We have found golden chains!" said one of the Drisriaks to Abrogastes. These would have been found, presumably, near the place of the challenge. "We have no time to concern ourselves with such things," said Abrogastes.

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The man threw the chains over his shoulder, and hurried to a hoverer. A moment later the hoverer of Abrogastes rose from the turf. The slave, her body buffeted by wind and pelted with dust, stirred in Julian's arms, but she did not recover consciousness. Otto and Julian watched the departure of the hoverer of Abrogastes. Within the hoverer, Otto surmised, though he could not make this determination, given the distance of the ship, the height of the gunwales, the armoring of the hull and such, would be a bound slave. Doubtless she would be, too, bound to metal rings, fixed in the plating of the hoverer's deck. In any event that is a common way in which captives and slaves are secured in such a vessel. The arrangement not only keeps them fixed in place, which is fitting and desirable, but can, under certain circumstances, such as abrupt maneuvers, serve also to keep them literally within the vessel. She might be, as well, gagged, in order that, in the event of engagements or violent actions, of one sort of another, her responses would be less distractive. Otto and Julian, the latter carrying the unconscious slave, made their way from the crowded area outside the tent, from the hurrying men, the assemblage of small ships. They returned to the trail, which would lead downward, past the grove.

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They paused on the height to look into the distance, to the meadow where the ship of Hendrix and Gundlicht had landed, that ship which had brought them to this world. It was a shambles of blackened steel. Behind them the tent was ablaze. Once again there was a piercing blast from the whistle. On the trail downward, they met two men, the shieldsman and the clerk, who were hurrying upward, that they might reach the hoverers before they departed. The clerk averted his eyes as they passed. The shieldsman, for a moment, just for a moment, met the eyes of Otto, and then he, too, hurried past. "Let us go to the woods edging the meadow," said Otto. "Good," said Julian. That portion of the woods, because of the destroyed ship, would not be likely to draw fire. In a short while, on the way downward, they came to a grove. Otto paused on the trail at that place. Then he continued on, followed by Julian. A quarter of an hour later they had crossed the meadow, and entered the woods.

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It was dusk now. One could still see a glow, and, in places, flames, from the height of the plateau. Hoverers, like dots, some in formation, rose from the plateau, and then moved eastward. Smoke, a darkness against a darkness, billowed upward. "We are safe now," said Julian. They stood at the edge of the trees, looking upward, toward the trail, the grove, the height of the plateau. Behind them they had placed Gerune on the leaves. With a vine they had lashed together her ankles and, with the same vine, extended from her ankles, fastened her to a tree. She was still unconscious. "But we are stranded on this world," said Otto. "I do not think so," said Julian. "Oh?" said Otto. "No, my friend," said Julian. "I do not think so. Rest now, if you wish,

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and I will watch." There was a tiny whimper behind them, and they turned about. Gerune moved a little in the darkness. One could hear the crinkling of the leaves. "She is recovering consciousness," said Otto. "Oh, oh," moaned Gerune. Then she cried, "Oh!" and there was the sound of her ankles pulling suddenly against the vine which fastened her to the tree. "Be silent," said Julian, going to crouch near the slave. She slid forward on the leaves, that she might sit upright. She looked at Julian. He took her head in his hands, holding her helplessly, and pressed his lips fiercely upon hers. She uttered tiny sounds of protest but they were muffled in the uncompromising ferocity of his kiss. Julian drew back. She looked at him, reproachfully. "Do you not know how exciting you are?" he asked. "Have you never

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been kissed before, as a slave? No, of course, doubtless not." Few women, other than slaves, can guess what is the passion of a male. Few women, other than slaves, have any conception of the heights, the aggressions, the sheer power of uninhibited male passion. Once again he took her head firmly in his hands and pressed his lips against her. "Oh," she said, suddenly, softly. Then suddenly she understood herself as what she was, a woman, the complement to this passion, its other, and her entire body seemed bathed in need and flame, and she squirmed in her bonds, his, and he drew back a little and she whimpered, protestingly, and thrust her head forward, pressing her lips timidly, fervently, to his, and then Julian took her by the shoulders and threw her from him, to her side, on the leaves, where she lay, her eyes wide. "Perhaps, later," he said, "there will be time for a slave." She lay there quietly then, helpless, spurned, discarded until wanted. She tried to understand herself and her feelings, her desires, her needs. She feared she might be going mad. Why had no one told her of these things? Were they so dangerous, really? Were they such dreadful secrets? She knew herself now, and this frightened her,

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terribly, a woman, and slave. She moaned a little, in her bonds. "Be silent," said Julian. She sobbed, softly. "Sleep," he said to her. She closed her eyes, and shuddered, and lost consciousness. "You, too, should rest," said Julian to Otto. "I am weary," said Otto, and lay down. It was toward midnight when Julian gently shook Otto awake. "What is it?" said Otto, quickly. "Look," said Julian, standing, and pointing upward, to the west. "A light in the sky." "What is it?" asked Otto, standing, looking to where Julian had pointed. "Wait," said Julian, eagerly. "There," he said, after a time.

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Overhead there was a set of lights, and a mighty shape moved among

the

clouds,

a

shape

designed

to

enter

and

negotiate

atmospheres, as well as traverse the depths of space. "What is it?" asked Otto. "It is an imperial cruiser," said Julian. "There are other lights, too," said Otto, looking upward. "It is an imperial fleet!" said Julian.

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CHAPTER 12 Standing at the edge of the woods Julian and Otto watched the lights, approaching across the meadow. Some men were approaching, on foot. "They saw you," said Otto. "Yes," said Julian. An hour before, as a patrol craft had scouted the meadow, at an altitude of some thousand feet or so, Julian, waiting, having emerged from cover, caught in the beam of one of its searchlights, had lifted his arms, signaling the craft. He must have seemed small, and white, there below, signaling. The craft had blinked its lights twice, and then moved on. "They have seen us," had said Julian, elatedly, returning to the wood. Now some men were approaching, carrying flashlights. They had dismounted from a hoverer, left on the other side of the meadow. "Excellent!" said Julian. "Be careful, do not be precipitate," said Otto. "Have no fear, my friend," said Julian.

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He withdrew a few feet into the darkness of the woods. "Oh!" cried Gerune, awakened by a blow, from the side of Julian's foot. He bent down and untied the vine from the tree, that by means of which Gerune's ankles had been secured to it. This left the other end of the vine, that which bound her ankles together, as it was. He then carried her, bound hand and foot, to the edge of the trees. There he put her down, on her knees. "See the approaching lights?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Men approach," said Julian. Gerune squirmed a little, helpless in her bonds. "Those will surely be men from the empire, men from an imperial fleet." She looked at him, wildly. "Do you wish to run away?" he asked. "I am bound hand and foot!" she said.

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"There is no escape for you," said Julian. "And when you are branded there will be no doubt of it." "You are not going to put me under the iron!" she said. "You are a slave," said Julian. "Of course you will be branded." She shuddered. The lights were closer now, rather in the vicinity of the shambles of the destroyed ship, coming across the meadow, now about one hundred yards away. "Listen to me," said Julian, "and listen carefully." She looked up at him, piteous, bound. "It is my recommendation," said Julian, "that, if you wish to live, and not be tortured, and then nailed to a gate in some provincial town, that you conceal your antecedents." "It is wise counsel, slave girl," said Otto. "Attend your master." "Remember," said Julian, looking down at his bound slave, "you are no longer a princess. You are no longer the daughter of Abrogastes. You are no longer even a free woman. You are a slave. As a slave you have a name only by my will, that of your master. Too, as a slave, you are no longer of the Alemanni, or the Drisriaks or the Ortungs. You are tribeless. You no longer have a people. You have only masters. You

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are an animal, as much as a pig or goat. You are owned. You are property. You are a slave, and only a slave." Her eyes were wide. "Do you understand?" asked Julian. "Yes!" she said. "Kiss my feet," snarled Julian. Swiftly she put down her head to his feet, kissing them. "Lick them!" said Julian, watching the lights approach. "Yes, Master, yes, Master!" she sobbed. "Lift your head!" said Julian. She looked up, tears in her eyes. "We are now going to untie your ankles," he said. "You will doubtless be ordered out first. You will go quickly, and be obedient." "Yes, Master," she said. Julian freed her ankles, and then helped her to her feet. She stood, unsteadily, behind Julian and Otto. The lights, now, stopped. Julian, his hands raised, emerged from the woods. He was instantly caught in the beams of several of the lights. "Who are you?" called a

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man. "Julian, of the Aurelianii," said Julian, proudly, "ensign in the imperial navy." "Of the Aurelianii!" said a man. "Can it be truly he?" asked another. "Hold!" said a voice behind the lights. "We do not know it is he." A light flashed past Julian, toward Otto and Gerune. They half closed their eyes against the blaze. "Who is with you?" "Two," said Julian, "Otto, a barbarian auxiliary, and a female slave." "Send the slave forth," said the voice. "You will show them what you are, a slave," said Julian. Gerune moaned. "You will hurry forth," said Julian, "and kneel, head to the turf." "Send forth the slave," said the voice. "Go," said Julian. Gerune, her hands bound behind her, hurried forward, and, when she reached the men, knelt, her body bent forward, her head town, to the

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turf. Flashlights played upon her body. "A pretty one," said a man. The voice of command, from behind the lights, said, "Check her bonds." Her hands were pulled up a little, behind her, and inspected. "She is well tied," said a man. "Put her on a leash," said the voice of command. A leash was snapped about her throat. She trembled, her head still down. It was the first time, doubtless, she had worn a slave leash. To be sure, on the Alaria, some time ago, she had been marched through corridors on a rope, and that is much the same thing. "Come closer, sir," said the voice behind the lights to Julian. Julian advanced. "Hold!" said the voice behind the lights. Julian stopped.

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"Is it you, can it be you?" asked the voice from behind the lights. "Yes," said Julian, "it is I." "It is he, he!" said a man. "Yes!" said another. "Sir!" suddenly cried the voice from behind the lights. He stepped forward. Julian saluted him, for his rank was higher than his own. The man returned the salute, sharply. "Forgive us, Excellency!" he said. "We could not be sure." "I am afraid I am not in uniform, and that I smell of pigs," said Julian. "Bring the hoverer," said the officer, speaking into his radio. "And inform the fleet that we have found his excellency." The hoverer came slowly over the grass, and alit, some yards from the party. "With your permission we will stow this for you, and secure it properly," said the officer, indicating Gerune.

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"Certainly," said Julian. "Stand up," said one of the men to Gerune. She stood up, on her leash. "Aii," said the officer, examining her with the flashlight. "She is lovely," said one of the men. "Stand straighter," said Julian to Gerune. She stood more beautifully, lifting her chin. "Oh, yes!" said a man. Gerune cast a frightened glance at Julian. "She is a beauty," said the officer. "Where did you pick her up?" "Here," said Julian. "She looks Drisriak," said the officer. "Perhaps," said Julian. "But when I picked her up she was only a slave." "Who are you, girl?" asked the officer.

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"I am only a slave, Master," she said. "And a low slave, it seems," said the officer. "Yes, Master," she said. "Perhaps a scullery slave," said the officer. "Oh?" said Julian. "That can be told from the hair," said the officer to Julian. "See how it is cropped short?" "Yes," said Julian. "I envy these barbarians their women," said the officer, "that they can use beauties like this even for mere scullery slaves." "They have an eye for women," said Julian. "And they get the most out of them," said the officer. "True," said Julian. "Some of their slaves are former ladies of the empire," said the officer. "Commonly," said Julian.

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"Doubtless they serve well," said the officer. "Yes," said Julian. "I have known ladies of the empire," said the officer, "whom I would not have minded owning as slaves." "Perhaps you could buy them back, and keep them as slaves," said Julian. "An interesting thought," said the officer. "And how then would they serve you?" asked Julian. "With perfection," said the officer. "Excellent," said Julian. The officer played his flashlight, again, upon Gerune. He illuminated her left flank. She straightened, frightened. "She is not yet branded," said the officer. "That will be attended to, shortly," said Julian. Gerune shuddered.

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"See that this cargo is stowed, and well secured," said the officer to a man. "Yes, sir," he said. Gerune was led away on her leash. "This is my friend, Otto, an auxiliary," said Julian, indicating Otto. "Such troops have their uses, I am sure," said the officer, bowing. "May I invite you aboard?" asked the officer. "It is my pleasure," said Julian. "We are only a few moments from a shuttler," he said. "You received my message?" asked Julian. "A message was received, with your call signal, purportedly from Varna," said the officer. "It was authentic," said Julian. "But it was broadcast on a band commonly utilized by barbarians," said the officer. "It was an Ortung radio, with a fixed frequency," said Julian.

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"We suspected a trap," said the officer. "But you took precautions?" said Julian. "Surely," said the officer. "The Drisriaks," said Otto, "doubtless also took the message for an Ortung communication. It brought both the Drisriaks and the imperial fleet to this sector." "Drisriaks have been hunting Ortungs," said Julian. "And it seems they found them, in the vicinity of 738.2," said the officer. "The Ortungs were decimated. There was much debris." "How came you to this world?" asked Otto. "It was en route to Varna," said the officer, "and when we detected the traces of barbarian ships, we chose to investigate." "Both Drisriaks and Ortungs were here," said Otto. "Abrogastes himself was here, only hours ago," said Julian. The officer whistled. "You will doubtless attempt to pick up his trail and deal with the Drisriak fleet."

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"There is little chance of overtaking lionships," said the officer. "You will do your best," said Julian, angrily. "Yes, sir," said the captain. It might be noted that, even at that time, the empire had many enemies, some of them technologically sophisticated, some of them even within her own borders. "It will not now be necessary to proceed to Varna," said the officer. "I will need a ship," said Julian. "To return to Telnaria?" said the officer. "Eventually," said Julian, "but first we must return to Varna." "Excellency?" "There are arrangements to be made there," said Julian, looking at Otto, "and, too, we may wish to pick up some cargo." "Yes," said Otto. "I am sure the admiral will put as many ships at your disposal as you wish, your excellency," said the officer. "A single corvette will do," said Julian.

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"Doubtless accompanied by a convoy of destroyers," said the officer. "A corvette will do," said Julian. "As your excellency wishes." The officer turned about then and went toward the hoverer, some yards away. Gerune had already been placed on board. Otto and Julian remained for a few moments in the meadow. Julian looked up to the sky, to the east. "Abrogastes presents a great danger to the empire," said Julian. "He is lord of the Drisriaks," said Otto, "and they are the largest and most dangerous tribe of the Alemanni nation." There were eleven tribes in the Alemanni nation. "I fear," said Julian, "that he may bring together a league of barbarian peoples, the Alemanni, and others." "It would not be easy," said Otto. "There is much rivalry, much envy, much suspicion and jealousy among such peoples." Long had the empire exploited such matters.

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"Surely the empire can defeat mere barbarians," said Otto. "It is not the same empire that it once was," said Julian. "It has thousands of ships, it can destroy worlds," said Otto. "There are hundreds of such peoples," said Julian. "The empire has nothing to fear," said Otto. "It is eternal." "Once there was no empire," said Julian. "I cannot conceive of a reality without the empire," said Otto. "Its loss would mean the downfall of civilization," said Julian. "There is nothing to fear," said Otto. "Abrogastes is your enemy, as well," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "I will urge that the Wolfungs be supplied with a weapon," said Julian, "one capable of destroying a ship in orbit." "We would be muchly grateful," said Otto. "You desire to serve the empire?" asked Julian.

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"It must be preserved," said Otto. "We have many enemies," said Julian. "True," said Otto. "Abrogastes is our greatest enemy," said Julian. "I fear him most of all." "Why?" asked Otto. "It is not that he now has so much power," said Julian, "or so many ships, or even that the Alemanni is a populous nation, but other things, frightening, terrible things." "What?" asked Otto, puzzled. "He is like a shark," said Julian, "who can detect a drop of blood in the water, an erratic movement." "I do not understand," said Otto. "He can smell corruption where others can sense only soundness," said Julian. "He can see weakness where others see only strength." "Ah," said Otto. "He is a statesman, a warlord," said Julian.

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"Of course," said Otto. "He has vision. He can think new realities. He can ponder new orders, new ways of life. He has ambition, he has patience. He is ruthless." "But he is weak now," said Otto. "Yes, he is weak now," said Julian. "So there is nothing to fear," said Otto. "At least Ortog is dead," said Julian. "No," said Otto. " 'No'?" said Julian, startled. "Did you not see the point of entry of the knife?" asked Otto. "It was below and to the side of the heart." Julian regarded Otto, closely. "We study such things in the school of Pulendius," said Otto. "It behooves the gladiator to have some sense of anatomy." "That is why you threw your cloak over him!" said Julian. "Yes," said Otto, "that if he should give some sign of life it might be less likely to be detected."

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"And that is why the clerk averted his eyes, and the shieldsman, on the trail, cast you such a look?" "Doubtless," said Otto. "Ortog lives?" "The wound was grievous, he may by now be dead," said Otto. "Did Abrogastes know how he struck him?" "I would surmise so," said Otto. "Why did he not kill him?" asked Julian. "I do not know," said Otto. "He was prepared to have you fight him," said Julian. "He may have known that I had once spared Ortog on the Alaria," said Otto. "How could he know that?" "I do not know," said Otto. "Perhaps from witnesses, men or women from the Alaria who were embonded by the Ortungs, and then later acquired, with other loot, by Drisriaks."

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"But it was important for him to punish treachery, and see justice done," said Julian. "It seems it was well punished," said Julian. "The Ortungs were decimated, and Ortog, at best, is left grievously wounded, stranded, on a remote world." "He was prepared to have his daughter beheaded," said Julian. "But she was not beheaded, was she?" said Otto. "No," said Julian. "But instead she was reduced to slavery," said Otto. "A most horrifying and grievous punishment for her," said Julian. "But one surely eminently suitable, considering her crime," said Otto. "Certainly," said Julian. "But, besides," said Otto, "she is a slave." Julian looked up at Otto. "She may not understand it yet," said Otto, "but she is a man's slave. One can tell it from her body, her expressions, her movements. She will never be fully happy until she is a man's slave."

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"Did Abrogastes know that?" asked Julian. "I think it possible," said Otto. "Besides, is it so different, being a mating pawn, or being bought and sold in markets. Is it not much the same thing?" "Yes," said Julian. "At least in markets," said Otto, "the bidding, and its meaning, and such, is clear." "Yes," said Julian. "And would you kill your own son?" asked Otto. "No," said Julian. "I think that Abrogastes might," said Otto. "But this time he did not," said Julian. "No," said Otto. "This time he did not." "Do you think that Huta is a slave?" asked Julian. "She looks well in a collar," said Otto. "Do you think she is a slave?"

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"She will need a strong hand, and a taste of the whip," said Otto. "But do you think she is a slave?" "Certainly," said Otto. "It seems that many women are slaves," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "Do you think that all women should be slaves?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "I think you are right," said Julian. "Gentlemen," said the officer, from the deck of the hoverer, "I have informed the shuttler of our imminent departure." Otto and Julian shortly thereafter boarded the hoverer. It was, like most such ships, circular, and open, rather like a metallic coracle. This particular vessel was some twenty feet in diameter. Its hull was armored. The crew of such a vessel normally consists of two men, and these were the two who had remained with the vessel when it had been left across the meadow, but there were now seven men on board, not counting Otto and Julian. The officer, and his four

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companions, figured more in the category of soldiers, or, perhaps better, marines, than crew. "We will soon be at the shuttle," said the officer. Julian went to the side of the vessel, just within the bulwarks. He lifted aside a piece of canvas. There, beneath it, on the metal plating of the deck of the hoverer, lay Gerune, who looked up at him, seeing him bending over her, and the black sky, and stars, above him. Her wrists were now before her body, held closely together there, locked in slave cuffs; a chain ran from the linkage of the cuffs through a metal ring, to her ankles; there, at the ankles, the chain joined another linkage, that linking her shackles. "How did you like wearing a slave leash?" asked Julian. "I must go where it bids me," she said. He continued to look upon her. "It is fitting that it was on me, for I am a slave," she said. "This is the first time you have worn slave chains, is it not?" inquired Julian. "Yes," she said.

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He continued to regard her. "Yes, Master," she said. "How do you like them?" he asked. "I may not object," she said, "for I am a slave." "How do you like them?" he asked. She put her head to one side. "It is fitting that they are upon me," she said, "for I am a slave." "The cargo is stowed, and secured, to your satisfaction, I trust," said the officer. "Yes," said Julian. The arrangement would not only keep the cargo in place, and helpless, but would serve, as well, to keep it within the vessel, even in events such as steep climbs and perilous bankings, even inversions. "I hope you do not mind that we put a canvas over her," said the officer, "but my men have been a long time without women." Gerune trembled, looking toward the men. She began to suspect what it might be to be a slave, and she knew

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herself a slave. There was a tiny sound of chain on the metal plating, and against the ring, as she, frightened, drew her wrists in, more closely to her body. "I understand," said Julian. He lifted the corner of the canvas, to throw it again over the slave. "Please, wait, Master," she whispered. He crouched down, beside her, the corner of the canvas in his right hand. "You are not really going to have me branded, are you, Master?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "But I was a princess," she said. "Barbarian

princesses,

and

women

who

were

once

barbarian

princesses, are not unknown in imperial markets," he said. "I was the daughter of Abrogastes," she said. "You are now no more than a slave, and you will be branded," said Julian.

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"But how can you have such a thing done?" she asked. "It is not civilized." "On the contrary," said Julian, "it is preeminently civilized. Indeed, it is a feature of a civilized society. Its efficiency is unquestioned. Surely you can understand that it is useful and appropriate, for legal and other purposes, to identify properties." She looked away. "The highest civilizations," said Julian, "have always held slaves." "And doubtless there has always been some means of appropriately identifying them?" "Yes." "I will be branded then," she said. "Yes," he said. "I beg you to relent," she said. "No," he said. "You are going to do with me exactly as you please, aren't you?" she said. "Yes," he said.

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"Even to the iron?" "Yes," he said. "Your excellency," pressed the officer. "Look forward to your branding," said Julian. Gerune looked up at him, wildly. He prepared to throw the cover over her. "You are my master, aren't you?" she said. "Yes," he said. Then his visage was blotted out, and the dimly lit bulwarks, lit by the instrument lights, and the black sky, and the bright stars. She then lay there, on the metal plating, beneath the canvas. "I, Gerune, am going to be branded," she said softly to herself. That seemed to her for a moment incomprehensible, that Gerune should wear a brand. But then she realized that there was nothing untoward or surprising in that. 'Gerune' was, after all, only a slave name. In one sense, then, she was no longer Gerune, certainly not the Gerune she had once been. In another, of course, she was Gerune, because that was the name that her master had decided to give her. In this second

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sense, then, there was surely nothing surprising about an iron being heated for her, as for countless others. She shuddered. There was a tiny sound of chain. She heard men laugh, but she could not see them. She lay there very quietly then, fearing to move. She supposed it would not do to tell her master, or others, that she had been thrilled to be on a leash, that it excited her to wear slave chains. What ancient, strange message, what profound message, did these things speak to her? She lay there then, not moving, knowing herself naked, and a slave, under a canvas, at the mercy of men. "Belt in," she heard the officer say. Shortly thereafter the hoverer rose into the air. She lay there, beneath the canvas, astounded, not at the motion of the vessel, but at herself. "Yes," she whispered to herself, softly, "yes!" She feared to be branded, of course. It would not do to deny that.

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But, too, now that she was a slave, now that that was what she was, she wanted it done. Indeed, she had often wondered, from the time of puberty on, what it would be, to be branded. Her emotions were complex, for, mixed with her fear, you see, there were many other emotions, as well, those of curiosity, of anticipation, of tremulous excitement, of literal elation, even, I suppose it should be admitted, of eagerness. Oh, she would protest, or cry, or such, particularly if such things were expected of her. But, between ourselves, she could not wait for the mark. "How terrible I am!" she thought, delightedly, squirming just a little, but hopefully not so much that her movement could be detected beneath the canvas. But there was no laughter. The men, it seemed, were not then concerned with her. Their minds were on other things. She had been forgotten. But she was then suddenly terrified. She could be bought and sold.

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What if her master simply decided to rid himself of her in some way? She knew she was passionate. Her skin was like flame. Now she must try to be sufficiently beautiful, sufficiently obedient, sufficiently zealous. "I will try to please you, my master," she said. "I will try desperately to please you, with all that I am and have! Please keep me, Master. Please keep me!" In a few moments the hoverer had alit near the shuttler. She was aware, then, even through the canvas, through the tiny interstices of thick weaving, of the lights. She could hear men moving about, within the hoverer, and outside, shouting, calling out. "I ask nothing of you, my master," she said softly, to herself, "but it is my hope that you will sometimes show me a little kindness."

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CHAPTER 13 "A drink, sir?" inquired the stewardess. Tuvo Ausonius looked up at her, instantly noticing that the top button on the high collar of her jacket was undone. "Sir?" she inquired. Surely she must realize what was wrong? It was warm in the cabin. The air conditioning was laboring, and enjoying little success. The gases were weak, the system less than tight. The motor itself could be heard. It had required two manual restarts in the past hour. Surely the procurement office could obtain parts for such devices, and services for them. Citizens were entitled, surely, to at least such minimal consideration. But it was not easy to obtain parts, or even the necessary gases, these days. It was different, not even so long ago. And communications were difficult, sometimes impossible. Certain worlds had been out of touch for months, for example, Tinos, far off in the eighty-third imperial provincial sector. It was not necessary, surely, for her to lean forward in that fashion. "No," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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The stewardess turned away. "You are out of uniform," said Ausonius, after her. She turned back, surprised, to face him. "The upper part of your neck can be seen," he said. "It is bare." She lifted her fingers to her throat. "Button your collar," he said. She looked at him. "Sir?" she asked, puzzled. "Button it," he said. "It is very warm, sir," she said. Ausonius was irritated with this reply, that she should attempt to so mitigate her lapse, that she should attempt to excuse her provocative disarray, seizing upon so obvious a pretext as the temperature in the cabin. "That is no excuse," he said. "Are you an inspector?" she asked, frightened. "I am a civil servant," he said, modestly, dryly, leaving the nature of

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his duties menacingly obscure. He had boarded at Miton. That is not one of the original Telnarian worlds, but it does lie within the first provincial quadrant. More than a million functionaries on ten thousand worlds would have gladly changed places with Tuvo Ausonius, to have a post so close to the heart of the empire. "Ah," she said, relieved. The line was a private one. "But one not without some importance," he said. Private lines, of course, were licensed by the empire, and dependent on the empire for their routes. There were also, incidentally, many imperial lines. The empire regarded it in its own best interest to maintain her own systems of communication and transportation, public as well as military. The stewardess turned white. Tuvo Ausonius conjectured that she was of the humiliori. "I am afraid I shall have to report you," he said. "No!" she said, quickly. "Please, no!" Some other passengers looked in their direction. Tuvo Ausonius, from her alarm, conjectured, to his satisfaction, that she was indeed of the humiliori. To be sure, that was almost certain from her position on the vessel.

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Tuvo Ausonius drew out a notebook and pen. "What is your name, and employment number," he asked. She fumbled with the top closure of the collar. Ausonius regarded her. Then, in a moment, the collar was fully fastened, the final closure pulling it up tightly under her chin. She looked at Ausonius, pathetically. "Please," she said. "Shall I call for the superintendent?" he asked. "No," she said. "No!" "Sesella," she said. "Sesella Gardener." She then gave him the number he had requested. She looked down at him. He now had a hold over her. It was as though he had her on a chain. "May I speak to you privately?" she asked, urgently. "Certainly," smiled Tuvo Ausonius.

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He followed her to a small area on the ship, in the nature of a tiny galley, which was closed off by opaque curtains from the main cabin. In the galley she turned to face him, tears in her eyes. He regarded her. She wore the uniform of the line, the dark jacket and trousers, and the tight-fitting cap which kept her hair hidden. The uniform was supposedly designed to be appropriate for sames, a uniform that might with equal felicity, or, better, lack of it, conceal sexual differences. Supposedly it was designed to hide bodies. But Tuvo Ausonius's lip curled. How he despised the line! How disgusting it was, really. There could be no doubt that the pretense of concealment was rankly hypocritical. The cabin attendant was clearly female. That could be told from the curves within the garment. Too, her face had the sweet delicacy of that of a female. Indeed, even her lips suggested the slightest tincture of lipstick. Surely she had not dared to apply cosmetics! She looked up at him, pathetically. "Do not report me," she begged. He regarded her, impassively. "Please, do not!" she said. He took his thumb and, to her horror, wiped it heavily across her lips.

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He looked down at the reddish stain on his thumb, with disgust. She had indeed been wearing lipstick, though perhaps the slightest hint of it. Yet there was no mistaking the smudge now, running from her smeared lips, to the left side of her chin. She looked up at him with misery. He held his hand out and she hurried to seize a tissue, and wipe it clean. Then she tried to cleanse her own lips and chin of the mark. "What a profligate, wicked creature you are," he said. "Please, please," she said. His expression was impassive. "Do not report me," she begged. "I will do anything." She drew away the cap she wore, and let her hair, which was darkly lovely, fall about her shoulders. "Wicked creature!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Please," she begged. "Perhaps you would look well on your knees," he said. She looked at him, wildly. Surely he was not such a man. He had not taken her by force, and put a chain on her. "No!" she whispered.

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He was surely not the sort of man before whom a woman kneels, and knows she must obey. "How can you want that? How can you ask that? You are of Miton!" "I only said, 'Perhaps,' " he said. "But you are a same," she said, "superior to nature, above sexuality, beyond such things, a noble, tender, sensitive, caring nonman, the truest of men!" "It was merely an observation," he said. "No, no," she whispered. He regarded her, impassively. She fell to her knees, before him. "I am at your mercy," she said. "I will do anything." "I will give you my address, on the summer world," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I shall be there for a few days." He turned back to look at her. She was still on her knees. She held the bit of paper in her hand, with the address written on it, in a careful, precise script.

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"I will take that drink now," he said. "Yes, sir," she said. "There will be no charge," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No, sir," she said. "And wipe your face," he said. "Yes, sir," she said. Tuvo Ausonius then returned to his seat. He gave his attention, for a time, to his notebooks, but then, after a little while, looked out the porthole, at the blackness of the night, and the brightness of the stars. He saw his face reflected in the glass, and then returned his attention to the interior of the cabin. He flicked on the viewer fixed in the back of the seat in front of him, but there was nothing there to interest him, and he turned it off. Tuvo Ausonius was an executive in the finance division of the first provincial quadrant, and was posted on Miton. He was a level-four civil servant. There were several imperial employees under his supervision. He was also, of course, as were most imperial civil servants, of the honestori. Indeed, to the disgust of Tuvo Ausonius, appointments in the civil service, above the second level, carried the honestori status with them, whether the employee's antecedents warranted it or not.

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More importantly, Tuvo Ausonius was of the minor patricians, being related in the 103rd degree to the original Ausonii. He was as yet unmarried, having to date successfully resisted various pressures brought to bear upon him both privately by superiors and publicly by directives of the imperial administration. The numbers of the imperial aristocracy, over the past several generations, doubtless for several reasons, and doubtless all quite understandable and acceptable, had tended to decline. This was, however, a source of concern to the senate and to the imperial administration. Ausonius was not clear on why he had been called to the summer world, and not the capital world, particularly at this time in the fiscal year. He feared it might have to do with appearing before a mating board, perhaps one appointed by the empress mother, he and hundreds of others, in their turn, expected to explain their prolonged bachelor status. It is not that Tuvo Ausonius had never been involved in such matters. Indeed, that fact would surely constitute his best defense against the challenges of such a board. Once, credentials having been examined on both sides, careful, mutual, detailed inquiries completed, and even pictorials exchanged, arrangements, to the weariness and disgust of Tuvo Ausonius, had been finalized. The fortunate young woman, for she was far beneath him, being related only in the 105th degree to the Auresii, was a court officer on Terennia, a position which she had occupied in virtue of the influence of her mother, a judge in a small city in the northern hemisphere of that world. Also lending her assistance to the arrangements was another significant personage of the same city, its mayor. Matters had proceeded quite far. The prospective bride had even, reportedly, embarked for Miton, from Terennia, on an imperial cruise ship, the Alaria. The Alaria, however, had never appeared in orbit about Miton. Its fate was obscure. It was speculated that an

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explosion on board had damaged the ship irreparably, or that, perhaps, due to detector malfunctions, it had encountered a meteoric rain of such an extent that evasive maneuvers were ineffective and of such force that the shields and hull had crumbled beneath the impacts. As the reader knows, the fate of the Alaria was other than as these conjectures would have it. Its fate, of course, in general terms, had been clear to the imperial ships which had responded to her distress calls, but, until later, it was not understood, even on certain high levels, precisely what had occurred. It had not been thought necessary, in the interests of retaining public confidence, to inform the public that the loss of the Alaria might be explained in terms other than those of accidents, for example, that its loss might be attributable to the activities of unwelcome intruders. In any event, Tribonius Auresius, for that was the unlikely name of the prospective bride, had not arrived on Miton. This eventuality was greeted with some relief by Tuvo Ausonius, but also, interestingly, with some irritation, as he had invested a great deal of time in inquiries and a not inconsiderable expense in

negotiations. Tribonius Auresius was, of

course, a

masculine name, though its bearer was anything but masculine, as she later learned. That name had been bestowed upon her by her mother, doubtless in the interests of assisting her daughter to remain true to the upper-class ethos of Terennia, which was, we note, not unlike that of Miton. Indeed, Miton, for just such reasons, was one of the worlds on which the judge, and her colleague, the mayor, both of whom hoped to considerably improve their fortunes through the young woman's

marriage,

conducted

their

matrimonial

and

economic

searches. The daughter, as it might be recalled, from an earlier account, was less than enthusiastic about the prospect of voyaging to Miton and becoming the bride of Tuvo Ausonius. She had already

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despised him, and had resolved to make his life miserable, even to the extent of ridiculing him in public and squandering his resources. To be sure,

given

an

assemblage

of

circumstances,

she,

doubtless

fortunately for Tuvo Ausonius, never received the opportunity to put these plans into effect. Due to the same assemblage of circumstances, she was no longer of either interest or value in the marriage market, though, to be sure, she might have figured in, and would quite possibly have been found of some interest or value in, markets of other sorts. "Your drink, sir," said the stewardess. "Thank you," said Tuvo Ausonius. The stewardess looked at him, frightened. "Seven in the evening, on the first day after debarkation," said Tuvo Ausonius. That would give him time to make the necessary arrangements. "Yes, sir," she whispered. "It will begin then," he said. " 'Begin'?" she asked. "Yes," he said.

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"Also," he added, "you will come suitably prepared, suitably garbed, perfumed, adorned, made-up, you understand." "Yes, sir," she said.

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CHAPTER 14 There were many rich hangings in the hall, which were noted by Otto as he followed Julian, and the servitor, past guards, toward large doors, rather in the distance, rather more than fifty yards away, hung with purple velvet, leading to what he took would be an audience chamber, that of the emperor himself. "We have waited long enough!" snapped Julian to the servitor. "I am sorry, your excellency," said the servitor. There were vessels of gold and silver, too, on pedestals, here and there, in the hall. They would make rich loot, thought Otto. To be sure, the loot of most interest to him was that of soft flesh, the sort which could be purchased in many markets throughout the galaxy. The empire was rich in such loot. Barbarian ships, usually few in number, and stealthy, sometimes struck well within the provincial quadrants, to secure it. Some raids had taken place even within the worlds of Telnaria itself. What terror they had struck, even to the heart of the empire! Many women of the empire awakened, frightened, in the night, hearing the smallest of sounds. "Your audience must be brief," said the servitor, "as the emperor fatigues easily."

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"It will be brief," said Julian, angrily. Otto noted a bronze, representing Orak, the king of the gods, in the Telnarian pantheon. Orak was standing, looking outward, a great spear grasped in his right hand, its butt on the ground. At his feet, beside him, facing in the same direction, kneeling naked, collared and in chains, her head lifted, as though she might have just been addressed, was an image of Dira, the goddess of slave girls. Many slave girls, he knew, prayed to Dira, that she might help them to be more pleasing to their masters. To be sure, she could not always hear their prayers for sometimes she must be attending to her own masters. Often she was busy, bearing wine and such. Too, more than once she had been punished by Orak or others, even she, for having failed on some occasion to be fully pleasing. Even the fair back of Dira, it seems, had felt the lash. Sometimes the fault was for having interceded for an unworthy slave girl. It is little wonder she had her devotees. "Stop here," said the servitor.

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At the purple-hung doorway there was a detection device, through which, slowly, Julian, Otto, and the servitor passed. Apparently its operator, at the desk console, screened from those at the device, did not detect anything calling for attention. No alarm, incidentally, would sound if there were some difficulty, for that might alert the individual, or individuals, at the device. Any difficulty would be registered by a silent, visual signal, read by the concealed operator. A variety of expedients, depending on the device, might then be activated, ranging from destructive beams to the sudden descent, traplike, of plastic cages. Otto brushed away a fly, back, away from his head. "Enter," said the servitor. The two great doors, with the purple hangings, swung back, and Otto saw, before him, at the end of a long carpet, on a dais, in a great room, four individuals on tall, solemn thrones. "The empress mother," whispered Julian, "the emperor, and the two sisters of the emperor." There were several other individuals, as well, within the chamber, which was lofty, and lit from windows high in its dome, through which light, in shafts, swarming with dust, fell. Otto's attention was first, however, taken by the figures on the dais. "Julian, your cousin, your majesty," said the servitor, "and guest, one

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Ottonius, an auxiliary." "Have you brought me a toy?" asked the boy on the throne. "No," said Julian, angrily. He then addressed himself to the empress mother. "We have been waiting long," he said. The servitor gasped, as did several others in the room. "There is no toy?" asked the boy, turning on the throne, looking at one of the men near the foot of the dais. "Your majesty," said the man, drawing from his dark robes a small globe, filled with numerous, tiny, brightly colored particles. "See?" He turned the globe about, and the particles within it changed their position, seeming to float and swirl, and fall about, in a thousand manners. "Give it to me!" said the boy, and, in an instant, it was within his grasp. "You see, your cousin Julian loves you," said the darkly clad man. "He brought you a toy." "No!" said the boy. "It is from you! It is from you, Iaachus!" "You are right, your majesty," said Julian, angrily. "It is from your dear Iaachus. I did not bring you a toy."

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"You should have brought him a toy," said the empress mother, a stern, short, dour woman, with a wrinkled face, oddly contrasting with the stiff richness of her robes. "You know he is fond of toys." The emperor's sisters exchanged amused glances. The empress mother's throne was just slightly behind that of the emperor, on the emperor's right. "Pretty!" said the emperor, turning the small globe about in his hands. The emperor, Otto guessed, was some fifteen or sixteen years of age. He had a sallow complexion, and there was something at the side of his mouth, which seemed to be saliva. "I have come here on imperial business," said Julian, addressing himself to the empress mother, "a business which, I believe, has been made clear to you in advance." Otto looked about the room. There were some well-armed guards in the room, but most of those present seemed to be civilians, of great wealth and station. This he conjectured from their garments and adornments. None of their apparel, of course, matched the richness and ornateness of that of those on the dais, that of the empress mother, that of the emperor, that of his two sisters. The women looked spoiled and pampered. The men looked bored and weak. He did

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not think the women would know how to give a man pleasure, but he supposed they could be taught, if necessary, with the whip. He was much surprised at the appearance of the men, that they should be counted among, as he supposed they were, the aristocracy of the empire. How

different

they

were from

the

aristocracy

of

the

barbarians, powerful men, hungry men, covetous, lustful, jealous, possessive, greedy, ruthless, ambitious, warlike, inured to hardships, accustomed to danger, eager for gain, zealous for adventure. I see now, thought Otto, how it is that men such as these need their armies and navies, others to do their fighting for them. Some, he thought, could not even lift the two-handed sword which, in the hands of a strong man, with two blows, could cut a horse in two, or the war ax which might with five blows shatter foot-thick timbers and the bar behind. The only man, other than the guards, who seemed to command attention, and awareness, was the darkly clad figure called Iaachus. His intelligence, Otto conjectured, would be extremely high. His influence, Otto suspected, would be considerable. "Yes," said the empress mother, "your request has been considered." The name of the empress mother was Atalana. "Favorably, I trust," said Julian. The emperor continued to play with the toy, fascinated by the continually shifting variegations of its interior. The name of the emperor was Aesilesius.

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"Pretty, pretty," said the emperor. "Yes," said the empress mother. "I am awaiting your decision," said Julian. Otto, standing behind Julian, his arms folded, considered the women in the room. He found them, pale as they were, of much greater interest than the men. Many were doubtless wives of senators, for most here would surely be of the senatorial class, but his attention was drawn more to the younger women. Some might be daughters of others in the room, but several, he supposed, would have some other function, such as that of serving as attendants to, or companions to, the empress mother, and the sisters of the emperor. They would be, in a sense, I suppose, to have recourse to a familiar expression, ladiesin-waiting. The eyes of some of these rested upon him. It was seldom, he supposed, that they had seen one here who was so far removed from their own class and kind. But he sensed, too, in the eyes of several of them, he was regarded with more than mere, or idle, curiosity. Perhaps they were curious to know what it might be like, to be in the arms of such a man, pressed helplessly to him, knowing that they would be used to quench, if only for a time, a passion greater than any they had ever known. Perhaps they wondered what it would be like to stand before him, in his tent, awaiting his pleasure, and then being

commanded

to

divest

themselves,

completely,

of

those

impediments to his assessment. Perhaps they wondered what it would be like to be examined by such a man, frankly, intimately, turned about, and posed, considered. Perhaps they wondered what it might be like to belong to such a man. Some of the women in the room wore

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simple, long gowns, white and woolen. They were sleeveless gowns. The feet of these women were bare. They, he did not doubt, though they wore no obvious sign of bondage, were slaves. He saw the parted lips of some, as they gazed upon him. Another, surreptitiously, thrust a bit to one side the strap on her gown, that at the left shoulder. It was the signal of a female in heat. He was familiar with it from the house of Pulendius. They were doubtless starved for the touch of masters. He did not doubt that beneath their simple gowns, commonly on the left thigh, beneath the hip, there would be a brand. He then let his eye rove to the two sisters of the emperor. Both were older than the emperor, who had perhaps been born late in the mother's life. One was perhaps twenty-five and the other twenty-three. The older one was taller, and blond. Her throne was the farthest to the left, as one looked toward the dais. The younger sister was shorter and darkhaired. Her throne was just to the right of her sister's throne, as one would look toward the dais. The name of the older sister was Viviana. The name of the younger sister was Alacida. "There are matters within your proposal which call for further clarification," said the empress mother to Julian. The sisters of the emperor seemed little concerned, as did the emperor, busy with the small chromatic globe, with the affairs of state. The two young women, Otto noted, were regarding him, from within the layered walls, the high, rigid defenses, of those stiff, heavy, brocaded robes of state. He wondered if anything stirred, hot like blood or soft and warm like woman's flesh, within those high, elaborate fortresses of fabric and gold. He wondered what they might

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look like, barefoot, in long, sleeveless, white woolen gowns, or less. "The matter is quite simple," said Julian. "I am requesting a commission, in the rank of captain, for Ottonius, my colleague, that he may recruit comitates, a company, drawn from various worlds, to function in an auxiliary capacity." "There are many units in the auxilia, already, your majesty," said a man. The auxilia were largely formed of barbarians, almost always from the same tribal groups. Later barbarians, of diverse tribes, would figure in the regular forces, as well. "Why, dear Julian," inquired the empress mother, "do we need yet another unit of such?" "Since the senate and people of Telnaria," said Julian, acidly, "have seen fit to extend the citizenship, unearned, gratuitously, to so many worlds, recruitment has dwindled, deplorably, to a trickle. Men of the empire refuse to touch steel, preferring gold, or even free bread and amusements." Citizenship in the empire, and its associated benefits, it might be remarked, were at one time, rare and muchly coveted. One route to citizenship was service in the armed forces, a route of which countless men of ambition and intelligence availed themselves. A citizenship earned is, of course, a citizenship respected and prized. When citizenship is regarded as something that is due one, on the basis of

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having been born, or such, the state suffers. Soon blocks of votes are being sold, in effect, to the highest bidder. Once again, I merely observe this, refraining from comment. "The winds of what men prize have changed," said Iaachus. "Soon," said Julian, "the armed forces will consist of barbarians!" "They are hungry," laughed a man. "They will work cheap." "Why should we weary ourselves with martial labors, when there are others who will serve us well, and cheaply." "Beware," cried Julian, turning, pointing upward, back, "there are wolves among the stars!" "Set wolves to fight wolves," said a man. "But they must be wolves as fierce, as terrible, as those who prowl even now at our borders!" said Julian. "The empire has nothing to fear," said a man. "The empire is eternal," said another. "Our technology, our weapons, our ships will protect us," said another. "And what will you do when the barbarians, too, have such

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technologies, such weapons, such ships?" asked Julian, "Abrogastes, of the Alemanni, of the Drisriaks, already has lionships, which are the equal of our destroyers, and even faster." "I have never heard of Abrogastes," said a man. "Let us hope that you never do," said Julian. "Pretty," said the emperor, looking into the small globe. The empress mother rose from her throne and, with a cloth, wiped the side of the boy's face, removing the saliva that ran there. She then resumed her place. "May I speak, your majesty?" inquired Iaachus. "Surely," said the empress mother. "In what way, beloved Julian, noble scion of the Aurelianii, that family in whose debt we all so consciously and gratefully stand, would the commissioning of this colleague of yours, this Ottonius, serve the empire?" "Am I requested to supply a justification," asked Julian, "for what I am entitled to, as the smallest of favors, of considerations, given my lineage and my station?" "Of course not," said Iaachus. "Forgive me."

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"It is only a captaincy," said another man. "It might have been granted without an audience." "I want the audience," said Julian. "I want it clearly understood that the empire is not secure, that it is in grave danger, or will soon be in grave danger." "Revenues decrease," said a man. "Planets grow less arable. It is hard to collect taxes. Men flee. Men leave their occupations." "The bindings will stabilize matters," said a man. "They will guarantee the security of the tax base." "I am most regrettably forced to my proposal," said Julian. "I, more than any, fear barbarians in the service of the empire. I, more than you, understand them. I realize the danger they pose. But these risks must be accepted. There is no choice. Civilization, civilitas itself, is at stake. Patriotism, civic duty, allegiance, are no longer mighty forces in the empire." "Nonsense!" cried a man. "In what unit have you served?" asked Julian. The man stepped back, and looked downward. "He is only one man," said a man, indicating Otto.

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"It is the beginning," said Julian. "It is a new concept. In the past the auxilia have been almost always recruited from particular tribes, allowed to settle within the borders of the empire, as federates, their land granted primarily in exchange for recruitments. These tended to be uniform units, keeping their own tribal structure and leadership. Their allegiance, in the last analysis, was to their own groups." "Surely there have been mutinies," said a man. "I envision," said Julian, "barbarian mercenaries, drawn from various worlds, recruited on the basis not of tribal membership but of qualities and skills, however terrible and merciless these may be, men owing their allegiance not to tribes and tribal leaders, but to their own captains." "Who will be dependent upon our commissions, and pay," said a man. "Yes," said Julian. "Landless men, pure fighters, with no worlds," said a man. "Dependent on the empire," said Julian. "Warriors," said a man, shuddering. "Yes!" said Julian. "Mercenary warriors," said another.

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"Yes, yes!" said Julian. "What think you, noble Iaachus?" inquired the empress mother. "An interesting, but dangerous, idea," said Iaachus. "It is too dangerous," said the empress mother. "There are no viable alternatives," said Julian. "Surely the assessment of he of the Aurelianii is overly pessimistic," said a man. "Not at all," said Julian, angrily. "The empire has always had its problems," said a man. "What think you, noble Iaachus?" asked the empress mother. "I respect the views of Julian, whom we all dearly love," said Iaachus, "even though I am sometimes pained to disagree with them." "Yes?" asked the empress mother. "But I fear that the empire, or certain distant, unimportant parts of it, may now indeed be in some slight danger." "But there is nothing for us to fear?" asked the empress mother. "No, of course not, your majesty, not here, nor in Telnaria itself."

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"Give us your counsel," said the empress mother. "We might begin slowly," said Iaachus, "and then, if things did not seem auspicious, withhold support, simply abandon the project." "These men could go where we want, be sent to the points of greatest danger!" said Julian. "They might prove a most useful arm in the service of the empire," said Iaachus. "I am not convinced of the value, or necessity, of such a thing," said the empress mother. "No decision need be reached at this instant, of course," said Iaachus. "Pretty, pretty!" said the emperor, lifting up the globe. "Yes," said the empress mother. "It is very pretty." "Your friend is barbarian?" said a man. "I think so," said Julian. "And what are his qualifications for such a captaincy?" asked me man.

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"Assess them," said Julian, angrily. "Camarius," said the man. "Sir?" said one of the guards. The man pointed at Otto and Camarius rushed upon Otto who seized his descending arm, twisting it, and kicking the man from him, but not releasing the arm, jerking it from the socket and the man cried out with horror and pain and then Otto, with an inhuman noise, at once a snarl and a cry of rage, for he was an impatient and easily angered man, jerked him by the injured arm to him as he screamed, and threw him, face upward, down, upon his knee, thrusting down, in fury, to break his back across that living fulcrum. "No!" cried Julian. "No!" The guard's eyes were bulging and wild, one arm lifted helplessly, the other useless at his side. "Civilitas!" screamed Julian. Otto rose up, throwing the guard from him, angrily, to the carpet. The guard rose to his feet, half crouching, and hurried away, whimpering. Otto's eyes were terrible to behold. "Civilitas," said Julian, soothingly.

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Otto then regarded the man who had ordered the soldier to approach him, but the man stepped back. The hands of guards were on their weapons. "It is all right," said Julian. "It is over now." Then he faced the man who had ordered the soldier forward. "Have you further questions?" he asked. "No," said the man. The assemblage in the court was stunned, and silent. Otto stood there, in a narrow shaft of light, it sparkling with dust, descendant from one of the high windows in the dome. All eyes were upon him. Even the emperor regarded him. "The decision of the emperor will be conveyed to you," said Iaachus to Julian. "I will do my best to press for a favorable response." Otto angrily looked about himself, from face to face. He looked into the face of the men, and into the faces of the women. These latter seemed to draw back, some lifting their hands to their bosom. The eyes of the slave girls were wild. Had Otto so much as snapped his fingers they would have hurried to him, to kneel.

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He regarded the sisters of the emperor, blond Viviana, and darkhaired Alacida. They seemed startled. He had no doubt that now something stirred, and profoundly, beneath those robes. They looked wildly away, flushing scarlet. He conjectured, in his anger, in his fury, what they might look like, kneeling naked, on ropes. They too could learn, like any other woman, to respond instantly to the snapping of a man's fingers. "I am afraid of him," said the empress mother. "There is nothing to be afraid of," said Julian. "Oh, oh!" suddenly cried the emperor, putting his head down, holding the colored globe close to him, as though to protect it, and striking about with his free arm. "What is it?" cried a man. "It is a fly," said a man.

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"Guards!" said the empress mother, she, too, leaping up from her throne, to rush to the emperor. The emperor burst into tears. "What is wrong?" asked Otto. "The emperor fears insects," said Julian, irritably. Two guards were about the imperial throne, trying to drive away the insect. "It is all right," said the empress mother, holding the boy to her. "The audience is at an end," suggested Iaachus. "Yes, yes!" said the empress mother. "There, there, darling," she crooned. The older of the emperor's two sisters, Viviana, the blonde, regarded the emperor with ill-disguised contempt. The younger, Alacida, darkhaired, looked upon him with embarrassment, and pity. "The audience is concluded," said Iaachus. Men and women began to take their leave. "I will do my best to further the success of your business," Iaachus said to Julian.

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"My thanks, Counselor," said Julian. "Your majesties," said Julian, to the dais. Julian and Otto watched the men and women leaving the room. The slave girls had hung back, looking at Otto. "Go!" snapped Iaachus to them and they turned about and hurried from the room. The two sisters of the emperor, too, it seems, had dallied. But then, seeing Otto's eyes upon them, they lifted their heads and took their leave. "I wonder what they would look like, in collars, curled in the furs," said Otto. "They are of the highest class of patricians, the senatorial class," said Julian. "I wonder what they would look like," said Otto. "What do you think?" asked Julian. "I think they would look well," said Otto. "So do I," said Julian.

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The emperor, clinging to his globe, was hurried from the audience chamber, in the keeping of the empress mother, followed by ladies-inwaiting, and guards. "The emperor has not yet lost interest in his toy," said Otto. "It will doubtless continue to fascinate him for a long time," said Julian. "He is simple?" asked Otto. "He is feebleminded," said Julian. "Who rules?" asked Otto. "Iaachus," said Julian, wearily. "Who is Iaachus?" asked Otto. "He is the arbiter of protocol," said Julian. "Do you trust him?" asked Otto. "No," said Julian.

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CHAPTER 15 It was a light knock, a timid knock. Tuvo Ausonius looked up from his columns. The knock was repeated, a timid, light knock, but rapid now, pressing, urgent, as though someone might fear to remain outside in the ill-lit street. Tuvo Ausonius gathered his papers together, arranged them, and inserted them in one of the pockets of a leather portfolio, which he then buckled shut. Again the tiny frightened knock sounded, pleadingly. Tuvo Ausonius rose from the table in the sparsely furnished room. He went to the door. He slid back a viewer and ascertained the frightened eyes of a woman, her face muchly concealed in a dark hood. The woman was admitted, and, behind her, after looking about, outside, Tuvo Ausonius shut the door, thrusting home two bolts, then locking them in place. In the room there was now an aroma of perfume, strong, heady. The woman thrust back her hood, revealing her loose, dark hair. She

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looked about, frightened. "Is this the place?" she asked, disbelievingly. The room was quite simple, quite plain, and almost bare of furnishings. There was, however, a table, a simple, worn, scratched table, once darkly varnished, with one dark, wooden chair. On the table lay Ausonius's portfolio. There was also a heavy dresser to one side, and a heavy, massive bed, anchored to the floor. At the foot of this bed, though it could not be seen from where the woman and Tuvo Ausonius stood, there was a heavy metal ring, fixed in the floor. There were two windows, rather high, one in the same wall as the door, and the other across from it. The height of the windows was to prevent individuals peering into the room. There were no coverings for the floor, save a small throw rug, ragged and grimy, near the table. There were no hangings, or pictures, at the walls. They were unadorned, and cracked and chipped. In numerous places paint had peeled from the plaster. There was much peeling and cracking in the ceiling, as well, and several brownish circles, like rings, were overhead, where water had soaked through. There were run marks, too, of water at the walls, some from the ceiling and windows, some from tiny crevices high in the walls, stains which wended their way downward to the floor. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "This is your room?" she asked. "For now," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is dark," she said. Given the nature of the room, its smallness, its lack of furnishings, its

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need of repair and paint, the limitations of its tiny windows, even in the daylight it would have been, at best, dingy. "I will turn up the lamp," he said. He went to the wall and rotated a dial which increased the illumination of the single swivel light in the ceiling. By means of a small wheel he then adjusted the beam of the swivel light so that it fell on the woman, illuminating her, rather as though she stood in a spotlight. She blinked a little, and stood there, in the light, clutching the cloak about her. "I was afraid in the streets," she said. "I had difficulty finding this place. I did not dare come in a conveyance. Men called out to me from the darkness." There was a tiny jangle from within the cloak. This sound intrigued Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps they smelled your perfume," suggested Tuvo Ausonius. "What sort of woman did they think I was?" she asked. "Perhaps you can guess," he said. "Do you like it?" asked the stewardess.

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"It is appropriate for you," he said, "though perhaps it might be more obvious." "I am wearing it for you," she said. "I hoped you would be pleased." "I think it will do nicely," he said. "Where are your things?" she asked, looking about. "Do not concern yourself with them," he said. He noted that her hair was lustrous. It had doubtless been washed, treated, brushed, combed, such things. "Have you no light supper prepared?" she asked. "I see that your feet are bare," he said. "I thought you expected such things," she said. He put his hands to the borders of her dark cloak, closely clutched about her. She lifted her eyes to his, pleading. "You are here," he reminded her. "Surely you do not wish to be reported to the line."

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"You cannot do these things to me!" she said. "Oh?" he asked. "I am a same!" she said. "We shall see," he said. "It was only a minor violation of the regulations," she said, "and the ship was terribly uncomfortable." "Such an infraction is surely sufficient for dismissal," he said. "And what, too, of your intolerable discourtesy, your flagrant insolence, your provocative impropriety?" "You cannot say such things!" she said. "Surely I shall," said Tuvo Ausonius, "for they are all true." "I will do whatever you want," she said. "Let us see what we have here," he said. He then parted the dark robe. Surely it was the stewardess as none others had ever seen her. Then he dropped the dark cloak to the floor, behind her. "Stand straighter," he said.

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Her dark hair was lustrous, as it fell, glistening, behind her, about her shoulders. About her throat, twice twined, were beads, and a necklace of threaded, tiny coins. The lovely sweetness of her upper body was haltered high, snugly, in scarlet silk. The sheen of her beauty descended then, with perfection, to a narrow waist, sweetly slender, which was encircled closely with a tight black, cloth cord, that sustaining the two overlapping sheets, front and back, skirtlike, of scarlet silk. Beneath this silk could be sensed the rounded joy of her belly and the flare of a love cradle that might have driven men mad. "Loosen the belt a little," said Tuvo Ausonius. She did so, and the rounded sweetness of her belly was then more than hinted at, and the scarlet silk then was low on her hips, held there only by the sweetness of their flare. "Kneel!" said Tuvo Ausonius. Immediately the stewardess knelt before him, in the pool of light. Tuvo Ausonius then suddenly felt sensations, and feelings, which he had never felt before. He sought to rid himself of these feelings. They were not in his plans. She was incredibly beautiful, kneeling before him.

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There were several loose bracelets on her right wrist, and an armlet on her upper left arm. They might appear to be of gold, but would not be so, no more than such things affected by street women, or coin slaves. It was the jangle of these bracelets which Tuvo Ausonius had heard before, shortly after she had entered the room, that delicate sound which had earlier intrigued him. She smoothed the silk a little. There was, again, the tiniest sound from the bracelets. Yes, it was an intriguing sound. The silk, as she now knelt, was between her thighs, thus contrasting with their milky white softness, and, of course, that they might be bared to him. She knelt back, her hands on her thighs, the bracelets on her right wrist, the armlet on her upper left arm. Tuvo Ausonius was not insensitive to her charms. "You lack only the brand and collar," he muttered to himself. She looked up at him, her eyes half closed against the light. "It is nothing," he said.

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"I forget your name," he said. "Sesella," she said. "Sesella Gardener." "Do you think you are a same?" he said, angrily. "No," she said. "I do not think I am a same, truly. I have never thought, really, not for years, that I was a same." He glared down at her, unwilling to see her, but yet unable, it seemed, to remove his eyes from her. He had realized what a woman could be. He must remain strong, he must remember his purpose. "Stand up," he said. She complied. "No," he said, angrily. "I do not think you are a same." The only good women, he reminded himself, forcibly, were sames. How small she was, compared to him, and her shoulders, so small, so soft, so white, so exciting. Suddenly, to his anger, he realized that she must have some inkling of the effect she had on him.

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"I had a hard time finding this place," she said. "It is not in one of the better districts." "I suppose not," he said. "It is a poorly lit area," she said. "Perhaps," he said. "It is a shabby district," she said. He did not tell her what sort of district it was. Fitting for you, he thought. She looked about, at the room, at the floor, the walls. She did not seem overly pleased. She looked up, toward the ceiling, toward the peeled paint, the irregularly concentric brownish rings. Her eyes were half closed, against the glare of the swivel light. "It is fortunate it is not raining," she said. "It seems the ceiling leaks." "Perhaps it has been repaired," he said.

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"It is a very high ceiling," she said. "This is a summer world," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The rooms are often so constructed, that they may be cooler, the warmer air rising upward." "Of course," she said, blinking, looking down. "You do not seem pleased with the room," he said. "It was not what I expected," she said, lightly. Yes, she sensed her power. He could change that, quickly enough. "I think it will do very nicely," he said. This remark seemed to alarm her somewhat. Certainly it would remind her that she was here, and as he wished. Yes, it will do very nicely, for what I have in mind, he thought. "What do you think of the table?" he asked, pointing to it. She regarded its worn, darkly varnished surface. "You are not going to put me on it, are you?" she asked, uneasily.

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Now she was surely less certain of her power. "Certainly not," he said, as though he found the very thought distasteful. Still it was surely a charming thought, pleasing himself with her on such a surface. He almost regretted that he was a same. Now she was again surer of her power. He noted this with satisfaction. "You did not bring anything to eat or drink," she said. "Do not concern yourself with such matters," he said. She looked at the bed. "Do you want me to get in bed?" she asked. "No," he said. " 'No'?" she asked. "No," he said. "I do not understand," she said. "What am I to do?" "Go to the foot of the bed, and stand there, and await further

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instructions," he said. "There is a ring here, in the floor," she said. Tuvo Ausonius went to the heavy, dark dresser against one wall and, with a sound of sliding wood, opened the top drawer. He reached within the drawer. There was a sound of heavy links of chain, moving on the wood. He drew out a sturdy, common "Y" chain, of some two feet in length, with its three rings at its terminations, each now open. He placed the "Y" chain on the foot of the bed. He also picked up the throw rug and then placed it on the floor, at the foot of the bed, near the ring. She looked down at it. In this way, he conjectured, she might be more comfortable. "You will now," he said, "remove your clothing, completely, even your necklaces, your bracelets, and such." "Very well," she said. "Why have you turned your back to me?" she asked. He did not respond to her. How could she ask such a foolish question? How could he look upon her? How could he dare to look upon her? Why would he even care to look upon her? Did she not know he was above such things, that he

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was a same? She put her hands to the back of her neck, to remove her necklaces. She smiled to herself. She enjoyed removing her garments. She wished to strip herself, and bare her beauty, to reveal it in all its marvelous loveliness to a male, that it might find in that its meaning and birthright, and, too, that she might, to her joy, understand something of how precious she was to men, what a treasure she was to them, what a wondrously perfect and desirable creature she was. She knew that men fought and killed for women such as she. She knew that they sought women such as she, and, ruthlessly, in markets, bought and sold them. She laid the necklaces on the foot of the bed. "No one knows I am here," she said. She thought he might wish reassurance on this matter. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Oh," she said. She slipped the armlet from her upper left arm and put it on the bed. Then she removed the bracelets, and placed them there, as well, with the armlet and necklaces, Tuvo Ausonius, his back turned, heard the bracelets, moving against one another, being placed on the bed. She reached behind her back, to the closures on the halter.

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"You are not looking at me," she said. "No," said Tuvo Ausonius. She placed the halter on the bed. She reached to the narrow, black, cloth cord, now low on her hips, that sustaining the skirtlike sheets of scarlet silk. As it now was on her, so low, so provocative, so exciting, so responsive to her slightest movements, she might even have been a dancer, or tavern slave. She hesitated. She turned about, so that her back would be to him, if he should turn, if he should suddenly wish to see her. Let her beauty be to him as a revelation. She untied the cloth cord and gathered together the two sheets of flowing, sheer silk. These things she then put behind her on the bed. "I am naked," she whispered. "What?" he asked. "I am naked," she said.

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"Absolutely?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Kneel down, on the rug, at the foot of the bed," he said. "I have done so," she said. "Can you reach the chain on the foot of the bed?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "It is a "Y" chain," he said. "It has three terminations, each with a ring, now opened. Before you, fixed in the floor, you see a large, heavy ring. Chain yourself to it. This will be done in the following manner. The ring at the bottom of the "Y" is to be closed, and locked, about it. The two rings at the terminations of the arms of the "Y" are to be closed, and locked, about your wrists, snugly. Do you understand?" "Yes," she said. Tuvo Ausonius listened carefully. He heard three clicks, first, one click, and then, a little later, one after the other, two more clicks. "Are you chained helplessly?" he asked.

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He heard her pull against the chains. Did he detect some fear in her movements? "Yes," she said. He did not doubt but what this was true, as she would doubtless expect him to check the closures on the three rings, satisfying himself that they were all locked, and that the wrist rings were suitably snug, even tight, upon her wrists. "May I speak?" she asked. It interested him that she would request permission to speak. But he supposed that when a woman finds herself as she was, that she might naturally be apprehensive, as to whether or not she may speak. What if it were not desired, at such a time, to hear her speak? "Certainly," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I have wondered-" she said. "Yes?" he said. "Earlier you suggested that my perfume might be more obvious," she said. "It is quite acceptable," he said. "And it will do very nicely." "I wondered what you meant," she said.

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"Only that another perfume might have been even more appropriate for you." "I do not understand," she said. "That of whore, or slave," he said. "Oh," she said. But her response did not seem angered, or protestive. "I wonder what it might be like to wear such perfumes," she said. "Perhaps you will one day learn," he said. "Do not jest," she said. Tuvo Ausonius was silent. "But how such things must excite and arouse a woman," she said. "How helpless they must make her!" "I am sure that your perfume might count as such," said Tuvo Ausonius. She made a tiny, helpless noise. There was a tiny rustle of chain. "You are not going to do these things to me, and then still report me to the line, are you?" she asked, frightened.

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"Of course not," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Thank you," she said. Besides, thought Tuvo Ausonius, that would not be at all necessary, not now. She pulled at the chains. "I am helpless," she said. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "This is the first time a man has put me in his power," she said. "It will not be the last," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are going to keep me as mistress?" she asked. "Scarcely," said Tuvo Ausonius. "What are you doing?" she asked. Tuvo Ausonius, being careful not to look at the woman at the foot of the bed, gathered up the articles on the bed, the necklaces, the bracelets, the silk, and such. "Why do you not look at me?" she said.

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He put the articles on the floor, near the table, rather as though they might have been removed there. He then drew back the bedclothes, and rumpled them, in such a way that they appeared to have been naturally displaced, but in such a way, too, that she could not reach them from where she was chained, at the foot of that massive bed, anchored to the floor. "What are you doing?" she asked, again, pulling at the chains. "Move back," he said to her, his eyes on the floor. She moved back a bit, as she could, until, in a tiny bit, she came to the end of the chain. She was now off the small rug. Being careful, again, not to look at her, he drew away the small rug and put it back where it had once been, near the table. It was now not far from the discarded adornments and garments, either. Indeed, might someone not have stood on the rug, while removing the adornments and garments, and slipped them to the floor, there, in that place? Too, he had decided that one such as she did not need the comfort even of the tiny rug. The chains and the floor were suitable for her. "Look at me!" she cried. "Look at me!" But of course Tuvo Ausonius did not do so.

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He did look about the dingy, shabby room. He was rather well satisfied with it. It seemed a suitable room for punishing a woman such as she. He placed a tiny object, metal, on the top of the dresser. "What are you doing?" she asked. He did not bother to respond to her. He retrieved his portfolio from the surface of the darkly varnished table. He turned away. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Where are you going?" she asked. "Wait!" she called. He paused by the door. "I am naked, and chained!" she said. "I am helpless! I can reach nothing! Where is the key!" "It is on the top of the dresser," he said. It would be immediately obvious, in that place, to anyone who might enter the room.

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"I cannot reach it!" she said. "No," he said. "You cannot." "Look at me!" she begged. "No," he said. "Release me!" she said. "You will be released, at least of those particular impediments," he said, "by the proper authorities." " 'Authorities'?" she said. "In the morning," he said. "You see I, in order to effect an economy, in order to save the empire money, a predilection appropriate enough in the case of a conscientious official, am in the habit of renting inexpensive quarters. You can imagine my dismay in the morning when I arrive to take occupancy and find the room occupied, as it is." "I do not understand," she moaned. "One of your customers, it seems, left you as you are." " 'Customers,' " she said, startled. "What was your name, again?" he asked. "It has slipped my mind."

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"Sesella," she said. "Sesella Gardener!" "Doubtless the first thing the authorities will request to see is your license." "I do not understand," she said. "On this world," he said, "it is against the law to practice prostitution without a license." "I am not a prostitute!" she said. "But only now have you been caught," he said. "I am not a prostitute!" she said. "How long has it been going on?" he asked. "I am not a prostitute!" she cried. "And the penalties for such are not light," he said. "What are they?" she said. "In the future," he said, "you need not concern yourself about your perfumes. They will be decided for you, or you must submit them for approval to others." "No," she cried. "No!"

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But Tuvo Ausonius had left, closing the door behind him.

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CHAPTER 16 "Please," she said, hurrying forward, and kneeling. It was dawn, outside the summer palace. Otto and Julian had spent the night in the palace. "I will do my best to further your business," Iaachus had assured Julian, once again, even as they had left the inner gate, but moment, ago. "Do you think he will do so?" had asked Otto. "I do not know," had said Julian. "It is hard to read Iaachus." "I think he fears you," said Otto. "Why?" asked Julian. "Your blood, your lineage, your station," said Otto. "Perhaps," said Julian. It was scarcely light when Julian and Otto left the palace, now no longer in the company of guards, though, doubtless, they would be watched, as they took their way across the great plaza, in the center of which rose the domes and spires of the palace. In an inner courtyard, as they had made their way across the damp

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flagstones, Julian had pointed upward, to a window, and then to another. They were dark now. "Those are the quarters of the princess Viviana," he said, "and those of the princess Alacida." A slave girl, carrying a two-handled vessel of water, knelt down, on the damp stones, and put her head down. It was hard even to detect the color of her hair in the light. She lifted her head, after they had passed, to look after them. "Did you see the curtain move, in the window of the princess Viviana, and a shadow in that of the princess Alacida?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "It seems they are watching," said Julian. "What for?" asked Otto. "Who knows?" said Julian. Otto had speculated, idly, how such windows might be reached, perhaps from the roof. It might be a coup, he thought, to steal a princess.

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He wondered if Viviana, or Alacida, or both, would make a good slave girl. Shortly thereafter they were outside the palace. They had seen a small figure in the vicinity of one of the fountains rise up, when they had exited the palace. The figure was scarcely detectable in the light, and had almost been lost against the marble of the fountain. Doubtless it was no more than some pathetic vagrant. "See?" asked Julian. "Yes," had said Otto. "Beware," had said Julian. "I see it," had said Otto. It had hurried forward. Now it knelt before them, some yards from the outer gate. "I have been waiting for you, all night," she said. "They would not let me wait by the gate, close to it, like a dog, as I wished. They would not let me." "Surely we know you," said Julian.

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"Yes," said Otto, looking down on the figure. "Who are you?" asked Julian. "One who became yesterday a devotee of Dira," she said. "The goddess of slave girls," said Julian. "Yes," said Otto. "Who are you?" demanded Julian. "Renata Alerina Gina Ameliana," she said. "Of the Amelianii?" said Julian. "Yes," she said. This, then, was no pathetic vagrant, despite how small she seemed, how piteous, how pleading, how humble, kneeling there before them in the half darkness, on the damp stones, clutching about herself some shreds of embroidered leel, doubtless once fine stuff, but torn now, ripped from the collar downward, and damp and soiled, from the night spent in the open, spent waiting, on the stones of the plaza. "You are a lady," said Julian. "As much as I may be now," she said.

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"You are rich," he said. "There is wealth in my family," she said. "But such things are meaningless to me now." "Your family are gold merchants," said Julian. He did not say this approvingly. Like many of the high aristocracy he had a contempt for business and trade. "Since yesterday iron and leather mean more to me," she said. "I do not understand," said Julian. "I have looked into the eyes of a master," she said. "And now I know that I can only be happy in obedience, and in selfless love and service." "I do not understand," said Julian. "I now know that I can only be fully happy as a total slave." Julian looked down at her. "I have learned myself," she said. "I have looked into the eyes of a master. I am now a devotee of Dira." She then put her head down, to the feet of Otto, and kissed them.

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"I would be yours," she said. "Do you understand what you are saying?" asked Julian. She lifted her eyes to those of Otto. Would he permit her to straighten her body, to kneel upright before him? He did so. "You do not understand what you are doing," said Julian to the kneeling figure. "Shall I open my robes?" she asked Otto. "No," said Otto. "The collar," said Julian, angrily, "is for thieves, debtors, criminals, barbarians." "No," she said. "It is for low women," he said. "No," she said. "It is for women." "It is for those women who are unfortunate enough to find themselves put in it."

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"No," she said. "Women live in terror of the collar!" "I do not," she said. "It is for those women who deserve it," he said, "those for whom it is appropriate!" "And for what woman is it not appropriate?" she asked. "You beg the collar?" asked Julian. "Yes," she said, looking up at Otto. "I beg the collar!" "Have you considered," asked Otto, "what it might be, to be done with as masters please, to be bought and sold?" "Yes," she said. "You are crying," said Julian to her. "Do you think you would have but one master?" asked Otto. "I would expect, over time," she said, "to have many masters. I would try to serve them well." "Doubtless, at times," said Otto, "you would regret your decision, and

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find yourself terrified." "Yes," she said, "and I would know myself helpless." This was she, or course, whom we had met the preceding day, she of the embroidered leel, who, having angered Otto, had been cuffed, who had had the leel torn down, to her hips, who had been forced, her hands held, to kneel down before him, as though she, though a fashionably dressed free woman, might be no more than a slave. "You would belong to him?" asked Julian. "Yes," she said. "Perhaps I would use you to breed slaves," said Otto. "Then that would be the will of my master," she said. "Perhaps I could try you out, and see how you are," said Otto. "I am untrained!" she said. "You seem intelligent," said Otto. "Perhaps you could learn." "I would apply myself with the greatest diligence!" she said. Otto turned away from her and he, and Julian, walked a few paces, toward the edge of the plaza.

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Behind them they heard a sob, and, turning, they saw the small figure, forlorn, behind them, still kneeling. "If you wish," said Otto, "you may follow me." With a cry of joy she sprang to her feet and, clutching the torn leel about her, hurried after them. "Perhaps, on the way," said Otto, "we might pass a slaver's house." "There are some," said Julian. "Papers could be prepared, the proper signatures affixed, and such." Julian turned to the woman, who was following them, a few paces behind, to the left. "You understand," he said, "that once such a thing is done, it is done?" "Yes," she said. "You could even be purchased to serve in your own house," he said, "and would be there then no more than any other slave." "Yes," she whispered. "I think the whole thing, though impeccably legal, is best handled quickly and quietly," said Julian.

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"Yes," said Otto. "I think that that would be best for her." "You are concerned with her?" "Certainly," said Otto. "She is a free woman." "But later?" "Then such things would not matter," said Otto. "Then she would be only a slave." They continued on their way. "What are your plans?" asked Otto. "I am going to return to one of my family's villas," said Julian, "and there await word with respect to your commission." "The matter is being deliberated?" asked Otto. "I suppose so," said Julian. "When will we hear?" asked Otto. "I do not know when, or if, we will hear," said Julian. "You have enemies in the palace?" asked Otto. "It would seem so," said Julian.

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"Iaachus?" asked Otto. "Perhaps," said Julian. "The royal family?" asked Otto. "I think that is quite likely," said Julian. "They fear you?" "I think so," said Julian. "Are their fears justified?" asked Otto. Julian turned about, and addressed the woman at their heels. "Lag back," he said. She slowed her pace until there were several feet between her and the pair she followed. "Yes," said Julian, irritably, to Otto. Otto then turned about, and motioned that the woman should join them. When she did so, Otto put her before them, and they followed her, one on each side, she in the place of honor, a free woman. "I do not think I should be here, before you," she whispered.

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"You are a free woman," said Otto. "It is the place of honor. Precede us." "You might even remember, afterwards, if you care to," said Julian, "how you were once such that you preceded free men." "I do not know where to go, where to turn," she said. "I will direct you," said Julian. She turned about. They continued on their way. They kept to better streets. Afterward they could return to the port, more conveniently, through a poorer district. "Turn right, here," said Julian.

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CHAPTER 17 "Send the slave, Flora, forward," said the connoisseur. The girl, whose house name was Flora, hurried forward, to kneel on the tiles before the connoisseur, her head down, to the tiles, the palms of her hands upon them, performing obeisance. Following her forward were two leather-clad men, one on each side of her, who took their station on each side of her, and a little to the back. These were the keeper, or warder, of her corridor, and one of the trainers, to whose lot she had been assigned. The connoisseur looked from the papers, attached to the clipboard he held, to the girl, and then back to the board. "She has been whipped only three times," said the connoisseur. "Yes," said the trainer, "the instructional whipping, once when I felt she did not obey quickly enough, only two strokes, and once because it pleased me to do so." The girl, her head down, trembled. She could see, as she knelt, out of the comer of her eye, the coil of the trainer's whip. "That is really only twice," said the connoisseur. "The two strokes is only an admonition, the sort of thing that might be done at any time,

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for any reason." "Then twice," said the trainer. "You have been whipped very little, Flora," said the connoisseur. "I have tried to be pleasing, Master," she said. "Kneel up, Flora," said the connoisseur, "your back arched, your hands behind the back of your head." "She is a sleek little thing," said the connoisseur. "A pretty little piece of livestock," said a man beside the connoisseur, a dealer. "You have done well, Emon," said the connoisseur. The keeper inclined his head, accepting the compliment. The diet and exercise of such stock is, of course, carefully supervised. "I see by the papers, Rigg," said the connoisseur, "that she has been trained, within the limitations of the brief time at our disposal, to give the most intimate and satisfying of slave pleasures to a master." "Yes," said the trainer. "You may place your hands on your thighs, Flora," said the

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connoisseur. "She applied herself, in learning such lessons?" asked the connoisseur. "Zealously," said Rigg, the trainer. "Little Flora apparently realizes that it is well for her to learn such things," said the connoisseur. Rigg laughed. "Adeptness in such skills can considerably improve the quality of a girl's life," said the connoisseur, "elevating her price, quite possibly enabling her to obtain a richer, better master, lighter tasks, and such." "Certainly," said Ambon, the dealer. "But I think," said Rigg, "that there is another reason, as well, that she applied herself so eagerly to her lessons." "The whip?" asked the connoisseur. "Other than that, too," said Rigg. "What?" asked the connoisseur. "Speak," said Rigg to the girl. "That I am a slave, Master," she said.

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"As are the other women in this house," said the connoisseur. "Yes, Master," she said. "Completely," he said, "as yourself." "Yes, Master," she said. In a sense she had known this for a long time, of course, even before becoming a slave. "We have raised your value, Flora," said the connoisseur. "Thank you, Master," said the girl. "Many men could not now afford you," said the connoisseur. "You may even find it tempting, in some markets, to obtain a master, to conceal your skills." "Yes, Master," she said. "But I would not permit my seller to know that," he said. "No, Master," she said, shuddering. "And such matters will be public, on your papers," said the connoisseur. "Yes, Master," she said.

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"I would recommend perfect honesty, in all respects and matters," said the connoisseur. "Yes, Master," she said. A slave girl must be completely truthful, and totally honest. She is not a free woman. "You have come far, in a short time, little Flora," said the connoisseur, "but remember that your training, and such, is really quite limited, only a matter of a few days, indeed, that, in a sense, it has only begun." "Yes, Master." "You must struggle to continue to learn, and grow," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "I see," said the connoisseur, returning to the clipboard, "that she has done well in cosmetics, perfumes, adornments and such." "Yes," said Rigg. "In slave dance?" asked the connoisseur. "There was no time," said Rigg.

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"But surely you have taught her at least some of the movements, which are useful in giving intimate pleasures to masters?" "Of course," said Rigg. "Sewing, cooking, cleaning, such things?" "Only some elementary knowledge in such matters," said Rigg. "Many men want a complete slave, Flora," said the connoisseur, "one who can serve them in all ways and things. Many men, for example, will expect you to keep their quarters in perfection." "I know little of such things, Master," said the girl. "Perhaps you can compensate for such inadequacies, or distract the master from too keen an awareness of such things, by the excellence of your services in the furs." "It will be my hope to do so, Master," she said. "While striving to improve your expertise in such homely skills," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Many men want everything from a woman," he said, "everything."

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"Yes, Master," she said. "But, as you are a pleasure slave, I would give my greatest attention to my services in the furs." "Yes, Master," she said, gratefully. "As I recall, from my own cursory examination, when she was brought to this house, her body is responsive," said the connoisseur. "We have confirmed that," said Rigg. "It is responsive, uncontrollably so." "She will then be much at the mercy of masters," said the connoisseur. "Helplessly so," said Rigg. The girl put down her head. "And yet she is still a virgin," said the connoisseur, wonderingly. The girl blushed, wholly. "A virgin?" asked Ambon, the dealer. "Yes," said the connoisseur. "It is seldom, Flora," he said, "that a girl, and certainly a slave, with flanks such as yours, is a virgin."

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"My master," she said, "is not pleased with me, and has seen fit, after my embonding, to ignore me, and treat me with great coldness." "I will make you an offer for her!" said the dealer, suddenly. Terror transfigured the girl's features. To be sure, she could be bought and sold with the same facility as a pig. "Alas," said the connoisseur, "we do not own her, but she is merely being boarded here, for a time, to be trained." "You could pretend that she was stolen, even that you were raided," said the dealer. "We are an honest house," said the connoisseur. "Ah," smiled the dealer, and leaned back in his chair. "Master," asked the girl, pleadingly, "may I speak?" All eyes went to her. Even Emon and Rigg seemed surprised that she had spoken. To be sure, it was merely to request permission to speak, which permission may be granted or not, as the master sees fit. The connoisseur looked at her, interested. "Certainly," he said. The fact that he had said "certainly" must not, however, be taken to

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mean that such permissions are always readily forthcoming. Indeed, sometimes a girl is not permitted to speak for hours, sometimes for days. Sometimes, even in the furs, she must serve, with all her attentiveness, her skills and zeal, in silence. "I still belong to the same master, do I not?" she asked. "I do not know," said the connoisseur. "I do not know who your master is. I only know who has signed you over to us, and to whom, upon the receipt of an appropriate signature, we will return you." "I may have been sold, while I am here, in school?" she said. "That is quite possible," said the connoisseur. "Indeed, it is often the case that training of this sort is given to a girl to increase her value, because the master intends to put her up for sale, hoping to make a profit on her." She groaned. "I do not know who my master is then," she said. "No," said the connoisseur. "But doubtless you will soon learn." "You do not know who my master is?" she said. "No," said the connoisseur. "I know little more than the place to which we are to deliver you."

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"May I beg to know the place?" she asked. "You will learn it in time," he said. "Please, please, Master," she begged, weeping. The connoisseur looked to the dealer, and to Emon and Rigg, and then shrugged. "Very well," he said. He read off to her an address, and a world. "But I do not know that place, or world!" she cried. "Doubtless you will come to know it, at least for a time," said the connoisseur, "for it is there that you will be delivered to your master." The pretty slave regarded the connoisseur, agonized. She put her hand, timidly, to the metal collar on her neck, a rather simple, plain collar, the collar of the house. It was all she wore, other than her brand. "It is there," said the connoisseur, "that you will kneel before your master, and present the flower to him, as you have been taught, the slave flower." "You will offer it to him humbly," said Emon. "And it will be his to pluck," said Rigg. "Masters!" cried the girl.

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"Take her away," said the connoisseur, signing one of the sheets on the clipboard. She was pulled to her feet, and turned about. She looked back over her shoulder, in misery and fear. "Master!" she wept. "You will be shipped this morning," said the connoisseur. She was conducted, weeping, from the room. The connoisseur turned over a page from those on the clipboard. "Next," he said.

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CHAPTER 18 "I am innocent!" she cried. "I am innocent!" "Is she covered?" asked Tuvo Ausonius, alarmed, keeping his back turned to her. "Yes," said the officer. Tuvo Ausonius turned about to see the girl, struggling, swathed in buckled canvas, from her thighs to her throat, forced down on her knees, on the street, outside the small apartment, with its door opening onto the street. "You have the complaint?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes," said one of the officers. "He!" cried the girl, squirming in the canvas, turning to face Tuvo Ausonius. "It was he, he! He was here!" A small crowd had gathered. "I only arrived from Miton this morning," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I am of the honestori." "Yes, sir," said the officer. "I believe the complaint is in order." "It is," said the officer.

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"I did not neglect to sign it, did I?" inquired Tuvo Ausonius. "No, sir," said the officer. "It is signed." "You have the warrant?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes, and endorsed," said the officer. "Then everything is in order?" "Yes," said the officer. "Down on your knees, bitch!" said the other officer, forcing the girl back down on her knees. "This has been quite distressing," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The apologies of the city," said the officer. "What is going on?" asked a man, joining the small throng. "A prostitute, unlicensed," said the officer to the man. "We caught her." "I am not a prostitute!" cried the girl. The officer near her buckled a leash on her neck.

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She looked up at him, wildly, leashed. "I did not realize that this was a prostitution district," said Tuvo Ausonius. "This is all very embarrassing." "Concern yourself no longer, sir," said the officer. "The matter is done now." "I need not appear anywhere to testify?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "No, sir," said the officer. "The matter is clear, and the complaint is sufficient." "I am not a prostitute!" cried the girl. "How do you know she is a prostitute?" asked a man. "Smell her!" laughed another. "There are these, too," said the officer. He held up, bunched in his hand, evidence, some jewelry, a scarlet halter, two rectangles of provocative scarlet silk, such things. There was laughter from the men about. "She claims to be a Sesella Gardener, a stewardess, from Wings Between Worlds," said the officer in whose keeping was the leash. "I am!" cried the girl.

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"Doubtless she is," said a man. "But not for long!" said another. The girl looked at the speaker, frightened. Men laughed. "Don't you make enough money with Wings Between Worlds?" asked a man. "It seems she wished to supplement her income," chuckled a fellow. "You should have bought a license, dearie," said one of the women in the throng, in golden sandals, with a gown of purple silk. "The city is particular about such matters," said another woman. "Too particular," said another. "It serves you right," said another woman. "We have to pay, and so should you, dearie," said another. "The nerve of the cheating little bitch," said another. "Now you will get what you deserve," said another.

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"Good, good!" said another woman. "Cheat, cheat!" hissed another. "I am not a prostitute," she wept. "How was she caught?" asked a man. "This gentleman," said the officer, "came to assume occupancy of the apartment and found her here, apparently having made unauthorized use of the premises. Apparently her last customer had left her stark naked, chained to a slave ring." "That seems appropriate," laughed a man. There was laughter. "I am not a prostitute!" protested the girl, tears in her eyes. "Certainly you must be a poor one," said one of the women. "She does not even have a license," said another. "Apparently she was not sufficiently concerned to be fully pleasing to her customer," said the officer. "If you're going to be picky, and uppity, you'd better have a license, dearie," said a woman.

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"I speculate," laughed a man, "that she will soon be such that she will be zealously concerned to be fully pleasing to men." "To any man," laughed another. "Yes," laughed another. The girl wept, and raised her eyes, pleadingly, to Tuvo Ausonius. "Tell them the truth!" she begged. "I have never seen you before in my life, young lady," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Tell them the truth!" she wept. "I have," said Tuvo Ausonius. "He is lying!" she cried. "Silence, prostitute bitch!" said the officer who had her in custody. He shortened the leash, meaningfully. "She should think up a better story," said a man. "One can see by the fellow's garb that he is a same." "Poor fellow," said another man.

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"He would not know what to do with a woman," said another. There was a ripple of laughter in the throng. This sort of talk irritated Tuvo Ausonius. He was proud of being a same, of course. Still, they did not always command the respect due to them on account of their superior virtue. Indeed, some people even regarded them as pathetic fools. That was sometimes a bit irritating. But, more importantly, Tuvo Ausonius was no longer quite as confident in his sameness as he had been before yesterday evening. What if it were not best to be a same? What if there were two sexes, quite different, really? He had not forgotten how she had looked at his feet, in scarlet silk. That is not the sort of thing that it is easy to forget. Sometimes Tuvo Ausonius had wondered what it might be, not to be a same, but a man. But then he had dismissed such thoughts as beneath him, and grossly improper. But that was before he had seen her at his feet, in scarlet silk. Such a woman, and perhaps others, would not be easy to forget. "Be quiet," said a fellow. "He is of the honestori." Tuvo Ausonius supposed that such a woman might make an acceptable domestic servant. Certainly some sames kept such servants, who lived in. They would have to be suitably garbed, of course, in same wear. And, of course, he would not have to so much as lay a hand on one. He knew certain sames who kept such servants. Actually, as everyone knew, they were purchased slaves, as free women on Miton, sames, at least those who

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were well-to-do, did not perform domestic labors. Such were beneath them. Tuvo Ausonius had sometimes wondered what went on in such domiciles, when the doors were closed, and the shades drawn. Doubtless nothing. But still one wondered. And he, if he were to keep such a servant, so to speak, would surely not have to lay a hand on her. Then he put such terrible thoughts from his mind, for he was a same. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have permitted himself to look upon her at his feet, in scarlet silk. Then he reminded himself, again, sternly, that he was a same. The top button on her jacket had been undone, lasciviously baring her neck. That neck was now muchly more bared, and wore a leash. She had leaned toward him, as he had occupied his seat in the vessel. Now she wore brief canvas, buckled tightly upon her beauty. She had removed her head covering in the tiny galley, revealing her hair. Now it was loose, abundant, distraught, marvelous about her shoulders, over her leash, and it might be considered by anyone, as much as though she were a slave.

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How right it was that she should be so served! What a wicked woman she was! How richly such as she merited punishment! He was pleased to have arranged it. The officer who held her leash drew it taut. She looked up at him, frightened She tried to draw back. It was at this moment that three figures, coming down the street, came to the edge of the throng. This group, or at least two personages of it, were sufficiently unusual or imposing, at least for the district, that the crowd, rather naturally, those who were aware of them, parted, that they might pass. One wore the uniform of an officer in the imperial navy; the other was a blond, blue-eyed giant of a man, clad in skins; the third figure was unimportant as she was a stripped, branded slave. Her hair had been cut short, apparently carelessly and brutally, and her wrists were bound together, behind her back. "Way, way, please," said the officer. "Make way!" said the officer of the city, seeing the naval officer. "Make way!" said the other officer, as well, he who held the girl's leash. "Thank you, my friends," said the naval officer.

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He had removed the purple cords from his left shoulder, in order to attract less attention, in order to remain, in effect, incognito in the streets. Purple was, of course, the color of the patricians, and the three cords would have marked him, for those who understood such things, as being of the highest of ranks, of the highest of bloods, as high as that of the imperial house itself. "Oh!" said the slave, who was pressing closely behind the officer and the fellow clad in skins, as they made their way through the small crowd. The officer, and the fellow clad in skins, turned about. "I was touched! I was touched!" said the slave. She tried to pull her hands apart, but they were tied well, behind her back. The fellow clad in skins surveyed the crowd behind the slave. Some men stepped back, not meeting his eyes. "You!" said the blue-eyed giant. "Was it you who touched the slave?" "No!" said a man. "You?" he inquired of another. "No, not I," said the fellow addressed. "Do not be angry, fellow," said one of the officers of the city.

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"You cannot expect to take her through the streets with bared flanks and not have her touched," said a man. "Not a beauty like that," said another. The slave straightened at this, startled, suddenly elated. How pleased she was that she had been found appealing. Surely such a gratification had never been hers as a free woman, to have been so openly, so candidly, commented upon. But still, surely, they had had no right to touch her as they had. She was not theirs! "I am not angry," said the blue-eyed giant. "She is attractive," pointed out another man. "Is she yours?" asked a man. "Yes," said the giant. "Yes," said the slave. "It is to him that I belong! I am his!" Men regarded her, surprised. "It was he, Master!" said the slave, indicating a fellow in the crowd. "He it was! I am sure of it!"

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"Was it you?" asked the giant. "You have her in the streets, slave naked," said one of the officers of the city. "You are pressing through a crowd. You could not expect anything other, surely, if there are men here." Some of the men looked at Tuvo Ausonius, in amusement. Tuvo Ausonius reddened in anger. "Was it you?" asked the giant, repeating his question to the fellow who had been indicated by the slave. "Yes," said the fellow. "It was I." "Yes, yes, it was he!" said the slave. "Now you will suffer!" she said to him. "Go to him," said the giant. "Master?" she asked. "Now," said the giant. She went to stand near the fellow. The giant waved his hand toward her. "Master!" protested the slave.

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"My thanks!" said the fellow. He took her firmly by the arm. "Oh!" cried the slave. In a few moments, at another gesture from the giant, the fellow desisted, and the slave, permitted to leave his vicinity, hurried to her master and, scarlet, and trembling, wide-eyed, knelt against his leg, pressing herself against it. "Oh, Master," she moaned. As she knelt she was no more than a yard or two from, and on the same level as, the prisoner, Sesella Gardener, the stewardess, kneeling, buckled in canvas and leashed, in the keeping of one of the officers of the city. "Next time," said the giant to the man, "request my permission. I think you will find that I am inclined to be generous." "My apologies!" said the man. "Surely you must complete what he has begun!" begged the slave of her master. "What is her name?" asked a man. "I have not yet named her," said the giant. "She does not yet have a

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name." "Will you name her?" asked a man. "I do not know," said the giant. "I have not yet decided." She looked up at her master, frightened. Some slaves are kept without names, of course, but normally they are given a name, by the master's will, as a dog might be, that they may be conveniently summoned and referred to. And even such a name is often precious to a slave, even though it is only a slave name. "She seems new to her condition," said a man. "It has been a matter of less than an hour," said the naval officer. "Doubtless she will learn quickly," said a man. "That is my expectation," said the naval officer. "She had better!" said a man. "Yes," said another. There was laughter.

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"Master!" begged the slave. "Slave, slave!" hissed Sesella Gardener. "How disgusting you are!" The slave looked at her, wonderingly. "Are we not sisters?" she asked. "Pity me!" "I am a free woman," said Sesella Gardener. "You are only a slut of a slave!" "Master," whimpered the slave, looking up at the giant, "what you permitted him to do to me!" "You are a slave," said the giant. "I have strange feelings," she said, kneeling at his thigh, looking up at him, tears in her eyes. "I have never had these feelings before. I am uncomfortable. I do not know what to do!" There was laughter She squirmed on the stones. "I am helpless," she said. "I am at the mercy of men. I beg kindness!" "We must be on our way," said the naval officer. "You will complete what he began, will you not, Master?" begged the slave. "I beg to be touched! I beg it! I will do anything!" "You must do anything, in any event," said the giant.

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"Yes, Master," she moaned. "I am so helpless," she wept. "I am so helpless!" "What a slut she is!" cried Sesella Gardener. "You, too, will learn such helplessness," the officer holding her leash assured her. "No, no!" said Sesella Gardener. "Ah, but yes, my pretty little prostitute," said the man holding her leash. "No, no!" said Sesella Gardener. "And I am not a prostitute! I am not a prostitute! "Oh!" she wept, in pain. "Your denials grow tedious," said the man. He stood to her left, the leash in his left hand, looping up to her throat. Her head was up, held there, painfully. His right hand was still anchored in her hair. It was twisted tightly about his fist. She did not dare to move. "Oh!" she said, again.

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The slave regarded her, agonized. "Oh!" cried the prisoner. "No, no!" cried the slave. "Do not hurt her!" Men looked at her. "Please do not hurt her," said the slave, in a small voice. "Is it yours to interfere?" asked the giant. "No, Master," she said. "Did you request permission to speak?" asked the giant. "No, Master," she whispered. "Stand," said the giant. She rose unsteadily to her feet. He then held her by the hair and cuffed her, twice, once with the flat of his right hand, a stinging blow that left her face red, and then a backhand blow, lashing, with the back of his right hand. She then sank, again, to her knees. There she looked across to Sesella Gardener, whose head was still

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held tightly by the officer's hand in her hair. "I need nothing and want nothing from a stinking slave," said Sesella Gardener, between clenched teeth, not daring to move her head, even a quarter of an inch. "Yes, Mistress," groaned the slave. "You must learn," said the giant, "that is not yours to interfere in the doings of men." "Yes, Master," she said. The officer of the city removed his hand from Sesella Gardener's hair. "When it is convenient," said the giant, "you will receive your first whipping." "Yes, Master," said the slave. "For, obviously, you have much to learn." "Yes, Master," she said. Sesella Gardener now shook her head, tossing her long, lustrous hair about, arranging it as she could, by these movements. Tuvo Ausonius noticed this. She is vain, he thought, as vain as a slave girl.

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"It is time to leave," said the naval officer. "Please, Master," begged the slave. "May I speak?" "Yes," said the giant. "I was concerned for her," said the slave. "It is permissible to be concerned, and to be kind," said the giant. "It is not always permissible to speak. And it is not permissible to interfere." "Then, ultimately, I am totally powerless!" she wept. "Yes," he said. "Am I truly to be whipped?" "Yes." "I shall try to be more pleasing." "That would be wise on your part," he said. "Master!" "Yes?"

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"I am needful." "That is common in a slave girl." "Will you touch me, sometimes?" "Perhaps if you beg prettily enough," he said. "I shall! I shall!" she said. "Slut!" said Sesella Gardener, kneeling, leashed, tossing her lovely hair about her shoulders with a movement of her head. Tuvo Ausonius wondered what it might be to own Sesella Gardener, to truly own her, fully, as a master owns a slave girl. He put such thoughts from him. The naval officer then turned about. The giant looked down at the slave, at his feet, and then he lifted his eyes, and surveyed the throng. Then he looked down, again, at the slave. "No, Master," she breathed. "Please, no!" "You have my permission," he said to the throng. He then turned about, to follow the naval officer.

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The slave scrambled to her feet, following him. "Oh!" cried the slave. "Oh!" Men laughed. "Oh!" she cried. But she did not dare now to object, nor to show resentment, nor to even concern herself with the ascertainment of the identity of those to whose attentions she found herself subject, those whose interest, as she now understood, was only too naturally and comprehensibly stirred by one such as she. She had learned that a woman such as she, a slave in the streets, unless put under some particular protection, must expect such things. Clearly her master had begun her instruction. But had it not begun even with the searing of the iron? Beyond the crowd, the assemblage of which had been parted by their passage, she turned to look back. There, at the end of the corridor opened in the throng, small, much alone, kneeling, on the leash, she saw Sesella Gardener. "Slut! Slut!" cried Sesella Gardener to her. And then Sesella Gardener spat downward, on the stones. The slave then turned about, to hurry after her master. How wrong

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she had been, she realized, to have implicitly put herself on a level with a free woman, daring to speak of her as though she might be a sister, daring to speak on her behalf, before men, as though she, too, might be free. She must learn her place, and all that it might mean, that she was a slave. "Get on your feet, my pretty little prostitute," said he who held the leash of Sesella Gardener. She looked up, in mute protest. He shook the leash. She rose to her feet. She blushed. She had seen slaves respond to a similar signal. "You claim," said the officer in charge, he who had been in closest converse with Tuvo Ausonius, "that you are not a prostitute." "Yes!" she said. He lifted up the silk and jewelry. There was general laughter. "Too bad, dearie," called one of the women in the crowd.

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"We paid for our licenses!" called another. "Too bad you didn't!" called another. "Now you'll get what you deserve!" said another. "Slave bitch!" called another. "No, no!" cried Sesella Gardener. "You do not care for slaves, do you?" asked the officer who held her leash. "They are sluts, sluts!" said Sesella Gardener. "It is time to return to headquarters," said the officer who had been in closest converse with Tuvo Ausonius. "Come along," said the officer who had the dark-haired beauty in custody, giving a tug on the leash. She looked at him, wildly. "You have an appointment to keep," said a man. "Yes," called one of the women, "with a hot iron!" Sesella Gardener spun to face Tuvo Ausonius.

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"You have done this to me!" she cried. "I do not know what you are talking about," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Do not let him know where I will be sold!" she cried to the officers of the city. "I have not the least interest in such matters," said Tuvo Ausonius. She was then led away. She tried to hold back for a moment, but then the leash was taut. She also felt a sudden, sharp blow, below the small of the back, delivered with the flat of a man's hand, one of the throng, which sped her quickly forward. There was laughter. She looked back over her shoulder once, at Tuvo Ausonius, and was then out of sight. "Where are such women sold?" Tuvo Ausonius inquired of a bystander. He was told.

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CHAPTER 19 "You summoned me, your majesty?" said Iaachus, arbiter of protocol. Atalana, empress mother, lifted her eyes from the cup of stimulant, a small bowl of steaming kemac. She put it back, with two hands, on the small table which was across her lap on the canopied bed-of-state. Iaachus surveyed, briefly, the women in attendance on the empress mother. Most were young, all were highborn. He was not impervious to the charms of women, but he was more attentive to the charms of power. He saw women largely in terms of their political applications, which tended on the whole to be somewhat different from those of men. Too, women, both slave and free, like wealth, tended to be perquisites which accompanied power. "You have considered the matters concerning which I have recently spoken to you?" she asked. "Yes," said Iaachus. He glanced about, somewhat uneasily, at the women in attendance. "Concerning the emperor's birthday," said Atalana. "Ah," said Iaachus. "Of course." "Will you please draw the drapery a little, Elena," said the empress mother. "There is too much glare in the room."

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"Yes, your majesty," said the woman addressed, a pretty young patrician with brown hair and gray eyes, of the senatorial class, who, smiling knowingly, hurried to the drapery. In a softer light the harsh lines of the empress mother's pale, drawn, severe countenance would be softened. "Are you amused at something, my dear?" asked the empress mother. "No, your majesty," said the woman, quickly. "The glare hurts my eyes," said the empress mother. "Yes, your majesty," said the young woman. It was the manner of Iaachus to take note of such small exchanges. Some of the other ladies in attendance exchanged glances. The empress mother lifted the cup of kemac again from the table on the bed and, inhaling its fragrance momentarily, once again put it to her lips. "Perhaps a play panoply of armor, and weapons, suitably blunted," said Iaachus. "He is an emperor of peace," said Atalana.

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"Perhaps a game of draughts?" "He finds such things frustrating," said Atalana. "Perhaps a pony?" suggested Iaachus. "Too dangerous," said the empress mother. Once again the lady Elena smiled. Surely she was very confident of her position in the palace, in the service of the empress mother. The empress mother regarded her, over the cup of kemac. The woman looked down, smiling, standing with others of her station, some on each side of the bed. "He will be sixteen," said Iaachus. "Yes?" said the empress mother. "Nothing," said Iaachus. She finished the tiny cup of kemac, and replaced it on the small table. "What?" asked Atalana. "It was only a thought," he said.

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She waved her hand and one of her ladies in attendance removed the table. Another adjusted the covers about her frame, and another, the lady Elena, the cushions behind her back and head. "I thought, perhaps," said Iaachus, "as he will be sixteen- perhaps a slave girl." The lady Elena stifled a laugh. Immediately the empress mother turned to regard her. The lady Elena, casting her eyes down, moved back, quickly, from the side of the bed. The other ladies in attendance, almost immediately, moved away from her. The lady Elena found herself, though in the room with fellows, much alone. "And perhaps you, Elena," snapped the empress mother, "will be that slave girl!" The women in attendance gasped. "Yes, your majesty," whispered the girl, terrified. She looked wildly at Iaachus, the arbiter of protocol, who met her

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gaze impassively. Women such as she, she knew, might disappear one night from the palace. A reason could always be found. Who would know if she showed up on a chain, in a market, on some distant world? too, who would care, or what would it matter, for she would then be of no account. She would then be only another marked-thigh girl. "Leave us!" said the empress mother. Only too willingly did the ladies in attendance scurry from the room, taking care only to separate themselves from the lady Elena. "Your experiment was interesting," said the empress mother. "A trivial business," said Iaachus. "I expect she will serve you most dutifully from now on." "Would you like to add her to your women, Iaachus?" asked Atalana. "At my country villa?" said Iaachus. "Of course," she smiled. "I shall give the matter thought," he said. "You would not mind if I did not keep her, but merely used her for a gift, or gratuity, or sent her off to be sold somewhere?" "Of course not," said Atalana. "Such matters would be entirely up to

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you." "As to the emperor's birthday," he smiled. "He will receive the usual thousand gifts, from a selected thousand worlds," she said. "Together with the usual tributes and taxes." "Of course," she said. "Are we alone?" she asked. Iaachus looked about the room, and opened the nearest doors. The ladies in attendance had withdrawn to other quarters. Iaachus speculated that it would not be likely that any were now conversing with, or embroidering or sewing near, the lady Elena. "Yes, your majesty," said Iaachus. "I do not know whom I can trust," she said, plaintively. "You have billions of loyal subjects, of thousands of species," said Iaachus. "Are the frontiers secure?" she asked. "Yes," he said.

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"I fear he of the Aurelianii," she said. "The ambition of the Aurelianii is well known," said Iaachus. "I fear they have designs upon the throne," said Atalana. "That is possible," said Iaachus. "What of his plan to enlist barbarians, in the mobile forces?" she asked. "I think it would not be judicious to oppose it," said Iaachus. "You would then grant the barbarian beast an imperial captaincy, to form a company?" said Atalana. "It is one thing for a commission to be authorized, granted, drawn up and such things," said Iaachus. "It is another for it to become effective." "I do not understand," she said. "Many things might occur," said Iaachus. "For example, it might be received too late." "You have a plan?" she asked. "Yes," he said.

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"But what of he of the Aurelianii?" "He figures most prominently in my plans," said Iaachus. "The barbarian is incidental." "Have you taken steps to put your plan into effect?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "You may kiss my hand," she said. Iaachus did this, with suitable deference. He then withdrew from the royal bedchamber, that chamber in which the empress mother, at her leisure, before the heat of the day, was accustomed to informally receive envoys, petitioners and such. As he left he heard her ring for the return of her highborn attendants. Slave girls were not in immediate attendance on the empress mother. In the corridors, passing amongst priceless hangings, pictures and such, as guards lifted weapons in salute, he wondered what the lady Elena, who was surely both young and beautiful, and doubtless slave juicy, might look like chained in the basement of his villa. He thought that might be an excellent start for her, teaching her what she was, before he had her marked. To be sure, perhaps he should have her marked first, that she might then understand, from the very beginning, what she was. Yes he thought, I will do that. That will save me a good deal of time. In this, as it turned out, he was correct.

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CHAPTER 20 "Have you been kept waiting, Flora?" asked Emon. "We are dreadfully sorry," said Rigg, "but we were unexpectedly busy." Flora, naked in her cell, chained by the wrists to a ring, kept her head down. "We had to process a girl," said Emon. "The papers, prints, measurements, everything." "She was a beauty," said Rigg, crouching down and unlocking the slave cuffs which held Flora's small wrists in their clasp. "Was she more beautiful than you, that is what you are wondering, isn't it?" asked Emon. "No, Master," said Flora. Flora had heard the woman cry out, doubtless as she was marked. "Stand up," said Rigg, rising to his own feet. Flora stood up. "I am to be shipped?" she asked.

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"Yes," he said. "As I was informed?" she asked. "Yes," said Rigg. "You know the address and the world." "But who will be there?" she moaned, as Rigg took her arm in his grasp. "You will be there," said Rigg, conducting her from the cell. "And your master," said Emon, closing the cell door behind them. "May I speak?" she asked. "Yes," said Rigg. "Have I been sold to a new master?" she begged, as she was being led along the hall. "It is possible," said Rigg. "We do not really know," said Emon. "You will learn soon enough," said Rigg. They stopped a moment. The heavy door to a processing room was open.

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A cleaned iron, among others, hung on the wall, together with chains and collars. The brazier, as she could see, was still hot. There was a table in the room, on which was a miscellany of objects, papers and writing materials, pads, sponges, measuring tapes, and such things. This table was large enough and sturdy enough to support a considerable amount of weight. Flora remembered what that table had felt like, its rough texture, on her back, and belly. To one side there was a pile of discarded clothing, what appeared to be leel. On the floor, near the brazier, doubtless where a woman had been knelt, there was a considerable amount of shorn hair. Rigg closed the door. "Was she, Master?" asked Flora. "What?" asked Emon. "More beautiful than I?" asked Flora. "You are both quite beautiful," said Rigg. "It is only that your beauties are quite different." "You would both be held for late in a sale," said Emon. "But is she more beautiful than I?" begged Flora.

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"I do not think so," said Rigg. "No," said Emon. "What is her master like?" asked Flora. "Be pleased that you do not belong to such a man," said Rigg. "You would be in no doubt as to your slavery in his hands," said Emon. "My master, or he who was my master," she said, "is such a man." She remembered him, with indescribable emotions. He was the sort of man before whom she could scarcely muster the strength to stand. How often she had dreamed of him! How often she had desired to serve him selflessly, to touch him timidly, to love him in any way she could. He was the sort of man before whom a woman is at best a pleading, abject slave. He was imperious, powerful, uncompromising, the sort of man who will do precisely what he wishes with a woman, and from whom he will get exactly what he wants, and more. He was the sort of man before whom a woman, even when free, feels an almost overwhelming impulse to kneel and perform obeisance. She wanted to kneel before him, to belong to him, to be governed, to be broken, to be crushed in his arms, to be mercilessly ravished, to be put to his purposes, to obey, to find herself helpless, to know herself wholly a woman. He was to her many things, power, nature and master.

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"Here is the box," said Rigg, indicating a small, sturdy metal box, with bolts and locks. "It is so small," she said. "Get in," said Rigg. She crouched down and crept into the box. The door closed behind her. She turned about, quickly, frightened, as bolts were thrust into place. She pressed her hands against the metal door from the inside, and peered through the tiny, rectangular, thickset grille, at eye level, as she now knelt. She heard the key turn in locks. The key itself was taped to the top of the box. There was a slot at the bottom of the box, now bolted shut, through which a shallow pan might be slipped. "Please!" she begged, as Rigg prepared to affix the shipping label to the box. She strove to read the label which he, briefly, showed to her. It was hard to read, through the grille. There was the address and the world on the label, which were as she had been informed, and the name of the shipping house, of course, with its address, and its world. The shipping charge was reasonable, and calculated by weight, as she was cargo. The contents were slave, female, house name "Flora," brown hair, brown eyes, one hundred and ten pounds in weight. As one could see then, the freight charge in her case would be comparatively slight. "The van is here," said a man.

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Rigg affixed the shipping label to the outside of the door. "Wait," said Emon. A wire was twisted about, through two staples, one on the door of the container and the other on its body, in such a way that the door was tied shut with the wire. Two small, red, disklike blocks of wax were then placed on each side of the wire, about its twisted closure, the ends of the wire then protruding below the disklike bocks, spreading, something like an inch on each side. These tiny plates of wax were then, with a match, heated and fused together, thus the door could not be opened without breaking this closure. Emon then, with a small hinged tool, rather like a pair of pliers, pressed together, firmly, the sides of the still-warm, soft, platelike closure, formed from the two fused red disks. He then removed the tool. The blocks were now better shaped and fused, and on each side of the small, platelike closure there was now an imprint. "That is the virgin seal," said Rigg. "Yes, Master," said the girl. "It will protect you on the ship," said Emon. "Yes, Master," she said. "Do not forget the slave flower," said Rigg.

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"No, Master," said the girl. "Farewell," said Emon. "Farewell," said Rigg. "Farewell, Masters," said the girl. In a moment two handlers had entered the house and, lifting and tilting the container, placed it on a dolly. Within, the freight, terrified, wept.

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CHAPTER 21 "Mercy! Mercy!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. He was forced down to his knees before the curule chair. The black, metal holding rod, used for controlling and guiding, was snapped into its adjustable sockets, on the mounts fixed on the floor before the chair. There were other such paired mounts, to receive other such bars, elsewhere in the dank, dimly lit chamber, one several levels beneath the commissioner's quarters. Tuvo Ausonius knew where he was, as he had not been blindfolded. His arrest had been effected quite openly, the officers arriving during daylight hours with the rod and cuffs, and conducting him quite publicly through the streets. The rod was behind the small of his back, and his arms had been brought forward about it; his hands, in the cuffs, were rather at his sides; held closely there by the arrangement of cuffs and chain. The rod could not slip from its position as two small, looped chains, attached to the rod, one on each side of the body, were snapped about his arms, just above the elbow. The two officers who had placed Tuvo Ausonius on his knees now stepped back. Tuvo Ausonius was naked, save that a rag had been twisted about his loins, perhaps that his modesty as a same might be respected.

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Ausonius winced as a bright light, set somewhere above, illuminated him. The curule chair, at the moment, was empty. Ausonius, his eyes half closed, shut against the glare, tried to look to the guards. He could do so only with difficulty, as they were rather behind him, on each side. He could read nothing in their expressions or carriage, save perhaps that they would do with him what they were told. A door opened and an officer of the city entered. "Mercy!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. The officer, who carried some papers, regarded him. "I am innocent!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Of what?" asked the officer. "I do not know," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Why am I here? With what have I been charged?" The officer, looking down upon him, did not choose to respond. "There has been some mistake," cried Tuvo Ausonius. "I am Tuvo Ausonius, of Miton, an honest citizen, a patrician, a level-four civil

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servant in the government of his majesty, the emperor!" "My record is impeccable," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I am a patrician," he said. "I am innocent!" he said. "You will be heard, of course," said the officer. "His lordship himself will hear your case." "His lordship?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. At this point a tall, darkly clad figure appeared in the doorway. Tuvo Ausonius pressed back against the metal bar fixed in its sockets. "Your lordship," said the officer, deferentially. The darkly clad figure nodded and approached, taking the papers from the officer. "Thank you, Commissioner," said the darkly clad figure. This appellation startled Tuvo Ausonius. The darkly clad figure took his place on the curule chair, and leafed through the papers.

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"I am innocent, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You may leave, Commissioner," said the darkly clad figure. "Yes, your lordship," said the officer, and withdrew. The darkly clad figure was masked. "Tuvo Ausonius, civil servant, fourth level, Miton, a same world, finance division, first imperial quadrant, member of the honestori, even of the minor patricians-" said the masked figure, looking through the papers. "Of the Ausonii," said Ausonius, "in the 103rd degree!" "That is quite impressive," said the masked figure. "An excellent dossier," said the masked figure. "Yes, your lordship!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "On the whole," said the masked figure. "Your lordship?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "There does seem the matter of mating," said the masked figure. "You are aware of the encouragements of the imperial government in these respects? You are aware of the empress mother's concern in such matters?"

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"Oh!" cried Tuvo Ausonius, relievedly. "Certainly! Do not fear! I searched avidly for a spouse! A marriage was arranged, indeed, with an inferior, but technically suitable member of the patricians, one from the acceptable world of Terennia, one whose descent fell, even if only barely, within the guidelines for my station, a Tribonius Auresius!" The masked figure raised his eyes from the papers. "That is a woman, of course!" said Ausonius. "Sames often give their female children masculine or neutral names, in order to help them better attain in their psychology and behavior the goals and ideals of sameness." "But you are not mated," said the masked figure. "Alas, no!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps you have heard of the Alaria?" "Yes," said the masked figure. "It was lost!" moaned Tuvo Ausonius. "Several ships have been lost," said the figure. "There was doubtless a malfunction, or a meteor storm," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Doubtless," said the masked figure.

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"My proposed bride was on board the Alaria," said Tuvo Ausonius, in a choked voice. "But you have not made other arrangements?" "I was at a loss, I was heartbroken," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You can understand." "I think so," said the masked figure. "But now, after this time, of course," said Tuvo Ausonius, "I am more than willing to mate. Does the board have a candidate in mind? I would be eager to comply, whoever it might be. I am a good citizen." "Your citizenship is commendable," said the masked figure. "Do you think this business has to do with a mating board?" "Does it not?" asked Tuvo Ausonius, apprehensively. "The empire does not practice coercion," said the masked figure. "The empire is the very condition of freedom, as you know." "Certainly," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Very few individuals, statistically, are arraigned before mating boards," said the masked figure, "and little more is necessary, in most cases, than presenting some evidence, reasons, arguments, or such, pertinent to the matter. You have done far more than is expected by

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such boards, having actually gone to the lengths of arranging a marriage, and such. You would be instantly, and without question, exonerated. Too, the empire can surely respect your sense of loss, your feelings." "Then this matter is not in connection with a mating board?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Certainly not," said the masked figure. "Why do you think you were brought to this world?" asked the masked figure. "I do not know," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The empire has had its eye on you for a long time," said the masked figure. "Oh?" said Tuvo Ausonius, uneasily. "Your record appeared outstanding," said the masked figure. "Your lordship?" "You were summoned here to be commended, to be honored for your devotion to the empire, to be rewarded and promoted." "Your lordship!"

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"But in examining your accounts, preparatory to clearances for the award," continued the figure, "a number of unusual, subtle, serious discrepancies appeared." "Impossible!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "There are special formulas, not generally publicized, for detecting such discrepancies," said the figure. "My work is outstandingly accurate," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps it contained some inadvertent errors?" "Perhaps," said Tuvo Ausonius. "But I find that hard to believe." "So does the examining board," said the figure. "The errors are of such a nature, such a frequency, such a proportion, that it is impossible that they can be the result of inadvertence. They demonstrate, incontrovertibly, to the board, evidence of extensive, profound, shameless peculation." "I do not understand," said Tuvo Ausonius. He suddenly seemed very much aware of the cuffs on his wrists, how hard the cement was beneath his knees. "Perhaps you have enemies?" suggested the figure. "But who, for what purpose?" cried Ausonius.

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"In light of your record, and your imposing lineage, I have been reluctant to process the matter," said the masked figure. "I am innocent!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "I have even thought, on the basis of your record and such, before these matters came to my attention," said the masked figure, "that there might be a place for you in the service of the palace itself, perhaps at the tenth level, as a special agent, a confidential agent, to be sure, charged with the conduct of delicate affairs." "I will do anything!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "In such an event, I was considering turning over to you those records, and such, which constitute the putative evidence of those alleged, say, misdemeanors, that you might do with it what you wish." "Your lordship!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "It would be tragic, indeed, if an innocent man were to be sent to a mining planet, there to serve out whatever portion he might manage of a fifty-year sentence of hard labor." "I am innocent!" cried Ausonius. "I believe you," said the masked figure. "Thank you, your lordship!"

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"But there is another more serious matter," said the masked figure, regretfully. "Your lordship?" asked Tuvo Ausonius, frightened. "And that is why you are clad as you are, and on your knees, and chained," said the masked figure. "I do not understand," said Tuvo Ausonius, pulling at his restraints. "Commissioner!" called the masked figure. The officer returned to the room. "You, Tuvo Ausonius, of Miton," said the masked figure, reading from the papers, "are charged with attempting the chastity of a free woman, one Sesella Gardener, of Miton, and engaging in activities with the object in view of having a free woman, this same Sesella Gardener, reduced to the condition of animal and slave." "No! No!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "Bring forth the witness," said the masked figure. Sesella Gardener entered, angrily, righteously, followed by two officers. She was clad in gray, bulky, disguising same garb, boots, coveralls, and stiff, high-collared cloak, her hair, even, concealed beneath a

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dark, gray cap. The top button on the coveralls, and the top closure on the stiff cloak, designed to conceal her upper body, were fastened shut. Tuvo Ausonius, kneeling there on the cement, constrained, regarded her with misery and fear, but, too, oddly, with disappointment. How different she was before, thought Tuvo Ausonius, that startling beauty of some two weeks ago. It was not altogether impossible, however, even now, to recognize something of that wondrous vision of desirability, so small, so luscious, so deliciously curved, even in the gray, almost-shapeless vengeful thing which stood to the right of the masked figure's chair. Tuvo Ausonius now had a better sense of such things. "Is this he?" asked the masked figure. "It is he!" cried Sesella Gardener, pointing at the kneeling Tuvo Ausonius. "No!" said Tuvo Ausonius. This encounter was quite ironic in its way, and certainly unexpected, for it was this very night that Tuvo Ausonius had expected her to be put up for sale, at the commissioner's auction. Indeed, he had thought that he might even, as he had nothing better to do that evening, attend the auction. He did not intend to make a bid, of course. That

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would not be appropriate for a same. On the other hand, he had considered his resources carefully, if only as a matter of idle speculation. Such women, he supposed, might prove useful, for example, for domestic tasks, for housework, shopping, cooking, such things. "Is it true that this man attempted your chastity, that of a same?" asked the masked figure. "I expected him to!" said Sesella Gardener. "I never laid a hand on her!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "I mean I was not even in the city the night one of her clients, it seems, left her chained at the foot of the bed!" "We have verified that he was in the city, and that he had rented the room," said the commissioner. "The morning prior to the alleged incident?" "Yes," said the commissioner. "We have the disembarkation reports, the passenger lists, the rental agency's records, such things." "It was he who had me disrobe, and put me at the foot of the piece of furniture, and made it such that I could not depart!" said Sesella Gardener. "It was he who chained you naked at the foot of the bed?" said the commissioner.

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"Yes!" said Sesella Gardener, reddening. "She disrobed voluntarily!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "And she put herself in the relevant impediments." "Is that true?" asked the masked figure. "He commanded me to do so," she said, angrily. "And you obeyed?" "Yes." "Although a putatively free woman?" "Yes," she said, uncertainly. "Interesting," said the masked figure. "I had no choice," she said. "He was going to report me to the company." "For what?" asked the masked figure. "For disarray," she said, "even for insubordination, discourtesy, lies, lies!" "She was in disarray on the vessel, and she leaned over me, and she

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removed her cap, making her hair naked in front of me, in one of the ship's galleys," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I was afraid," she said. "I did not want to be reported. I did not want to lose my position!" "You say that you expected him to attempt your chastity?" asked the masked figure. "Yes," she said. "And yet you went to the room?" "Yes," she said. "Did he attempt your chastity?" "No," she said. "The first charge then, Commissioner, must be dismissed," said the masked figure. "It now is," said the commissioner, making a notation. "Why did you say that?" asked the masked figure. "I expected him to!" she said. "Perhaps you wanted him to," said the masked figure.

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"No!" she cried. "But, Tuvo Ausonius," said the masked figure sternly, "that leaves the most serious charge in place, that you acted in such a way as to have in view the enslavement of a free woman, this very Sesella Gardener." "Yes!" cried Sesella Gardener. "No!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "You left her chained in a room," said the masked figure. "No!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Some of the fingerprints on the manacles were his?" asked the masked figure. "Yes," said the commissioner. Tuvo Ausonius's prints had been taken shortly after he had been brought to the commissioner's headquarters. Apparently they had matched some of the prints, at least, on the manacles. Tuvo Ausonius put down his head in misery. Sesella Gardener cried out with pleasure, clapping her hands.

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"Surely you must have understood that the authorities, to whom you reported the incident, would take her for a woman of pleasure, and one unlicensed, thus subject to impounding, and reduction to slavery." Tuvo Ausonius looked up, agonized, and then, again, lowered his head. "I find you guilty," said the masked figure. "Yes!" cried Sesella Gardener, in triumph. She looked at Tuvo Ausonius. "That is where you belong, down there on your knees, you chained, stripped, filthy filch!" she cried. Tuvo Ausonius looked up, angrily. "The plaintiff may strike the defendant," said the masked figure. Sesella Gardener rushed to Tuvo Ausonius. "You are nothing now, patrician filch!" she exclaimed. She struck his face, repeatedly, with her small hand, back and forth. "Filch, pig, dog!" she cried.

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"That is enough," said the masked figure. Sesella Gardener, distraught, furious, oddly enough with tears in her eyes, backed away from Tuvo Ausonius. "Punishments, in normal cases of this sort," said the masked figure, "might be expected to be severe, considering the gravity of the offence, conspiring to reduce a rightfully free woman to the indignities and shame of bondage, so hateful to her, but this is obviously not such a case." Tuvo Ausonius looked up. "Free him," said the masked figure. "And take her into custody." The two officers behind Tuvo Ausonius bent to free him of the bar and cuffs. Sesella Gardener cried out in protest, as she was seized by the other two officers who had accompanied her into the chamber. Tuvo Ausonius, bewildered, rose unsteadily to his feet. "Remove her clothing, completely," said the masked figure. "And bring a bar and cuffs suitable for her, and put her in the sockets to my left." In a moment Sesella Gardener's beauty was wholly bared, as much as it had been at the foot of the bed in the shabby room, as much as it had been in her small cell in the building for the past two weeks, to the pleasure of the guards, until, to her amazement, same garb was brought for her, and she was informed of the arrest of Tuvo Ausonius. It has been but a moment's work for the indictment to be drafted. Shortly thereafter she had been brought down to the chamber, to testify. She now knelt, wide-eyed and bewildered, the prisoner of a bar

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and cuffs, suitable for her smaller frame, fastened in a pair of raised sockets, adjusted as to height, to the left of the masked figure. "You say," the masked figure asked Tuvo Ausonius, "that this female person was in disarray, and that she bared her hair to you on some ship?" "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius, "and she knelt before me on the ship." "He suggested that I do so!" said the prisoner. "And you knelt?" "Yes," she said, petulantly. "You look well on your knees," said the masked figure. She pulled at the cuffs, but this moved the linking chain across her waist,

tightly,

and

she

stopped,

instantly,

realizing

to

her

apprehension, and yet excitement, that this might accentuate her beauty, with what consequences she dared not speculate. "You originally declared in the indictment," said the masked figure to the kneeling girl, "that this esteemed citizen of the empire attempted your chastity." "Yes," she said. "You lied?"

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"Yes," she said. "Why?" "I was angry! I wanted to involve him in difficulties! Consider what he did to me, how he made me act!" "For such an act you could be sent to a penal colony," said the masked figure. "If he had been a man he would have attempted my chastity!" she said. "And doubtless would have removed it from you?" "Yes," she said, angrily. "I am not a barbarian," said Tuvo Ausonius. "When a woman is clad as you reportedly were, all men are barbarians," said the masked figure. She looked up at him, angrily. "You cannot thrust a torch into straw and not expect it to catch fire," said the masked figure. "He did nothing!" she said.

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"He is a same," said the masked figure. "I changed my testimony!" she said. "I only said that I expected him to attempt my chastity, and that is true!" "Such an expectation is irrelevant to the charge," said the masked figure. "The charge was dismissed," said the commissioner. "Yes," said the masked figure. "Why have you put me on my knees, and taken away my clothes, and chained me?" she asked. "Is perjury not sufficient?" asked the masked figure. She pulled at the cuffs, and then, again, stopped, instantly. "It is a crime, is it not," she asked, "to attempt to unlawfully reduce a rightfully free woman to bondage!" "Yes," said the masked figure. "I am such a woman!" she cried. "Scarcely," said the masked figure.

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"But you found him guilty," she said. "Of having in view your subjection to bondage, certainly," said the masked figure. "Why then am I chained as I am?" "You are a free woman," said the masked figure, "but not a rightfully free woman." "I do not understand," she said, almost in a whisper, backing against the bar. "I think you understand very well," said the masked figure. "There are many counts against you, earlier and later, among them that you came as you did to his room, that you were clad, adorned and perfumed as a prostitute or less, that you obeyed, and so on." "I do not understand any of this," she said. "Your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "May I have a garment?" "Certainly," said the masked figure. He raised a hand in the direction of the commissioner, and the commissioner nodded to one of the two officers

who

had

entered

with

Sesella

Gardener.

The

officer

immediately left the room. "It is all madness, and all a mad combination of coincidences and circumstances," said Sesella Gardener, wildly.

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"You were scouted by sames, and by private agents, and agents of the line," said the masked figure. "It was known that you chafed under the restraints of sameness. Your tendency to leave the top button of your

uniform

undone

was

noted,

even

under

less

exacting

circumstances, your tendency to lean near to male passengers, your habit of neglecting the full complement of undergarments appropriate to a female same, thus permitting your lineaments to be conjectured, even your habit of touching your lips with the hint of cosmetics. It was not difficult to conjecture the closely guarded secrets of your innermost nature." "It is all coincidence!" she wept. "How unfortunate I am! The flight was not my regular flight. I was transferred to it at the last minute. Even the ships were changed, one substituted, one of many, whose climate machinery was laboring and, as yet, unrepaired. And why was I assigned to the executive compartment? I should not qualify for such an assignment for years! Why did that man have to be one of my passengers?" "An incredible assemblage of circumstances," admitted the masked figure. The officer who had left the room now returned with a long cloak, with which, gratefully, Tuvo Ausonius covered himself. He then, clad in the voluminous folds, looked down at Sesella Gardener, to his right, but to the left of the chair of the masked figure.

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"I could not have been expected not to have noticed, and not to have taken

offence,

at

her

slovenly

disregard

for

the

etiquette

of

appearance and her forward, provocative behavior," pointed out Tuvo Ausonius. "Certainly not," said the masked figure. "Perhaps another might not have reported her," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps not," admitted the masked figure. "But certainly I would," he said. "Most probably," agreed the masked figure. "What is to be done with me?" begged Sesella Gardener. "I am considering transmitting you to a penal colony," said the masked figure. "The charge would be unlicensed prostitution." She looked up at him, in misery. "You see the justice of the charge, surely," said the masked figure. "First, you are a free woman, and not a slave. Thus, the applicable category in your case is not that of slave, say, bondgirl or thrall, but that of prostitute. Secondly, you went to the room in order to exchange, or sell, your favors, in this case for exemption from disciplinary action."

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"I had another reason, as well," she said, her head down. "I am sure you did," he said. She looked up. "How do you feel about your chains?" he asked. "They hold me well," she said. "What do they tell you?" he asked. "That I must do as I am told," she said. "You

are

familiar

with

the

usual

punishment

for

unlicensed

prostitution, aren't you?" asked the masked figure. "Yes, your lordship." "What is it?" "Reduction to slavery," she said. "But in your case," he said, "I am prepared to be lenient, and have you sent to a penal colony." "The minimum sentence to such a place is twenty years," she said. "Yes," he said.

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"What does one do there?" she asked. "The guards find applications for female prisoners," said the masked figure. "The charge would be unlicensed prostitution?" "Yes," he said. "Such a sentence, with all due respect, your lordship," she said, "would be mistaken." "How so?" he asked. "I am not a prostitute," she said. "What are you?" he asked. "I am a slave girl," she said. Tuvo Ausonius gasped. "You are not branded, you are a free woman," said the masked figure. "In my heart, your lordship, I know that I am a slave girl," she said. "I have known it for years."

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"Interesting," said the masked figure. "Disgusting slave!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "I beg your indulgence, and forgiveness, your lordship," she said, "for my debasement, my degradation and weakness. But there are such women, and I am one of them. I do not think that there is any longer any point in denying it. I want to be owned and mastered, to have no choice but to obey. I want to love and to serve, selflessly, unstintingly, with all that I am and can be." "Surely you are terrified at the thought of becoming a female slave," said the masked figure. "It is what I am," she said. "Beyond that I do not know what to think. I sense that it is my true freedom. I do not think I could be happy in any other life." "Your thinking must be corrected," said Tuvo Ausonius. "To agree with yours?" she asked. "I have spent my life with such thoughts. They are gray, meaningless and empty." "Terrible, terrible!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Some women want to know that they are alive, really," she said. "They desire real experiences, strong experiences." "What of tenderness and sensitivity," said the masked figure,

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amused. "Such things," she said, "are surely very precious, and doubtless a girl muchly treasures them, but they are meaningful only when set against a background of power and mastery." "Degraded slut!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. She looked at him, angrily. "I do not apologize for what I am!" she said. "You would choose the brand, as opposed to a mere twenty years in a penal colony?" asked the masked figure. "Yes," she said. "Why?" "I am a slave." "I think I shall send you to a penal colony," said the masked figure. "Please do not!" she said. "I can do what I wish," he said. "Yes," she said, putting her head down, trembling, "the power is yours."

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"What do you think I should do, Tuvo Ausonius?" asked the masked figure. "It matters not to me, of course, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "She is well curved," said the masked figure. "I am a same," said Tuvo Ausonius, "we do not notice such things." "The penal colony is, of course, by far, the lesser punishment," said the masked figure. "The lighter punishment might be appropriate for a different woman, a higher woman," said Tuvo Ausonius, "but consider this one, what she is, her debased nature, the utter worthlessness of her." "True," said the masked figure. "Too, as a free woman she would be priceless, of course, but she would actually have no value," said Tuvo Ausonius. "As a slave, she would presumably be worth at least something. For example, she could be bought and sold." "True," said the masked figure. The masked figure turned to Sesella Gardener, the stewardess, from the line Wings Between Worlds. "You understand," he said to her, "that as a slave, you might come

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into the keeping of anyone. For example, you might be sold, and you would then belong, wholly, to whoever bought you." "Yes," she said. "You might even come into the keeping of our esteemed Tuvo Ausonius," he said. "Oh, no!" she cried. "Please, no! Do not jest, your lordship! Do not even hint at such things!" "It is surely a possibility," he said. She struggled helplessly, futilely, but she could not even rise to her feet, as she was held. "You are to be herewith, on numerous grounds, and particularly prominent among them those of fittingness, with my next words," said the masked figure, "pronounced slave." She looked up at him, trembling. "You are a slave," he said. "Take her away," said the masked figure. "See that she is branded before nightfall." The slave's guiding rod was freed from the sockets and she was pulled to her feet.

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"Trust that you come into the keeping of a good master," said the masked figure. She was thrust from the room. She looked back, once, wildly, over her shoulder at Tuvo Ausonius. "She came to your room, did she not?" asked the masked figure. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "One wonders why," said the masked figure. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is all very strange." "She mentioned that there was another reason, other than her concern with her position with the company, and such." "As I recall, she did," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I wonder what it might have been," said the masked figure. "I have no idea," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Some women have needs," said the masked figure, "a complex spectrum of needs." "Perhaps some low, terrible women," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"Such as slaves?" "Perhaps," said Tuvo Ausonius. "She is now a slave," said the masked figure. "Appropriately so," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I think she may have found you attractive," said the masked figure. "Surely not," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are not a bad-looking fellow," said the masked figure. "She hates me," said Tuvo Ausonius. "That might make it interesting then, to own her," said the masked figure. Tuvo Ausonius regarded the masked figure, startled. "Surely you found her attractive?" said the masked figure. "I am a same." said Tuvo Ausonius. "Such matters are of no interest to us." The masked figure turned to the commissioner, and the two officers who had remained in the chamber. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.

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They bowed and withdrew. "Tuvo Ausonius," said the masked figure. "Yes, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I am confident that you are innocent of peculation, and such, but the evidence is surely serious. I fear you have enemies." "I do not know who they could be," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I, too, have enemies," said the masked figure. "You, your lordship?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Unfortunately, yes," said the masked figure. "In these days intrigue, ambition and malice abound." "I am innocent," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I think that you are likely to fare very badly if you do not obtain a friend, a protector, in a high place, someone of importance, someone with considerable influence." "Alas, I know no one!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "At some risk to myself, I could be such a one," said the masked figure.

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"Your lordship!" exclaimed Tuvo Ausonius. "But there is a serious difficulty." "Your lordship?" "I admire your insight and courage, your insight in detecting that the former Sesella Gardener was rightfully, and naturally, a female slave, and your courage, despite the risks involved, in attempting to see justice done, to bring about her fitting reduction to embondment, thus bringing to an end her pretensions as a free woman." "It is nothing, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Such insight, such intelligence, such daring, such courage," said the masked figure, "are such as are needed by a confidential agent, of the sort I mentioned earlier." "One attached to the palace, a tenth-level imperial civil servant?" "Certainly, but one who would report only to a given individual." "Who?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "The arbiter of protocol." "I have heard of him," said Tuvo Ausonius, shuddering.

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"There

would

be

considerable

compensations,

pecuniary

and

otherwise, involved in such a post," said the masked figure. "I would be honored even to be considered for such a post," said Tuvo Ausonius. "There is a serious difficulty, of course," said the masked figure. "There are the charges of peculation which, even though we both know them false, might bring about your arrest and sentencing to hard labor on a mining planet." "Perhaps your lordship might consider sheltering me from such dangers," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is not impossible," said the masked figure. "What of the matter of the slut?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "That matter is done," said the masked figure. "I have already cleared you of that. Your enemies, even if they wished, can no longer make use of it." "The woman herself?" "She is now a property," said the masked figure. "She has no legal standing, no more than a pig or dog." "I am deeply grateful to you, your lordship."

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"You are then interested in my suggestions, in the possibility of promotion, of rewards, even riches, of perquisites and favors, of various sorts, of service to the empire and palace?" "Yes, extremely so, your lordship." "You understand that these matters are confidential, that they may involve matters of delicacy, of state importance, and that your allegiance,

devotion

and

service

must

be

complete

and

unquestioning?" "Of course," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You will be contacted," said the masked figure. "Yes, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "In the beginning you will be on a probationary basis." "Of course, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "An officer will be at the guard station, at the end of the hall. He will arrange to have your clothing returned to you." "Thank you, your lordship." "When you receive it, I think you will discover that a letter of credit will be enclosed in the left inside jacket pocket, in the amount of a thousand darins."

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"My thanks, your lordship!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "In one of the pockets of your jacket," said the masked figure, "we discovered a ticket to the commissioner's auction, to be held this evening." "Oh?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps you planned to attend?" Tuvo Ausonius shrugged. "As a matter of curiosity, of sociological illumination," said the masked figure. "Possibly," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are correct that a certain slave will be put up for sale," said the masked figure. "Oh?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "It might be interesting," said the masked figure, "to see her exhibited naked for the men, perhaps on a neck chain, forced to move, and pose, as the auctioneer requires, knowing herself subject to his ready, even eager, whip at the least sign of unwillingness or hesitancy."

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"Perhaps," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The experience should do her good," said the masked figure. "I myself intend to attend, though you will not recognize me there." "No, your lordship," Tuvo Ausonius assured him. "I will have an agent bid for her," said the masked figure. "Oh?" said Tuvo Ausonius, in disappointment. "On your behalf, of course," he said. "Your lordship!" "It is nothing," said the masked figure. "That is just one of the perquisites of which I spoke." "Thank you, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "After the sale, return to your quarters. She will be delivered to you, hooded, by midnight," "Thank you, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You will recall how she rushed upon you and struck you when you were helpless?" "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"She will be yours, by midnight," said the masked figure. "Thank you, your lordship," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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CHAPTER 22 "Are you pretty?" asked the fellow. "You can see very little through the grille," said another, irritably. "Please feed me, Masters," she said. "Come closer to the grille," said another, bending over the crate. "Bring it out, farther, into the light," said another. Three of the mariners turned the crate about and slid it out, scraping on the plating, from the wall, more under a light, fixed in the ceiling of the hold. "The virgin seal," said one in disgust. "Who would know?" asked another. "They could tell, if the seal was broken," said another. "You could lose your certification," said another. "I am not crated, Masters!" called a feminine voice from across the hold. There was a sound of chain on the steel plating. "Content me! Feed me!" "Be silent, if you want to keep your blanket," said one of the

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mariners. "Are you pretty, in there?" asked one of the mariners, tapping on the grille with a finger. "Some men have seemed to find me pretty, Masters," said a frightened voice, from within the locked, sealed box. "What is your name?" asked one of the mariners. "Whatever Masters please," she said. "You answer to 'Flora'?" said one of the men, reading the label. "I answer to whatever name is given me," she said. "That was my house name, in the house where I was boarded." "I know that house," said one of the mariners, with a laugh. "They train girls there, as well." "Are you trained?" asked one of the men. "A little, Masters," she said. "We are trained, as Masters please." "A trained girl," said one of the men, approvingly. "Only a little, Masters!" said the woman. "I am trained!" called the voice from across the floor. "Content me! I

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will be good! Feed me!" "Take her blanket," said one of the men. One of the fellows walked across the hold. There was a tiny cry of misery. In a moment, with a blanket, folded, he returned. He dropped the blanket to the side. "Put the side of your face up, next to the grille," said one of the men. The girl in the box did so. "I can see a little of her," said a man. "She looks interesting," said another. "We could break the seal and claim we knew nothing of it," said one of the mariners. "The key is here, taped to the top," said another. "The box was logged in, and the seal checked," said one of the men. "Who has access to the hold? Do not be foolish." The girl inside the box cried out, as one of the men kicked the side of the box, angrily.

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"There is the other one," said one of the mariners. The men turned about. There was a sudden small sound of chain, as though a slave, perhaps finding herself regarded, had hastened to kneel, perhaps performing obeisance. "Would you like your blanket back?" asked a man. "If it should please Masters to return it to me," said the voice. "Lift your head," said one of the men. "I am hungry, Masters, please feed me," said the girl in the box. "Be silent," said one of the men. "Yes, Masters," she said. The men then went, taking the blanket with them, across the hold. The girl in the box, peeking through the grille, watched them. They were crouching down, about the other girl. She was fair-haired and well ankled. Her left ankle was chained to a ring, set back near the opposite wall of the hold.

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"I am not a virgin," she said to them. "Bring her a little food," said one of the mariners. "She will need her strength." Men laughed. The girl in the box watched for a little, but then lay down, her knees drawn up, closely, in misery. She could not help but hear the cries from across the hold. She squirmed. She was helplessly heated, for she, too, was a slave. The cries were those of slave rapture, that rapture that she herself had never yet felt, that rapture mercilessly, even ruthlessly, inflicted upon one who has no choice but to submit. Later a man came to her box and, with his boot, slid up the tiny panel at the foot of the door. Two small pans, with the side of his foot, were slipped through the opening from the outside, one for food, which contained some broken pieces of pressed cakes of cereal, and one for water. "Keep your box clean," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

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CHAPTER 23 The small slave, hooded, naked, kneeling, her wrists encircled with steel, put out her hands, following the chain running from her wrists, and felt the heavy ring, fixed in the floor, to which she, by the wrists, was chained. It was only that night that she had been sold, and that only in a magistrate's auction, one in which a variety of items, not only women, had been offered, abandoned parcels, unclaimed trunks, confiscated properties, a captured stray dog, many such things. She felt the ring carefully, her small fingers touching it, and holding it. She had been exhibited naked, of course. She had obeyed the auctioneer with perfection. It had not been necessary to strike her, even once. She was still reeling with what it had been like, ascending to the tall, wide, rounded block, the lights, being frightened, not being able to see the men, really, the sawdust beneath her feet, the loose metal collar with its light chain on her neck, not inhibiting her movements, the prodding of the auctioneer's coiled whip, which had snapped once and had made her cry out, almost as though she had been struck. There seemed something terribly familiar about the ring. She put out

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her fingers and felt the floor about it. She tried, defensively, to conceptualize the matter as one of having given the men a good show, but she realized that that was a selfserving distortion of what had actually occurred. Oh, to be sure, doubtless it had been a good show, but that was largely the auctioneer's doing. Putting it the other way suggested that it might have been the consequence of some decision on her part, or the result of some benevolent or defiant intention, that sort of thing. Rather she was only a property, which had been well displayed, in numerous attitudes, postures, and such. It was true, however, a little later, and as the bidding heated, she had been almost overcome with strange feelings, exciting, moving, thrilling feelings. It was then that she had, suddenly, perhaps for the first time, fully understood that she was a property,

really,

a wondrous,

vital, excited,

acutely

conscious,

extremely sensitive, highly intelligent, incredibly desirable property, a property that most men would find far more appealing than gold and diamonds, a property for which men might even kill. She tried to force such thoughts, such memories from her mind. Could it have been she who had behaved as the girl on the block? She could feel the heat as the men cried out. She could feel the interest and desire, like waves, such an incredible feeling, wash over her. She had had an identity imposed upon her, a clear, incontrovertible identity, but, too, this identity had seemed to emerge from within her. It was as though, for the first time in her life, she had had no choice but to be what she truly was. On the block then, there had been, at the end, only a flushed, startled, sweating, comprehending, leashed slave girl. But now, again, she was frightened. One bidder had apparently, not even audibly, but by signs from the audience, topped each bid. He had had

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her for a bid of forty darins, which was high for a girl at the magistrate's auction, and well satisfied the auctioneer, but would not have been unusual, or even high, for a typical auction of women, even in a small town. But, of course, rich men seldom attended magistrate's auctions, apparently finding them of little interest. Too, she was not even trained. But now, she realized, she no longer belonged to the city, but, presumably, to some private individual. She now had a master! Her fingers touched the ring, and the floor about it. They trembled a little. "Oh!" she cried, softly, for large, heavy hands were at her neck, undoing the fastenings on the hood, and then they thrust up the hood, a little, revealing her trembling, parted lips, there was no doubt they were masculine hands, and they held her face. The hood was left much in place, so that it acted as a blindfold. She felt her hair, what had been loosened in the partial lifting of the hood, touched, felt, almost wonderingly, and then arranged, softly about her shoulders. This seemed to be done almost with a sort of curiosity. Her hair had been washed and combed prior to the sale, but it was a bit disarranged now, and sweaty, from its incarceration in the hood. She had also been touched with perfume, prior to being taken to the block. The perfume was perhaps a bit subtle for a slave, but then she was new to the brand. Perhaps they thought it might make her first night in chains, at the mercy of a master, easier. But that seems unlikely. It is much more probable that it was designed, in its subtlety, to encourage

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a master to prowl her beauty, almost as in curiosity, detecting and relishing it. It was, of course, a cheap perfume. That would be expected from a magistrate's auction. And it was also, as those versed in such matters would have recognized, a slave perfume, a perfume extracted and prepared with the vulnerable beauty of a slave in mind. She was now aware of someone, behind her, bending over her, taking in the scent of the perfume. She did not dare speak. She knew herself slave. Then, in a moment, she felt a glass held softly to her lips, and tilted a little. She tasted kana and was eager for more, but the glass was withdrawn. Barely had she wet her lips. She understood then that what she drank, and in what quantities, was no longer at her discretion, but at that of another. Her lips trembled a little. She heard a tiny noise, as of something being broken, a cracker, or perhaps a biscuit. A moment later she felt a small piece of pressed cake of cereal put

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betwixt her lips, against her teeth. She thought to lift her hands but, as she was kneeling, and they were fastened, she could not bring them near her mouth, not without changing her position, bending down, lying down, such things. She opened her teeth and took the bit of pressed cake into her mouth, and ate it. She was surprised at how sensitive her lips were, so soft, and moist, to the smallest touch. She could scarcely conjecture what it might feel like, what it might be to feel with them other surfaces, other textures, such as the body of a man. She felt, again, the presence of a bit of pressed cake against her teeth. Even the tiny pressure of the cereal cake against her teeth could be felt, so clearly, so precisely. Her entire body was becoming sensuously alive, even helplessly so. She fed. She opened her mouth, again, lifting it, delicately, even imploringly, as she was hungry. Surely there must be more. But there was not. She understood then that what she ate, and in what quantities, was

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no longer at her discretion, but at the discretion of another. Indeed, whether she was to have food or drink at all, she now realized, was not at her discretion, but at that of another. It had not been a true feeling, at all, she then realized. It had been an instruction. She trembled. She had learned a valuable lesson for a slave. Suddenly, terribly frightened, she put down her hands and grasped the ring, and she then put them about the ring, seeing how it fitted into its hemispherical staple, and she then felt the heavy, solid plate, bolted into the floor, in which the staple, with the ring, was fixed, its dimensions, its shape, its height above the floor, the location and nature of the bolts which anchored it in the floor, and she then felt, even, the very nature of the floor itself, and a crack in a board, a place where something once must have scraped. Her heart began, to pound wildly. Surely she knew the plate, the ring, the staple. She was certain then, too, that the crack, or gouge, she could now feel was one which once she had seen. She lifted her head, her lips trembling. She jerked at her chains, but her wrists could move only a few inches upward, as they were fastened closely to the ring.

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"Yes," said a voice. "It is the same room." She squirmed on her knees, and jerked at the chains. Hands took the hood in their grip and pulled it wider, and then, lifting it, tore it away. "You!" she cried. He seemed very tall then, standing over her. In his hand was the hood. Damp, dark hair was loose, and wild, about her head and shoulders. "Is this some form of jest?" she asked, pleadingly. "I suppose so," he said. "Is this the room of my master?" she asked. "Yes," he said. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "It is my room," he said. "You are my master?" she said. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius, "I am your master."

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Page 478

CHAPTER 24 "No!" she cried. "Surely it is not true!" "It is quite true," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I own you. I am your master." A sudden, wild, almost-indescribable look, perhaps one of horror, perhaps one of misery, perhaps one of sudden, startled, unbelievable elation, or perhaps one of all three, transfused the countenance of the slave, but this was only for the briefest moment, for, in a moment, she had recaptured herself. "I despise you," she said. "I do not want you for my master!" "Dogs and pigs do not decide who will be their masters, nor do lesser creatures, such as slave girls," said Tuvo Ausonius. He cast the hood to one side, to the floor. "You are 'Sesella,'" he said, naming her. She glared up at him. "What is your name?" he asked. "Sesella," she said. " 'Sesella'?" he inquired.

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"Sesella, Master," she said. "Do not forget it," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No, Master," she said. "How does the word 'Master' feel on your lips?" he asked. "Fitting," she said. She could scarcely tell what that simple sound, and its meaning, did to her, addressed to men, how it made her feel. Suddenly she felt warm, soft, moist and receptive. "What are you going to do with that whip?" she asked, uneasily. "Perhaps you recall," he said, "how in a basement chamber in the headquarters of

the

commissioner, you, not

commanded, only

permitted, flew at a kneeling, helpless fellow, and, somewhat ardently, even savagely, one might say, with supposed impunity, struck him, again and again." He shook out the coils of the whip. "That was done by a free woman, Sesella Gardener," she said. "Surely you would not punish a poor slave for something done by a free woman!" "I see that you are highly intelligent," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Thank you, Master," said the girl. "But not intelligent enough," he said.

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"Master?" she asked. "It is not improper, you see, if the free woman has become the slave," said Tuvo Ausonius. "For, in that case, after her embondment, her punishment is even more shameful, being then beaten as a mere slave." "I am small and soft," she said. "You own me! I beg not to be whipped!" "Perhaps we should not concern ourselves overly much with what was done by Sesella Gardener, the free woman," said Tuvo Ausonius. "After all, she is gone. There is now in her place only pretty little Sesella, the slave." "Yes, Master!" said the slave, gratefully. "But Master has not yet put aside the whip," she said. "But there does remain, of course, undeniably, the connection between Sesella Gardener, the free woman, and Sesella, the slave, for one has become the other." "Yes, Master," said the girl, falteringly. "But we need not concern ourselves, I suppose, at least not overly much, with such matters." "No, Master!"

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"But you may, in any event, be whipped whenever I wish," he said. "For example, if I feel like whipping you, I may do so." "Yes, Master," she said. "You understand that you are subject to the whip?" "Yes, Master," she said. "As a highly intelligent girl, even if not quite intelligent enough, you understand that?" "Yes, Master." "You may be whipped at any time, for any reason, or for no reason," he said. "Yes, Master," she whispered. "That helps to keep slave girls zealous," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He looked at the whip, in his hands. "Please, no, Master," she said. " 'No'?" he said.

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"No," she said. "Why?" he asked. "I am zealous," she whispered. "Speak up," he said. "I am zealous!" she said. "Is she who was once Sesella Gardener the free woman and is now Sesella, the slave, zealous?" "Yes, Master!" "Who is zealous? "Sesella, the slave, is zealous!" He struck the whip once or twice into the palm of his hand. "Do not whip me," she begged. "Rather let me serve your pleasure!" "My pleasure?" "Yes, as a slave girl!" she said. "You would serve with such abject perfection?"

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"Yes, Master! Let me on the bed!" "Lie on your back, where you are," he said. He took a blanket from the bed, and threw it to the floor. He then drew her down, so that her hands were up, chained over her head, as she lay. He did thrust the blanket under her. Then he stood up, and looked down at her. "The top button of your jacket is undone," he said. "Yes, Master," she smiled. "You leaned forward," he said. "Your undergarments were not those prescribed to conceal your figure. You bared your hair before me, a same, though you, too, were a same. You knelt. You dared to use lipstick. You came to this room, garbed, adorned, perfumed, in ways inappropriate for a same. There are many counts against you." "Punish me," she said. "Why did you come to the room?" he asked. She turned her head to the side. "You hate me," he said.

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She looked up at him. "I can no longer play such games, Master," she said. "My feelings were troubled, and complex. I did not hate you, but what you were. From the first moment I saw you I wanted to be yours." "As you are now?" "Yes," she said, "as I am now!" "But I am a same," he said. "I, too, was a same," she said. "True," he said. "Can we not both know then what we have missed, what we were denied, what we have been deprived of?" "Perhaps," he said. He crouched down, beside her. "Some sames keep servants," he said. "They need never know that I am your slave, Master," she whispered. "You would wear same garb," he said. "Outside," she said.

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"Yes, outside," he said. "And inside?" "We shall consider that," he said. "And even if I am permitted clothing," she said. "Yes," he said. "Touch me," she begged. "The slave begs to be touched." "Ah!" she said. "I have never been a man," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps Master would like it," she said. "Perhaps," he said. "Ohh!" she said. "Yes, it might be interesting," he said. "Oh, Master!" she whispered. "I should not be touching you like this, for I am a same," he said.

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"We are no longer sames," she said. "What are we then?" he asked. "You own me," she said, tensely. "Be kind!" "What are we?" he asked. "A man and a woman, a master and his slave!" "I suppose I might find some application for you," he said, "in housework, or such." She arched her back. "Can you cook, clean, sew?" he asked. "No, no, no!" she wept. "No, please don't stop!" "Do you like being a woman?" he asked. "Yes, yes, yes!" she wept. "And a slave?" "Yes!" she cried. "A thousand times 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' " "See how you arch your back," he said.

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"Do not criticize me, Master!" she begged. "See how you squirm," he said. "I cannot help myself, Master!" she said. "You may writhe," he said. "Thank you, Master!" she cried. "The chains hold you well," he said. "Yes, Master!" she wept. "I have never seen a woman like this before," he said. "Oh," she said. "Oh!" "You are very beautiful, Sesella," he said. "I am yours!" she wept. "Kneel at the ring, with your head down," he said. "I obey," she said. "Onto your stomach," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

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"I must rethink matters," he said. "Master?" she asked. He was sitting on the floor, on the blanket, near her. She was still chained to the ring. "There are dangers in this world," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Is there such a thing as honor?" he asked. "I do not know, Master," she said. "I am only a slave." "I thought there was no such thing," he said. "But now I am not sure."

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CHAPTER 25 "Why is she bound in this fashion?" asked Julian. "He bound me so!" she said. "She broke a plate," said the house master. "You were clumsy, Gerune," said Julian. "The plate was slippery," she pouted. "What punishment did you intend?" inquired Julian of the house master. "I thought five lashes would be sufficient," he said. "Master will never permit you to strike me!" she said. "Why is that?" asked Julian. "Surely Master remembers last night," she said. "Yes," said Julian. "You are juicing well, learning quickly, and becoming an excellent slave." "Then certainly Master will have me released," she said. "Certainly," he said.

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"Thank you, Master!" she said, casting a glance over her shoulder at the house master. "After you have received ten lashes," said Julian. "Master!" she cried. But Julian had left the area.

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CHAPTER 26 "It has been long," said Julian. "I should return to Varna," said Otto. "There is no commission, no captaincy." "They must transmit it, they have no choice," said Julian. "They dare not refuse to grant it." "It is time for the harvesting in the fields of the Wolfungs," said Otto. "They can manage without you," said Julian. "There are lions in the forests, against which I should like to test my mettle," he said. "There are fiercer lions within the empire," said Julian. "I have not seen them," said Otto. "They are not easily detected," said Julian. "I am thinking of Varna," said Otto. "You are hungry for slave meat," said Julian. Otto was silent.

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"How is Renata?" asked Julian. "She is coming along excellently," said Otto. "Already, at a touch, she is hot and helpless. I am thinking that she would make a lovely gift for someone." "It seems," said Julian, "that it is a particular piece of slave meat for which you hunger, perhaps one that you have never forgotten." Otto did not respond. He looked out of the vehicle, at the rugged terrain. "Perhaps one that you have never even tasted," suggested Julian, smiling to himself. "She is a lying, treacherous, meaningless slut," snarled Otto. "But surely one who is attractive," said Julian. "Yes," growled Otto. "She is not without her insidious charms." "I think she has learned the collar," said Julian. "And that she is fearful." "She should be fearful," said Otto. "She is a slave." "I think it is her desire, even desperately so," said Julian, "to be found pleasing by her master."

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"She, the treacherous, meretricious chit?" said Otto. "Yes," said Julian. "And I think, too, it is her desire to please you." "Slaves are often in heat," said Otto. "If she truly betrayed you," said Julian, "I would think you might enjoy making use of her." "She is far away, on Varna," said Otto. "Stop the vehicle," said Julian to the driver. The driver stopped the segmented, treaded vehicle. They were at the height of the winding path that led to Julian's holding. Julian stood up and looked back, over the path, and down to the road far below, lying in the valley. "The way is clear behind us," said Julian. "And I see no cars in the sky," said Otto, shading his eyes. "What is the delay?" said Julian, angrily. "Perhaps they have arrangements to make," said Otto.

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"Yes," said Julian, "perhaps they have not yet completed their arrangements." It was not easy to detect the presence of the holding as it was set in among the granite mountains. Indeed, portions of it were carved from the living rock itself. "I thank you for the outing," said Otto. "You should learn how to operate a vehicle of this sort," said Julian. "I would be pleased to do so," said Otto. "Your horsemanship is remarkable," said Julian. "It is like flying," said Otto. "Surely you have ridden before," said Julian. "Only here," said Otto. "We had no horses in the village." "Do you think you could do war from the back of a horse?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Otto. They were not on one of the original Telnarian worlds but one, Vellmer, within the first quadrant, not the first provincial quadrant. This holding was one of several owned by the Aurelianii, and one of

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some five which were designed to afford an occupant a large measure of both security and privacy. "Why will you not wait at your ancestral home?" had asked Otto, some days ago. "I do not want to risk it," had said Julian. "But will the palace know where you are?" asked Otto. "Certainly," said Julian. "They have been informed." Julian and Otto now resumed their seats. In a moment, the codes spoken into the receivers, the gate slid to one side and the vehicle entered the holding. The gate, which was better than a yard thick, of layered steel, then slid shut behind them.

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CHAPTER 27 "Where am I?" begged Flora, rising from her mattress, as the door of the cell was opened. "On Vellmer," said the slave girl, bearing the tray, with fruit, two slices of bread, some leaves of vegetables, and drink. She knelt down and, carefully, placed the objects on the small table, some two-foot square, on short legs, rising some foot or so from the floor. There was one mat on the tiles, near the table. The cell had only one occupant. There were no chairs in the cell. The mattress was in a small frame, only an inch from the floor. Slave girls are seldom permitted to sit in chairs. Too, their bedding is usually on, or near, the floor. "Should you not have asked me to kneel?" inquired Flora. The girl looked at her. "Or instructed me to do so?" asked Flora. "I, too, am only a slave," said the girl. Flora knelt down, on the mat, by the table. The girl was still kneeling on the other side, but ready to rise, and withdraw. Neither was collared. "Wait!" said Flora.

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The girl looked up. "I know I am on Vellmer," said Flora. "I was delivered to an address on Vellmer, but then I was hooded and moved, and was brought here." "Yes," said the slave girl. "Where am I, here?" asked Flora. "I may not say," said the slave girl. "Is my master here?" "Yes." "Who is my master?" begged Flora. "I may not say," said the slave girl. "I do not even know who owns me!" said Flora. "Doubtless you will learn, when it pleases the masters," said the slave. "Is this the house of my master?" "No."

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"But my master is here?" "Yes." "Who is my master?" "I may not say," said the slave. "Do not leave!" begged Flora. The slave rose up, with the tray. "You are very beautiful," she said. Flora, too, rose up. Both women were very much the same height. Perhaps Flora was the tiniest bit taller. "You, too, are very beautiful," said Flora. "You must be muchly favored, and a high slave," said the slave girl, "for you are gowned." Flora wore a simple, loose, ankle-length garment of white wool. It was sleeveless. Its neckline was generous, generous from the point of view of masters, and would leave a slave in little doubt as to her bondage. The garment of the slave girl was quite similar, being sleeveless and of white wool, and such, and differed really, only, in its length, for it came high on her thighs. It was a simple garment and displayed its wearer well. It was a common form of slave tunic.

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The two garments were all the women wore. "You are well fed, and have your own cell," said the slave girl. "You are not kenneled." "Are you kenneled at night?" asked Flora. "Save when I am chained at the foot of my master's couch," said the slave. The slave girl went to the door of the cell, which consisted of heavy, vertical bars fixed in thick, lateral crosspieces. She paused there for a moment, the tray in her left hand, looking back at Flora. She then stepped outside, and closed the door. "Wait!" called Flora. The door shut with a heavy, unmistakable, efficient snap. The slave girl turned, and paused, a few feet on the other side of the bars. "Why am I being treated like this?" begged Flora, hurrying to the bars. "Why have I not been set to service, why have I not been summoned before my master?" "I do not know," said the slave girl. "Perhaps they are readying you to be a gift."

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"A gift!" "I do not know," said the slave girl. "That must be it!" wept Flora. "You have been trained, as I understand it," said the slave girl. "Only a little!" said Flora. "I envy you," said the slave girl. "All masters train us," said Flora. "That is true, each trains us to his pleasure," said the slave girl. "Then your master trains you?" "Yes," said the slave girl. "He trains me, as it pleases him, precisely so." "Wait!" called Flora. The girl paused at the end of the short corridor, before the iron door there. She would knock on this and be admitted to the outer area. A little later the guard would check the cell, to make certain it was securely locked.

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Flora clutched the bars of the cell door. She shook them, wildly. But there was little movement of the door. "I was sold!" she said. "Perhaps your master tired of you?" said the slave girl. "Perhaps he no longer wanted you. Perhaps he did not like you." "I have been sold!" wept Flora. "Now I am on Vellmer, and am to be given away as a gift!" "I do not know," said the slave girl. "Do not go!" begged Flora. "I must, I have duties," said the slave. "Be kind to me!" "May I call you 'Flora'?" "Yes, yes!" said Flora. "Do you like the name?" "Yes," said she who wore the name. "That was the name on your packing slip," said the slave girl.

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"It was what they called me in school," said Flora. "Your master had not given you a name?" "No," wept Flora. "It must be terrible not to have a name," said the slave girl. "Yes," said Flora. "We will say your name is 'Flora'," because that is what the guards call you," said the slave girl. "Thank you," said Flora . "So it will do," smiled the slave girl. "Yes," said Flora. "Your name is 'Flora'," she said. "Until men see fit to change it, or take it away," said Flora. "Yes," said the slave girl. "Such things are up to the masters." "Yes," said Flora. "We are powerless. We are totally at their mercy."

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"Yes," said Flora. "I must leave," said the slave girl. "What is your name?" asked Flora. "Renata," said the slave girl. She had then knocked on the iron door at the end of the corridor, and in a moment was in the outer area. The door closed, and locked, behind her. Flora clutched the bars. "I have been sold," she wept. "I am to be given away, as a gift!" She then, sobbing, clinging to the thick bars, put her head down. She pressed the side of her face against the bars. Her tears ran against the metal.

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CHAPTER 28 "My name is Tuvo Ausonius. I believe you will find my credentials in order. I come on behalf of his majesty, Aesilesius, emperor of Telnaria. I bring, enclosed in this case, a commission, in the rank of captain, for one Ottonius, known to you, milord, and, as I understand it, a guest now in your house." "This is he," said Julian, indicating Otto, who stood beside him. "Greetings," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Greetings," said Otto. "May I introduce my colleague, Sesella," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is unusual for a same to have but one name," said Julian. "Greetings," said the companion of Tuvo Ausonius. "Greetings," said Julian. Julian regarded his two visitors. He had surely not expected sames, not from the summer world. How severe, and gross, he thought, were their garbs, and yet, oddly, they did not seem to carry themselves as sames, nor to have the severe mien one expects of sames. Perhaps they were not sames, thought Julian, but what would be the point of disguising such matters, what would be the object of the pretense, under these circumstances?

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"Your colleague appears to be a female," said Julian. The smaller of the same-garbed pair, for a moment, looked frightened. "Sames do not concern themselves with such matters," said Tuvo Ausonius. Julian had an eye for women, and thought that he might detect something of interest within that bulky shielding of same garb, something of perhaps even considerable interest. "You come, actually, I take it," said Julian, "from our esteemed friend, Iaachus, arbiter of protocol." "It is my understanding that my mission derives most immediately from that revered personage," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Why has there been this long delay, a delay unconscionable in a matter this straightforward, this simple?" "I do not know," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I apologize, of course, on behalf of my superiors, for any inconvenience." "Such

considerations

do

not

lie

within

the

purview

of

your

assignment," said Julian. "No, milord."

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"We do not allow just anyone in this holding," said Julian. "But you are of the Ausonii." "That is interesting," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I had not realized that something of that sort might have mattered." "We are particular," said Julian. "Ah," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Is anything wrong?" asked Julian. "It is nothing," said Ausonius. "You are from Miton," said Julian. "Yes, milord." "Why was not someone from the palace, from the summer world, from the capital world, from the administrative worlds, not given this assignment?" "I do not know, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The same worlds tend to be isolated," said Julian, "scarcely integrated into the empire." "We are loyal to the throne," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"Your car is below, in the landing area," said Julian. "Yes, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. Julian pressed a button on the lower edge of the top of the desk in the receiving office. There was a whirring of machinery, as though far off. "I had expected," said Julian, "given my rank, that the commission would be brought to the holding by an imperial magistrate, preceded by twelve lictors." "Is that the common protocol?" inquired Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes," said Julian. "One would have thought it would have been observed by Iaachus." "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "He is the arbiter of protocol." "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius, thoughtfully. "What is wrong?" asked Julian. "Nothing," said Tuvo Ausonius. Julian Walked to one side of the room, and looked out, through

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gigantic windows, onto the mountains. Too, he could see, in a small landing area below, on a shelf below, the car. Air rippled about it. Its motors were hot, running. He then returned, to stand behind the great desk. On this desk there lay, rather at its center, but nearer Tuvo Ausonius, a flat, black case. "Open it," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius hesitated. "Honor," said Tuvo Ausonius, "is more important than life, for life is worthless without it." "You are a same," said Julian. "Such things are of no interest to you." "Why do you hesitate?" asked Otto. "You have a duty to perform," said Julian. "Documents, treaties, charters, commissions, such things, are not ordinarily delivered in this fashion, are they?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "No," said Julian. "There is a time lock on the case," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"It is a simple device," said Julian. "You dial the combination, and, in ten seconds, those necessary for the internal machinery to clear the bolts, the case opens. You know the combination?" "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "What is wrong?" asked Otto. "Nothing," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Open the case," said Julian. "There are special instructions," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is to be opened only in your presence, milord, and that of your guest, Ottonius." "That is that we may verify the opening of the case," said Julian. "We are both present. Proceed." Tuvo Ausonius drew from within his jacket a sealed envelope and handed it to his colleague. His colleague regarded him, puzzled. "Leave the room," he said to the colleague. Wildly then, bewildered, did the colleague regard him. "Now," he said.

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The colleague, looking back but once, frightened, clutching the paper, hurried from the room. "Milords," said Tuvo Ausonius, "I must now ask you to leave the room, as well." "The case is to be opened in our presence," said Julian. "I must insist," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are a brave man," said Julian. "What is the combination?" "Milord?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "When the combination is dialed," said Julian, "not only will the mechanism be engaged, but a signal will doubtless be transmitted to your car below." "It is waiting," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is ready for flight, even now," said Julian. "It will need ten seconds to ascend to its attack track." "I do not understand," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I have taken precautions," said Julian. "Dial the combination." Tuvo Ausonius, steadying the case with one hand, began to rotate

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the dial with his other hand. He stopped, short of the last number. "What is it?" asked Julian. "Six," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps you had best leave the room." Julian reached over Tuvo Ausonius's hand and moved the dial to six. A small purring sound emanated from the case. "The mechanism is engaging," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius was sweating. "The car is rising, outside, I hear it," said Otto. "Gentlemen," said Julian. "I think it would be wise if we withdrew. Please follow me." Scarcely had the three men stepped from the room, through a concealed, spring-actuated panel in the wall behind the desk, than the room vacated was rocked with an explosion. Window glass flew outward, the desk was shattered, walls were gouged and battered, papers were scattered, and blackened and aflame. At almost the same instant a searing flash of fire from the car tore at a thick, transparent domelike shield which, by the mechanism activated by the button beneath the desk earlier, had been placed in position. The car was not a hundred yards past the dome, and was banking for a second run,

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when it exploded, and burst into flame, caught in steams of fire from the walls. The screaming of Tuvo Ausonius's colleague could be heard from the outer room. The men, half choking with dust, kicked the panel open, which was now awry on its hinges, and reentered the room. The colleague of Tuvo Ausonius ran to him. Her eyes were wild. She gasped. It was almost as though she wished to throw herself to her knees before him. At almost the same time several men, guards at the holding, armed, rushed into the room. "We are all right," Julian assured them. He then turned to face Tuvo Ausonius and his colleague. "You are under arrest, of course, both of you," he said. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were conducted from the room. "There is little left of the case," said Otto, looking about. "The only prints on it, even on the fragments," said Julian, "would be those of its messenger."

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"Milord," said a man, entering, "there is a party approaching, climbing the trail." "They are clad in white robes," said Julian, "there are thirteen of them, twelve preceding, carrying rods and axes, and one following, bearing a scroll case." "Yes, milord!" said the man. "Open the gate," said Julian. "Admit them." "Wait!" called Julian. "Milord?" said the man, turning. "Secure all slaves," said Julian. "Yes, milord," said the man.

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CHAPTER 29 "What is going on?" cried Flora. She ran to the door of her cell. The door at the end of the short corridor had been flung open and Flora saw some five slaves being thrust forward. All were in brief tunics. All were hooded. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs. They were on a common neck chain. She was sure that Renata was among them. Small, stifled noises came from some of the hoods. Doubtless, beneath the hoods, they were gagged. The door to her cell was flung open. "Stand! Hands behind you!" ordered a guard. Two guards entered the cell. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. A gag was fixed on her, making it impossible for her to speak. A hood was drawn over her head and buckled shut, about her neck. She was then thrust from the cell. In a moment she felt a collar locked on her neck, and the draw of a chain, before and behind. She then was forced along the passage, and down a sloping passage. In a few moments she felt damp stone beneath her bared feet, and tiny puddles of water.

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She was forced to her belly. Her head was forced down. She could feel the stone of the floor through the hood, on the left side of her face. She felt the collar removed from her neck, but, in a moment, another collar, a heavier one, snapped about her neck. A chain ran from this collar to a staple, fixed in the stone. She determined this, feeling it with the side of her face, through the hood. She felt the dampness of the floor through her gown. She did not know where she was. She tried to call out, or inquire, but could utter no more than tiny, helpless sounds. She then lay there, prone, somewhere, unable to speak, in the darkness of the hood, her hands cuffed behind her, chained. The chain on her neck, running to the floor, was a short one, only some six inches in length. It would hold her head quite close to the staple. Somewhere, seemingly faraway, she heard gunfire.

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CHAPTER 30 "He is escaping!" called Otto. The magistrate was climbing the interior stairwell, leading to the parapet, that to the left of the left gate tower, as one would view the gate from within. The magistrate clutched a scroll case in one hand, a pistol in the other. He fired toward the portal of the left gate tower. There was a shower of stone from the wall. The muzzles of rifles protruded inward from the towers. There were marksmen, too, behind barricades, arranged on the walkways of the walls. Others had fired from the sides of the walls, and others from the external walls of the inner bailey, from gunports. "There is no escape for him," said Julian. The magistrate looked over the wall, and then turned back, wildly. He fired once down, into the outer yard. A tile buckled and leapt up, blackened, to Julian's right. Then the figure on the wall, a mass of blood and fire, tumbled into the yard. Julian lowered his pistol. "That is all of them," said Julian.

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"No," said Otto. "There is another, somewhere." "He from the summer world," said Julian. "There were several from that world," said Otto. About the outer yard there were several bodies, twelve bodies, as one counted. These wore white robes. Near eleven of them, and parts of them, their blood run on the tiles, were weapons, assault rifles which had been concealed within the bundles of rods, each with its ax. The firing had been brief and fierce, the sudden unbundling of the rods, the revelation of the weapons, but the guards in Julian's holding had been in place and, almost instantly, almost before fingers had found the triggers of weapons, the white-clad bodies, startled, several blown open, reeling, twisting about, searching for their concealed foes, had begun to succumb to the storm of fire from all sides. Julian considered the bodies. "They did not have a chance," said Julian. "One is still at large," said Otto, looking about. "He lost his rifle," said Julian. "He is not to be feared."

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"There are only eleven axes here," said Otto, walking among the bodies. "We will make a search," said Julian. "I do not think he will know how to use the ax," said Otto. He himself bent down and picked up one of the long-handled axes, doubleheaded, which had protruded from one of the bundles of rods. The bundles of rods and axes, carried before high officials on certain occasions, are an ancient symbol, one perhaps now rather familiar, almost benign and innocuous, but one once, one supposes, of the power of the state, of its might and terror, its capacity to chastise, and, if it wishes, to kill. "Be careful," said Julian. Otto entered the inner bailey, and made his way upward, slowly, to its parapet. He looked about himself. He saw two guards, adjusting the slings on their weapons. Other than this the parapet was deserted. Their attention would presumably have been directed to the outer yard, below. In the forest one notices little things when one is hunting, and many of the skills of war, of course, are much like those of hunting. Perhaps that is one reason that those who live by arms are often fond of the hunt. A crushed leaf, the dislodgement of a twig, indicated by the tiny

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depression in which it had formerly lain, such tiny things, can mark a trail. Accordingly the tiny drop of blood on the stones of the parapet required no great discernment, or acuteness, to interpret. The opening to one of the towers was nearby. Otto held his ax ready, in the guard position. Twice, in the arena, he had fought in labyrinth games, where the spectators, tense, silent, as quiet as though holding their breath, observed, from the height and safety of their seats, the men looking for one another, in the maze. Sometimes they would cry out in excitement, or exultation, as contact, sometimes sudden, and brutal, was made. Otto entered the tower, and looked up the spiral stairwell leading to its height. The stairwells in such towers almost invariably ascend in a clockwise fashion. One might suppose that there is no particular reason for this surprising conformity of structure, but, if one did so, one's surmise would be in error. Most men, you see, are right-handed, and will, accordingly, handle weapons with their right hand. In this fashion one who ascends the stairwell, presumably an intruder, must, in order to employ his

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weapon, expose more of his body, whereas one who is higher on the stairwell, presumably a defender, in such an employment of weaponry, in virtue of the shielding of the masonry, may expose less of his body. Suddenly the blade of an ax, from above, slashed down, diagonally, and stone spit out from the side of the shaft. It had not come close to Otto. Had the wielder of the ax been frantic, too eager, foolish, or had he merely intended to appear so? Otto took another step upward, slowly. And then another step. "Stay away!" he heard. Otto did not think it was wise of the man to have cried out. The voice had sounded frantic. Was the man frantic, or had he merely intended to seem so? Otto did not think the man would know the ax. But Otto did not hurry his ascent. There was a drop of blood on the steps.

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Then Otto heard the sound of steps on the tile of the level above, a different sound from that of the stone stairs. He ascended the steps. He did this with great care. He was then at the landing. It was the highest landing within the tower. From it, three openings, each with a heavy door, led outward, onto a semicircular walkway. Two of the doors were latched. Such doors can be latched only from the inside. This provides some protection in the event of a successful escalade. Otto glanced upward. The trap leading to the roof of the tower, too, was still latched. It, too, for the same reason, could not be latched from the other side. In this fashion the defenders can keep others out, at least for a time, and cannot themselves be locked in. "Stay away!" he heard, a scream. It came from the walkway outside, from behind the one unlatched door. A blow of Otto's ax cut the latch away from the door, so that it might not be latched behind him. He drew the door open. "Stay away!" screamed the voice. "You!" cried the voice, in terror. The figure stood at bay, in a tunic, its back to the parapet, holding

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the ax. The white robes had been torn away, and discarded. They would have been an encumbrance. They lay near the man's feet. They were bloody. "Yes," said Otto. It was a man he had met some days earlier, in the streets, on the summer world, the leader of those who had addressed him with rudeness. Otto recalled another, as well, the one who had made the mistake of touching him. That one he had lifted from his feet, and thrust, not gently, against a wall. The man had sunk down, against the wall, leaving blood on it, behind him, marking his descent. That fellow now lay below, in the outer bailey, blown apart. Several of the others, too, among the white-robed figures below, Otto had noted, had been among those who had swarmed about him, and Julian, in the streets. The man rushed at Otto, striking down, wildly, with the ax. Otto blocked three blows, two handle to handle, one with the blade of his own ax, blade to blade. Sparks flashed from the metal, showering about them. The man backed away. The wind, ascending the stairwell from below, swirling in the interior of the tower, swung the door a little. The creak of its hinges could be heard.

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"I once speculated that you would not stand up well against an ax attack," said Otto. "Now we shall see if I was right." The man screamed with fear and hurled the ax at Otto. One of the blade edges sunk deeply into the heavy timber jamb on the left side of the door. The handle vibrated for a moment. "I am disarmed!" cried the man. "It was not I who disarmed you," said Otto. "Civilitas!" cried the man. "I have no intention of leaving one like you behind me," said Otto. "Civilitas!" screamed the man. "Barbaritas," said Otto. The man turned about and leapt into the crenel behind him, stood there for a moment, and then lept down. Otto went to the wall, and looked down. The man's leap had carried him to the height of the transparent dome, some twenty feet below, now muchly scarred and blackened from the fire of the car which had

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brought Tuvo Ausonius to the holding. That dome, in its halves, sheltered the office and certain private chambers in the holding. Otto watched as the man tried to keep his grip on the dome. Perhaps if he had landed higher on the dome, where its slope was less precipitous, or if he had managed to get his fingernails in some of the fissures left by the attack, things might have turned out differently. Otto watched him, screaming, slipping slowly, inch by inch, from the surface of the dome, until, looking upward, wildly toward Otto, he fell from it, to the rocks more than two hundred feet below. Otto then left the parapet, and descended to the inner bailey. He had stopped only to wrench loose the ax, imbedded in the jamb of the portal, that leading to the walkway. There was little sound then on the height of the parapet, only the whisper of the wind, and the movement of the door, swinging a little now and then on its hinges.

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CHAPTER 31 Flora walked unsteadily down the hall, almost unable to keep her balance. She was not with a guard, and on a leash, as a slave is often taken to the room of a guest, whom she is to serve. Rather she had just been told the room, and sent on her way. Bitter tears ran down her cheeks. How joyous she had been, but moments before. "I have a surprise for you," had said Julian, of the Aurelianii, to his friend. "Behold! I have had her brought from Varna, and boarded, and trained, to some extent, on the summer world, and thence brought to Vellmer, now a more knowledgeable slave." She had thought, for a moment, when she had entered, as the eyes of the barbarian giant had first looked upon her, that there had been recognition, and elation, on that often fierce countenance which she had hoped to soften with kindness, or at least with some tiny bit of consideration or regard for her, but, almost instantly, his visage, as though he had forced himself to recollect what despicable thing it was that hurried to kneel before him, the fragile, delicate slave flower in its hands, became cold and hard, cold like the wintry sheathing of dark rivers, deeply flowing, hard like stone in the month of Igon. She had knelt, her emotions in tumult, stirred, a chaos of joy,

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confusion, and pain. It was he who had been her master on Varna, and now, it seemed, still was, for it was before him that she had been signaled to kneel. She remembered him even from Terennia, and the first time he had looked upon her, a look that had stripped away her dark, judicial robes, and all she wore, and had been, revealing the naked, vulnerable slave beneath. She had seized the railing behind which she stood, that she might not fall. She had fought in herself the instantaneous, almost overwhelming desire to hurry to him, to kneel and perform obeisance. How startled she had been with these feelings, how furious with herself! Let her mother, the judge, proceed with the prosecution of the fellow! But he had survived in the arena, and had later obtained his freedom. Through a complex set of circumstances she, who had been an officer of the very court which had condemned him to the arena, her mother the very judge who had pronounced the sentence, had become his slave. She dared not meet his eyes, so fierce they were upon her. On the ill-fated Alaria, kneeling at his feet in the darkness, not even knowing it was he, she had become, technically, and legally, a slave. But he, at that time, had unaccountably treated her well and not enforced her bondage. Indeed, in a vital matter, pertaining to his plan to escape the Alaria, he had trusted her word, that she would remain silent, on this word refusing to subject her to the efficient indignities of the gag. But she had broken this word, betraying him and his party,

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calling out, alerting enemies. Shortly thereafter they had become separated, but each, in their own way, in different capsules, had managed to escape the Alaria. She had later, on Varna, come again into this possession. This time he had not seen fit to show her indulgence but had had her branded and tagged. She now wore on her thigh a mark in virtue of which there would be no mistaking what she was, a mark which would be recognized throughout galaxies. "I thought you would be pleased," said Julian. "She is a faithless, treacherous, lying slave," said Otto. "Please, no, Master," she had whispered. "She is well curved," said Julian. "So are millions on thousands of worlds," said Otto. "I love you, Master. I want to serve you," she whispered. "Surely she is exquisite," said Julian. "As are innumerable others, all for one price or another," said Otto. "She bears the slave flower, to offer it to you," said Julian. "She is a collared slut," said Otto. "She will offer it to whomsoever her master decides."

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"I think she would offer it to you," said Julian. "She is worthless," said Otto. "She might bring a decent price in a market," said Julian. "Perhaps," said Otto. There was little doubt as to this. The slave's handlers, who had prepared her for presentation to her master, had left little of her beauty to the imagination. Her breasts strained against the mockery of a skimpy bandeau of scarlet silk. A narrow, black, cloth cord was put twice, snugly, about her waist, and knotted, with a slip knot, at the left hip. This cord supported two narrow rectangles of scarlet silk. It also supplied a means whereby, if it were removed, she might be bound. Such features are not unusual in slave garments. A common variation on such a theme is a leather thong wound several times about the left ankle, and tied there. Is it an attractive decoration? Certainly, but it may also serve, with similar decorative appeal, as a bond. Her dark hair was bound back with a scarlet ribbon. On her neck there was a close-fitting, steel slave collar. "Is your name 'Flora'?" asked Julian, kindly. "In the house they call me that, Master," said the slave. "Is it your name?" asked Julian.

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"My name," she said, "or even if I am permitted a name, is up to my master." She looked at Otto. But he turned away from her. "Look upon her, my friend," urged Julian. "Thank you, my friend," said Otto, "for having seen to it that she has received some training. That will doubtless improve her price." "Have you not been permitted in this room," asked Julian of the slave, "to offer the slave flower to your master?" "Yes, Master," she said, gratefully. "Look upon her," urged Julian. Otto turned in the chair to regard the slave kneeling before him. There were tears in her eyes. "Please, Master," she said, lifting the flower delicately, timidly, to Otto, "accept my slave flower." "It is worth less than that of a pig or dog," snarled Otto. She put her head down. "It is true that I am only a slave, Master,"

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she said. "Keep it well in mind," said Otto. "Yes, Master," she sobbed. Julian lifted his hand to summon a guard, who would conduct the slave back to her quarters. "Wait!" said Otto, suddenly, menacingly. The slave looked up, frightened. Julian turned to him, puzzled. The guard hesitated to approach. "There is now one in the house who should be well known to you," said Otto. "Master?" she asked. "Do you remember the Alaria," he asked, "and the supper at the captain's table, with Pulendius, and others?" "Yes, Master," she said. "And surely you remember the purpose of your journey on the Alaria?" "Of course, Master," she said uneasily. It had been to take her to Miton, where she was to be wedded. The marriage had been arranged

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with great attention to detail. Genealogies had been checked, credentials and records had been examined, biographies had been scrutinized, and the earnings, and likely future earnings, of the prospective groom had been calculated with care. The marriage had been arranged largely through the offices of the girl's mother and her friend, the mayor, of the small city on Terennia, which was, for the district, a juristic center. Both the girl's mother and the mayor hoped, too, to profit significantly from so favorable an alliance, soon following the girl to the first provincial quadrant, and perhaps even, later, the first imperial quadrant. Pictorials had been exchanged. The prospective groom was, of course, a same, as was the prospective bride, a matter which was of great consequence to the mother and her friend, the mayor. That was almost as important as the prospective groom's position and income. With respect to the latter, he was, at the time, a level-four civil servant in the financial division of the first provincial quadrant. The marriage was calculatedly favorable, too, on the count of genealogy, as the prospective groom was of the 103rd degree of the Ausonii, and the bride of the 105th degree of the Auresii. The prospective bride's name was Tribonius Auresius, and the prospective groom's name was Tuvo Ausonius. The marriage did not take place, of course, as the Alaria, as it may be recalled, failed to enter orbit at Miton, having perhaps encountered some mishap en route. "Two sames are currently under arrest in this house," said Otto. "Perhaps rumors of this have reached you." "Yes, Master," she said. "But, too, we may regard them as guests," said Otto.

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"Master?" she asked. "One is a female, whose name, as related, is simply 'Sesella'," said Otto. "Yes, Master," said the slave. "The other is a male, whose name is Tuvo Ausonius," said Otto. "Tuvo Ausonius!" cried the slave. "I see the name is meaningful to you," said Otto. "You remember something of this matter, too, do you not?" Otto inquired of Julian. "Yes," said Julian. "I do." "I was to wed him!" cried the slave. "He was my fiancé. I was his betrothed!" "You were a free woman," said Otto. "Certainly, Master," said the slave. "What are you now?" asked Otto. "A slave," she said.

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"And do you not think it is fitting that a guest be shown hospitality in a house?" "Oh, no, no, Master!" she cried. "Please, no, Master!" "Oh?" asked Otto. "I hate him!" she cried. "It was an arranged marriage! I wanted nothing of it! It was the doing of my mother and another! I hated him! I despised him! I intended to make his life miserable, even to ruin him!" "Surely you do not think that he is interested in wedding you now, do you?" asked Otto. "No, Master," she said, "for I am now a slave, no more than an animal." Otto regarded her. "No, no, Master!" she cried. "What is the room of Tuvo Ausonius?" asked Otto of Julian. He was told. "How is it reached?" asked Otto.

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He was informed. "You have heard?" asked Otto. "Yes, Master," said the slave, dismayed. "You are sent to him," said Otto. "And take with you the slave flower. It is to be offered to Tuvo Ausonius." "No, no!" she wept. "Go," said Otto. "Yes, Master," she wept. *** Flora walked unsteadily down the hall, almost unable to keep her balance. She was not with a guard, and on a leash, as a slave is often taken to the room of a guest, whom she is to serve. Rather she had just been told the room, and sent on her way. Bitter tears ran down her cheeks. She stopped, to put one hand against a wall, to steady herself. She feared she might fall.

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She saw a guard before one door, and she counted the doors to that door. No, that was not the door. There were two sames under arrest in the house. That must be the room in which the other same, the woman was. Neither, she understood, was below, secured in cells. The guard was watching her approach. She feared she was not walking well. He must, of course, over the years, have seen thousands of slaves. She had heard the guards refer to her as "a pretty one." She was confident she would bring a better price than many, though, of course, not so good a price as many others. He was watching her approach. She tried to walk well. She did not wish to risk being struck. She had, of course, in her bondage, grown accustomed to men looking at her, watching her, considering her, speculating openly on what it might be to own her, to have her, theirs, in their arms. When she reached the guard, before passing him, she would kneel, and bow her head. She did so. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "Lift your head. Straighten your back. Do not rise," he said. He walked about her. Then, again before her, he looked at her, in detail.

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It pleased her to kneel before men. "You carry the slave flower," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "You may continue on your way," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. She looked at the door he guarded. Behind it was one of the sames in custody, the woman. In a moment she had rounded a corner and was no longer in sight of the guard. I hate Tuvo Ausonius, she thought. Rather would I be thrown to guards, to be put to the tiles, to serve for fear of my very life, each to tear a petal from the slave flower, than to be touched by one such as Tuvo Ausonius. But then she thought, suddenly, wildly, that she might master Tuvo Ausonius, manipulate him, govern him, overcome him with misery and guilt. Was he not a same? Might she not take advantage of that complex, subtle, pervasive conditioning program used on the "same" planets to deprive men of their manhood, that program so gradually instituted and promulgated, bit by bit, rule by rule, law by law, that many did not even realize it existed, that program designed not so

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much to challenge healthy, natural modalities of human existence as to preclude its victims from even understanding that they existed? Yes, she thought wildly to herself, there is nothing to fear. He is already demeaned, degraded, and debased, and conquered. I need not fear him. His entire world has prepared him for defeat. There is no doubt that I will be victorious! She looked wildly about. No guard was in this corridor. There were various rooms. They would be, presumably, mostly empty, mostly unlocked. In some there must be wardrobes, or chests, containing garments. Surely guests must come to this holding upon occasion. Some must surely be free women, perhaps sisters, or relatives, of one degree or another, of the master of the house! Or perhaps there might be garments of sufficient opacity and modesty as to be mistaken for, or which would serve as, the garments of a free woman. If slaves were to serve at suppers at which free women were present, they might well be attired decorously. Surely, at such suppers, they would not serve naked, save for their collars. There must be something, somewhere! It was in the third room that she found a chest which contained suitable robes, white, even sleeved. Too, there were hose, and even shoes, small, soft, colored, delicately embroidered. Too, there were scarves which might encircle her throat, useful in concealing a steel collar. She thrust the slave flower in her belt, that formed from the twiceturned black cloth cord.

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She then turned her attention to the chest. It was seemingly a different woman who emerged from the room, after first carefully looking to the left and right. Doubtless there would be a guard at the door, but the door was about the next corner, across the structure, its room well separated from that of the other same, doubtless that there might be no communication between them. She did not think the guard would take her for a free woman. Indeed, it was altogether probably that he would recognize her. Thus, in greeting him, she must kneel. She trusted that Tuvo Ausonius would not know she had done so. The guard, when she turned the comer of the corridor, looked up, and leapt to his feet, from the chair, having mistaken her, naturally enough, under the circumstances, for a free woman. Then, as she approached, he regarded her closely. She knelt down a few feet from him, primarily because she feared to prolong his doubt as to her status, which might irritate him, but also because she wanted to be further from the door. She lowered her head. He stepped to her. "Flora," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

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"I prefer slave garb on a slave," he said. "It is more fitting." "If we are permitted clothing," she said. "Yes," he said. "I am sent to the prisoner," she said. "Never have I seen a slave so clad sent to a prisoner," he smiled. She said nothing. "But then he is a same," said the guard. "Yes, Master," she said. She went to the door, while the guard resumed his post, the chair a few feet from the door. At the door she trembled, just for a moment, for she was a slave, of course, truly, and her charade had not been commanded by her master. Indeed, it had been undertaken without his knowledge. Her hand shook, and she thought, for a moment, to knock softly, even timidly, at the door, as befitted a helpless, vulnerable slave who had been sent to a guest, to be as though his until morning. But then, suddenly, angry with the thought of Tuvo Ausonius, and contemptuous of him, she struck the door clearly, decisively. In a moment the door was opened.

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She was taken aback a bit, for he who opened the door was not precisely what she had expected to find. Oh, it was Tuvo Ausonius all right, or bore at least some resemblance to him. That could be told from the pictorials. But those had displayed something seemingly inhibited, deceitful, venal, petulant, sullen, hypocritical, weak. The fellow who had opened the door was not only considerably larger than herself, and above average height for a male of the empire, but, more importantly, carried himself, and seemed such, as one would not expect of a same. She feared for an instant that he might not be a same, but a man, one of those creatures in the presence of which a woman could be only a woman. But, reassuringly, he wore same garb. She wished, suddenly, that she had been able to avail herself of same garb, but none, not surprisingly, had been in the rooms she had investigated. "Tuvo Ausonius?" she brought herself to ask. "Yes," he said. He looked beyond her. Had he expected another? Had he hoped for another? This angered her. "May I come in?" she asked. "Yes," he said.

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She thrust past him, and closed the door, firmly, behind her. She noted, to her satisfaction, that the door was thick. She did not think that, given the thickness of the portal, for those of the empire's upper classes tend to be fond of their privacy, and the position of the guard, down the hall, they would be likely to be overheard. Tuvo Ausonius seemed surprised that she had closed the door herself. In the center of the room she turned to face him. "What is wrong?" she asked. "Nothing," he said. "Perhaps you hoped for a different visitor?" she said. " 'Visitor'?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "Perhaps," he said. "Do you not recognize me?" she asked. "For what purpose have you come?" he asked. "I am a free woman!" she said. "I see," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"Surely you recognize me?" she asked. "I am sorry," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I do not. Should I?" "I am the free woman, Tribonius Auresius!" she announced. "I do not think so," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are too pretty." " 'Pretty'?" she cried. "Shame, shame!" "You are a same?" he asked. "Certainly!" she said. "And you, too, are a same!" "You are not dressed as a same," he said. "That is not important," she said. "Tribonius Auresius," he said, "was aboard the Alaria. It never reached Miton." "Nonetheless, I am she!" she said. "The Alaria," he said, "I have heard it recently rumored, fell to a barbarian fleet. Distress calls supposedly made that clear. Debris was also supposedly indicative. If there were any pretty prisoners taken, they were doubtless made slaves." "Shame!" she cried. "You cannot even begin to think of a woman in

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such terms, even hypothetically, even in the wildest stretches of your imagination! You are a same! Such a horrifying, terrifying fate for a woman could not even occur to you!" "I doubt that you are Tribonius Auresius," he said. "Why?" she asked. "You are not she," he said. "You are far more desirable, far more exciting and beautiful than she." "Watch your language!" she cried. "But you saw the pictorials!" "They were of a rather plain, snobbish little slut," he said, "but one who, perhaps, had some promise." "Wicked man!" she cried. "You escaped the Alaria?" he asked. "Yes!" she said. "And kept your freedom?" "Yes!" she said. "And still retain it?" "Of course," she said.

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"What is the name of the mother of Tribonius Auresius?" he asked. He was told. It was "Cualella." He then asked a number of complex questions, pertaining to various matters, matters the answers to which would be likely to be known only to themselves. "I am Tribonius Auresius!" said she, at the conclusion of this inquiry. "Your identity is established beyond doubt," said Tuvo Ausonius. "And what would be the purpose of attempting to deceive you with respect to such a matter?" she asked. "I can conceive of no such purpose," he said. "But I am not clear as to what you are doing here, here in this house, here in this room." "Surely you are overjoyed to see me," she said, "your fiancée, your betrothed." "Doubtless," he said. "I was traveling in these mountains," she said, "and sought, and was granted, hospitality, and subsequently, in pleasant converse, our relationship emerged. At that time I did not know you were here. Our host, in his graciousness, has permitted me to visit you."

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"That is surely exceedingly kind on his part," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Though not a same, he is a gentleman," she said. "Perhaps we might avail ourselves of this opportunity to renew our relationship." "As sames?" she said. "What could be more appropriate?" he asked. "True," she said. "I must admit," he said, "I was somewhat put off by the somewhat calculating and mercenary nature of the arrangements connected with our prospective relationship." "One cannot be too careful," she said, "when patricians are involved." "I was not overly pleased," he said, "that you were only of the 105th degree of the Auresii." "Surely the 105th degree of the Auresii is comparable to, or superior to, that of the 103rd degree of the Ausonii," she said. "Scarcely," he said. She reddened, angrily.

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"It is true," he said. "Perhaps," she said. "I gathered," he said, "that you had certain anticipations of the nature of our relationship, and desired to impose certain conditions upon it." "Of course," she said. "Absolute superiority of the woman?" he asked. "At the very least," she said. "It must be remembered that, even though we are both sames, that we women must protect ourselves, as we are smaller and weaker than you." "A husband has no rights which he may enforce?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Not unless we permit it," she said. "Everything is up to the woman," he said. "Of course," she said. "It is all on your own terms," he said. "Yes, of course," she said.

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"What of nature?" he asked. "We have improved on nature," she said. "I wonder," he said. "As a same, you are not permitted to wonder about such things," she said. "It is forbidden to wonder about them." "But what if they are absurd?" he asked. "It is forbidden to ask such questions," she said. "Remember that you are a same!" "Perhaps you would now like me to kneel before you, and beg your hand in marriage," he said. "Certainly, if you wish," she said. "That would be entirely appropriate?" he asked. "Certainly," she said. "I was not truly eager for the marriage," he said. "What?" she said. "But I thought it might be construed as a portion of my duty to the empire," he said.

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"Your duty!" she cried. "Yes," he said. "Well, I was not eager for it either!" she said. "Why then did you agree to the matter?" he asked. "These things were arranged by my mother and another," she said. "Why did you agree to them?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. She regarded him, angrily. "Why?" "It was to my advantage!" she said. "You are a mercenary little thing," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I hate you!" she said. "Even on the Alaria I hated you." "It seems your feelings were somewhat ambivalent, ranging between disgust and greed," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I despised you." "And do you think I would have held you in high esteem, one only of

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the Auresii?" "Knave!" she said. "What sort of relationship would we have had?" he asked. "It would have been on my terms," she said. "I assure you of that!" "You do hate me, don't you?" he said. "Yes," she said. "Why?" he asked. "You are a weakling!" she said. "And doubtless you would punish me for that?" "Yes," she said, "I would have made you suffer! I was even considering ruining you!" "Would you not then have ruined yourself, as well?" "No!" she said. "I could have taken what I could from you, and then contracted other marriages." "You are materialistic, indeed," he said. She looked at him, in fury.

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"Therefore, what has happened to you is surely not inappropriate." "What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly. "Do you wish to discuss our possible marriage further?" he asked. "If you wish," she said, uncertainly. "You are a free woman," he said. "Yes," she said. "And you would consider proposing yourself as a marital partner to a free man?" "Certainly," she said. "Even to me," he said. "Possibly," she said. "Do you know the penalties for a slave girl who lies?" he asked. "How could I know such things?" she whispered. "I thought you might have heard," he said. "She would be severely punished," she said.

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"That is my understanding, as well," he said. "Such things are of no interest to me," she said. "I thought they might be." "No," she said. "You are Tribonius Auresius, of Terennia, where you are an officer of a court?" "Yes!" she said. "You are Tribonius Auresius, a free woman, one of the honestori, even of the patricians?" "Yes, of course," she said. "Normally," he said, "one might expect those of the patricians to wear some token of their blood, a purple ribbon, even a thread somewhere. Have you such a token?" "I did not so garb myself," she said. "Even though traveling?" "No," she said. "Do you have such a token about you?"

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"I normally do not wear the color," he said. "I find it does not fit well with same garb, and that it sometimes tends to evoke resentment or envy." "The lower orders are subject to such faults," she said. " 'The lower orders'?" "Yes." "I admire your ensemble," he said. "Thank you," she said. "They are clearly the garments of a free woman." "Of course," she said. "As I understand it, a slave girl who dares to don such garments without the authorization of the master may be severely punished, even slain." She turned white. "To be sure, sometimes a master will order his slave to wear such garments, perhaps because, for some reason, he wishes to keep her true status a secret." "Are you all right?" he asked.

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"Yes, yes," she said. "You are trembling," he said. "I think that I will be leaving now," she said. "You will remain," he said. "Please, Person Ausonius!" she said. "It is fortunate that you are not a slave girl," he said, "for a slave girl's addressing a free person by his name in that manner can be cause for severe discipline." "Do not forget that you are a same!" she said. "You are a free woman, are you not, even of the patricians?" "Yes," she said. "Yes!" "Your shoes are pretty," he said, "Remove them." She looked at him, agonized, but she dared not disobey such a direct order, as she was a slave. "Very well," she said. "No," he said, "not there, there."

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She rose from the bed, on which she had sat, and sat on the floor, beside the bed. "Now the hose," he said. He watched. Her legs were shapely. "Now rise," he said. "Come here." She stood small, trembling, before him. He put his hands to the scarf, at her throat. He very gently unwrapped it, revealing the slave collar. "Master!" she moaned, falling to her knees. "Do you really think I cannot tell a slave, when I see one?" he asked. "How she moves, the nature of her body, little things, of which she is not even aware." "You are a same!" she wept, looking up at him. "No," he said. "In my arms I have held a slave. I can no longer be a same. I have tasted slave meat." "Forgive me, Master!" she wept. "Do you think I do not know why a slave is sent to a man's room?" he

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asked. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "So," said he, looking down upon her, "this is what has become of my former

betrothed,

my

former

fiancée,

the

proud,

mercenary,

materialistic little snip, Tribonius Auresius." "Yes, Master," she said, fearfully. "The collar looks well on you." "Thank you, Master." "What is your name?" he asked. "I do not truly have a name," she said. "In this house I am called 'Flora'." "An excellent name for a slave," he said. "Thank you, Master," she said. "It will do," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Surely your master did not tell you to appear before me in the garments of a free woman."

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"No, Master," she said. "Remove them," he said. She hastened to rid herself of the garments of the free woman, and then there knelt before him the same slave who, earlier, had knelt before her master, she in the narrow bandeau, she of the black, twiceturned cloth cord, the bits of silk. She even, with acute selfconsciousness, realizing how this must accentuate the beauty of her figure, in misery, replaced the scarlet hair ribbon. "Aii," said Tuvo Ausonius. "But what is that flower in your belt?" he asked. "The slave flower," she said, "which I have been ordered to offer to you." "Your master thinks so little of you?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" she wept. "Place the flower on the foot of the bed," he said. "Remove your garments completely. Remain kneeling." "Yes, Master," she wept. "In the corner of the room, there," he said, pointing, "there is a slave

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whip. Crawl to it, on all fours, and fetch it, bring it back to me in your teeth." The slave complied. He took the whip from her and put it on the bed, by the flower. "Lift your wrists, crossed," he said. In a moment her wrists were lashed together. He then tied them to the ring at the foot of the bed, a common feature in many bedrooms in the empire. She then knelt at the foot of the bed, her wrists tied before her, to the ring. "You thought to make a fool of me," he said. "I do not care for that." He picked up the whip, and shook out the blades. "I am of the Auresii!" she said. "Are you?" he asked. "No, no!" she said. "I am only a slave girl!" "You came to this room under false pretenses," he said. "You dared to garb yourself without authorization in the garments of a free woman. You pretended to be free, to be the free woman, Tribonius

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Auresius, once my fiancée. Your speech was insolent. Many were the lies

that

passed

your

deceitful

lips.

By

recourse

to

insidious

psychological devices you attempted to bend me to your will. Though an animal you dared to speak of marriage. You addressed me by my name, soiling it, by putting it on the lips of a slave." "Mercy!" she begged. "There are many counts against you, Flora," he said. "Forgive me, Master!" she begged. "What I do not understand," he said, "is why you did these things." "From what I knew of you, Master," she wept, "I loathed you. The thought of you disgusted me. My very skin crawled at the thought of your touch." "Because you thought me a same, a weakling?" "Yes!" she said. "Do you think such things are true?" he asked. "No, Master," she said. "I see they are not." "But even if they had been true," he asked, "would they have excused your conduct?"

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"No, Master!" she said. "Is it up to the slave girl whom she will content and serve?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "It depends on whom?" he asked. "On the master!" she said. "Are the feelings of the slave girl of any account?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "You know these things?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she wept. "And yet you did what you did," he said. "Forgive me, Master," she said. His eye looked to the slave flower, on the foot of the bed. She followed his eye. "Punish me," she said. "I am yours to do with as you will." "Do you care for your master?" he asked.

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"I love him," she said. "A slave can love?" he asked. "No woman who is not a slave can know what love truly is," she said. "I have heard that love makes a slave of a woman," he said. "That is why such feelings are forbidden to sames," she said, "that women not be weakened, not be placed in such chains, not be so enslaved." "And yet," she said, "it is only in such bondage that they are truly themselves, and truly free." "Interesting," he said. "And think how much more so is this the case when the woman is truly slave, legally, and in all respects." "Surely you fear the labors, the terrors, of slavery," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "For we cannot choose our masters, and are owned, and must serve, unquestioningly. Yet, too, in such a condition, for all its miseries and terrors, we know ourselves the most needful and open to love, the most sexual, the most free, the most ourselves." He put aside the ship, and bent down, freeing her wrists.

Page 561

"You may offer me the slave flower," he said. Timidly, confused, she took the flower from the bed, and, kneeling before him, with two hands, lifted it to him. "I offer you my slave flower, Master," she said. "Stand," he said, "turn about, cross your wrists behind your back." Startled, the slave did as she was told. She felt her hands tied together, not gently, but rudely, tightly, behind her back. One hand still clung to the slave flower. She was tied in such a way that her hands were fastened rather at the center of the black, cloth cord, the ends of which were then brought together before her belly, and tied there, this holding her hands rather at the small of her back. "Master?" she said. "You have complied with the orders of your master," he said. "You have come to my room, and have offered me the slave flower." "Master?" "Perhaps you will come again, sometimes, to the room," he said, "and will serve me, and I will see to it that you do it well, indeed, with perfection, but now, now I think I will spare you for your master."

Page 562

"I do not understand," she said. "I do not accept the flower," he said. "I reject you. I am sending you back to your master." "Am I not of interest?" she asked. "Vixen," said he, "I am hastening you from the room before I cannot help myself, but throw you to the slave ring." "Master!" she cried, joyfully. "Once, too," he said, "you were of the honestori, of the empire, and a patrician." "But not now!" she said. "No, not now," he smiled. He took the flower from her and thrust it in the cord at her waist. He put the bandeau, the bits of silk, and the ribbon, too, beneath the cord, but at the left hip. He went to the door and opened it. She regarded him, wonderingly, gratefully. "Get out!" he said, hoarsely.

Page 563

"Master!" she cried. "Is it necessary to whip you from the room?" he inquired. "No, Master!" she said. At the door she stopped, momentarily, and lifted her lips to his cheek, and kissed it, lightly. "Thank you, Master," she said. "Now, shapely slave girl," he said, "get out!" "Yes, Master!" she said. "Oh!" she cried, sped forth into the hall, stung by a slap below the small of the back. The guard looked up, from his chair, and then rose to his feet. "She is rejected," said Tuvo Ausonius to the guard. "Do you want another?" asked the guard. "There is one I would like," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Who is she?" asked the guard. "It is not important," said Tuvo Ausonius, and retired within the

Page 564

room, and shut the door. Flora hurried past the guard, to return to the lower floor.

Page 565

CHAPTER 32 "Is it as she has spoken?" asked Otto. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. Flora knelt before the table, at which were seated Tuvo Ausonius, and a seeming same, the smaller individual who had accompanied him to the holding in the mountains, Julian, who was the master of the house, and Otto, her master. Two slaves were in attendance, who would serve the table. One's name was Renata, the other's Gerune. The individual seated by Tuvo Ausonius, she in same garb, seemed troubled, and fearful. It was the evening following the visit of Flora to the room of Tuvo Ausonius. Flora trembled. Her master has summoned her before the table. She knelt there, naked, save for a collar, her knees spread, in the fashion of a pleasure slave, her wrists crossed, her hands tied together before her body. Her master wished, it seemed, a full account of what had occurred in

Page 566

the room of Tuvo Ausonius. The slave, for example, had returned early, rejected, the slave flower thrust in the black cord, it then serving to bind her, holding her wrists to her back. She had been taken immediately to her cell, and unbound only within it, and then had been locked within. She had been denied her garment. Tuvo Ausonius had not objected to the interrogation of the slave, and had graciously acceded to Otto's request that he monitor her testimony, in order to assure its absolute fidelity to what had occurred. At times Otto's eyes had blazed with fury, and his fists had clenched on the table. But the slave fully, tearfully, honestly, gave an account of what she had done. "Such behavior is to be punished surely, and terribly," said Otto. "You see," said Otto, turning to Julian, "she is utterly worthless." "Then sell her," said Julian. Renata and Gerune exchanged frightened glances. They, too, could be sold on a whim. The lip of the individual seated by Tuvo Ausonius, she in same garb,

Page 567

trembled. Otto turned to Tuvo Ausonius. "You are he who was most abused by the impudence of this embonded slut," he said. "What punishment do you recommend?" The individual beside Tuvo Ausonius regarded him wildly, frightened. "There are complicated circumstances involved," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I would recommend lenience." Flora looked at him, wildly, gratefully. "Show your gratitude," said Otto. Flora sprang to her feet and hurried to kneel before Tuvo Ausonius. She put down her head and covered his feet with kisses. "Enough," said Julian, clapping his hands. "Let us feast. Too, I have a surprise for you, my friend, Otto, later. But now, let us have food and drink." "Slaves, serve!" said Julian, and Renata and Gerune hurried to a buffet, on which were placed numerous delicate viands and rare, precious wines. "Shall we withdraw?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "By all means, remain," said Julian, "as you are both honored

Page 568

guests." Tuvo Ausonius and she in same garb, with him, looked at one another. Renata and Gerune began to place food upon the table. Both slaves were in brief slave tunics, and collars. "We are still, I gather," said Tuvo Ausonius, "under arrest." "Certainly," said Julian. "I do not think my life is worth much outside this holding," said Tuvo Ausonius. "New identities might be arranged," said Julian. "My ultimate allegiance," said Tuvo Ausonius, "is to the empire." "So, too, is mine," said Julian. Gerune placed a goblet before Tuvo Ausonius, and poured wine into it. "I think, of late," said Tuvo Ausonius, "I have learned something of which, hitherto, I had known little." "What is that?" asked Julian.

Page 569

"Honor," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is my hope," said Julian, "that more in the empire will recollect it." Renata poured wine for Otto. He lifted his hand, slightly, and she desisted. "Master, may I assist?" asked Flora, lifting her wrists to Otto. "Thank you, Master," she said, freed. She hurried to assist in the serving. Otto watched her, his fists clenched. How beautiful she was, the slave. She returned in a moment with a plate filled with tiny cakes. "Perhaps I should send you to the kitchen, to scour the tiles," said Otto. "As Master wishes," she said. "You may remain," he said. "Thank you, Master!" she said. Her flanks were exquisite, and the little slave, the vixen, was doubtless not unaware of that.

Page 570

The individual seated by Tuvo Ausonius, she in same garb, seemed uneasy, being served by the slaves, Renata and Gerune, and then Flora. It was almost as though she was frightened to be where she was, seated, at the table. She looked anxiously at Tuvo Ausonius, but, if he noticed her agitation, he gave no sign of it. Julian, however, had been considering her, with some attention, and was not unaware of her lack of ease. "Your colleague," said Julian, addressing himself to Tuvo Ausonius, "is a female, is she not?" The garmentures, and practices, of sames are designed to minimize and obscure sexual differences. Among sames, by intent, it is often difficult to distinguish the sexes. Tuvo Ausonius turned to the individual at his side. "Such things are not of interest to sames, of course," she said. "But you are a female, are you not?" asked Julian. "Yes," she said, "I am a female." "It is my understanding," said Julian to Tuvo Ausonius, "that you are no longer a same." This information, of course, had emerged earlier, in

Page 571

the interrogation of a slave. "That is true," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I am no longer a same." "It seems surprising then that you would travel in the company of a same," said Julian. "Perhaps," smiled Tuvo Ausonius. "One might expect then that one of your station, and income," said Julian, "might own a slave." "True," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You understand that for purposes of security, we have kept you and Person Sesella separate," said Julian. "Of course," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is not as though she were a meaningless slave," said Julian. "Of course," said Tuvo Ausonius. "And doubtless, as she is a same, she is simple, plain, homely, even ugly, and of no interest whatsoever." Tuvo Ausonius looked annoyed. The individual beside Tuvo Ausonius, she in same garb, regarded

Page 572

him, frightened. "Here, Renata, Gerune, Flora," said Julian. "Parade and pose before our guest." The slaves did so, and well, as they were slaves, and commanded. Any personal feelings they might have had were immaterial. The individual beside Tuvo Ausonius became then quite agitated. "There are three beauties," said Julian. "Pick any of them. She will be sent to your room this evening." Gerune cast a wild, pleading glance at Julian. "You do not mind, do you, Otto?" said Julian. "No," said Otto. "They are only slaves." Renata and Flora looked at Otto, pleadingly, but knowing they were slaves. "None of them," said Tuvo Ausonius. The three girls cast wild glances about, among themselves, of relief, but, too, of surprise. "I would prefer another," said Tuvo Ausonius.

Page 573

"I can summon others," said Julian. "There are some in the kitchen, some with the guards, some in kennels below." "May I pick my own?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Of course," said Julian. "And may I offer you something?" he said. "Of course," said Julian. "I have something here," he said. He snapped his fingers. "Yes, Master!" cried the small figure at his side. She leapt gratefully, delightedly, to her feet and began to tear away the same garb which had obscured what, in a moment, was to be delightfully revealed. "Aii!" cried Julian. "Superb!" said Otto. "Ahhh," cried the slaves. There now knelt, before the table, in a tiny tunic of red silk, and collared, a startlingly beautiful slave.

Page 574

"Excellent," said Julian. "What do you call her?" " 'Sesella'," said Tuvo Ausonius. "That is a slave name?" said Julian. "Of course," said Tuvo Ausonius. "But she wore same garb," said Julian. The pretty slave put her head down, frightened. "That seemed appropriate," said Tuvo Ausonius, "to conceal her identity and status." "I understand," said Julian. "Such things are not concealed now," said Otto. "No," admitted Tuvo Ausonius. "Would you like to resume your place at the table?" asked Julian of the exquisite, frightened slave before him. "No, no, Master!" she said, frightened. "Why not?" he inquired.

Page 575

"I am a slave," she said. "It is more fitting that I kneel in the presence of masters." "Let Sesella, now in her turn, parade and pose," said Tuvo Ausonius. The slave, frightened, walked before the men. "Interest them," said Tuvo Ausonius. "You are a slave." The slave obeyed, pausing, crouching, kneeling, sitting, casting glances, extending a limb, calling attention, delicately, in this fashion and that, frightened, to her indisputable, marvelous, commanded loveliness. "Excellent," said Julian. "Splendid," said Otto. Well, you see, was her master's property exhibited. "Obeisance," snapped Tuvo Ausonius. Instantly, as slaves must obey, did she assume a common position of obeisance, kneeling, her head down to the floor, the palms of her hands on the floor. "An exquisite slave," said Julian. "Indeed," said Otto.

Page 576

"I offer her to either of you, or both, for the evening," said Tuvo Ausonius. The slave gasped in misery. Her small shoulders shook. "But you would like her, would you not?" asked Julian. "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I shall send her to your room tonight," said Julian. From the slave there came a tiny sound, of joy. "But are we not to be kept separated?" inquired Tuvo Ausonius. "If she were a free woman, of course," said Julian. "But as she is not a free woman but only, as is now evident, a meaningless slave, it does not matter." "My thanks, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Chain her well," said Julian. "I shall, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "And if her cries of ecstasy become too obtrusive you might, for the sake of the rest of others, consider gagging her."

Page 577

"Of course, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Perhaps, my dear," said Julian to the slave, "you would care to assist in the serving?" "Yes, Master!" she said gratefully. "Thank you, Master!" The four slaves then, Renata, Gerune, Flora and Sesella, addressed themselves to the serving of the supper. Sesella seemed jealous to serve Tuvo Ausonius, hurrying to him, placing herself before others and such. The other slaves did not object. She was, after all, his own slave. Sometimes, of course, such competitions tend to be adjudicated later in the kitchen or slave quarters, which loci, as one might suppose, are not entirely unacquainted with biting, scratching, screaming, kicking, the pulling of hair and other such unpleasant modalities of arbitration. Better surely the sword and spear. "Is it thus," asked Julian, turning to Otto, "that the women of the enemy, now captives, or now slaves, would serve in barbarian halls and camps?" "More likely, all would serve nude, save for their collars," said Otto. Tuvo Ausonius snapped his fingers and Sesella, blushing, dropped aside her silk. A moment later Renata, at the merest glance from Otto, discarded

Page 578

her slave tunic. "Yes, Dira!" she whispered. "Yes!" Flora was already unclad, save for the band on her neck, closed by the small stout lock, in the back. "Please, no, Master," said Gerune, standing before Julian. "You were a woman of the Ortungs, of the Drisriaks," said Julian. "Indeed you were a princess of those tribes." "Please, no, Master," begged Gerune. "Would women of the empire not serve thusly at given feasts in the camps and halls of the Ortungs, of the Drisriaks?" inquired Julian. "Yes, Master," she said, tears in her eyes. "Strip," said Julian. "Yes, Master," she said. "Now continue serving," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Now I know I am a slave," she said. Later, over liqueurs, Julian called one of the guards to him. "I mentioned to you, earlier," he said, "that I had a surprise in store for you."

Page 579

"Yes?" said Otto. The guard returned in a moment, bearing the cylindrical leather case which had been borne earlier by the magistrate, he preceded by the twelve lictors. It had been recovered from the outer bailey, where it had fallen. Julian removed the cap and took from the case a rolled paper, bound with a ribbon and seal. "Do you know the seal?" asked Julian. "No," said Otto. "It is the seal of the imperial war office," he said. He broke the seal and spread the paper, flat, it curling up at the ends, on the table. "It is your commission," said Julian. "Is it in order?" inquired Otto. "Yes,"

said

Julian.

"They

would

not

have

dared,

under

the

circumstances, it having been requested by me, not to grant the commission. Too, it would not have been issued from the war office had the authorizations not been in place. Copies of this, too, as a matter of routine, will be filed in various offices, on numerous worlds, wherever it might

be

thought

expedient to check

credentials,

particularly if a breakdown in communications occurred with the

Page 580

capital world. In short, the commission is authentic. It is merely they had not expected it to be received. Our friend, Tuvo Ausonius, was to have seen to that, and, if that failed, the magistrate and his henchmen, serving as lictors, were to make certain of the matter." "Make your mark here," said Julian. A pen was brought, and Otto made a mark on the paper, where Julian indicated. Otto, raised in a festung village on Tangara, could neither read nor write. In this he did not differ from millions throughout the empire. His mark was a crudely drawn, very carefully drawn, very slowly drawn, spear. "Gerune, bring drink!" said Julian. He was standing. Gerune hurried forward and filled the goblets of the men. "Captain!" said Julian, lifting his goblet. "Captain!" said Tuvo Ausonius, rising to his feet. "My thanks," said Otto, acknowledging the toast. The three men drank. Though it seemed a small thing, and one is not to be blamed for thinking little of such things at the time, this was an evening, and a

Page 581

moment, which later assumed some importance in the history of the empire. Some have seen it as one of those mysterious hinges on which fate is sometimes, at a much later date, noted to have turned. "It is late!" said Julian. "Gather up your things," said Tuvo Ausonius to Sesella. "Master?" she asked, finding the envelope which he had given into her hands earlier in the afternoon, when he had ordered her from the room, shortly before he, Julian and Otto, following Julian, had vacated the same room, which shortly thereafter had been rocked with an explosion. Sesella had placed the envelope within the same garb, but had not raised the question of its contents. If she had been a free woman it would not have been appropriate for her to have opened it, and as a slave, of course, it would have been far less appropriate. Indeed, as a slave, she would not have dared to open it. A slave knows her place, and, under certain circumstances, fears for her very skin and life. Too, it may be recalled that she and Tuvo Ausonius had been kept separated after their arrest until the supper of this evening. Little opportunity had occurred at supper to bring up the matter, and, in any event, it would not, even had she not been a mere slave, have seemed appropriate to have done so. Now, however, she lifted the envelope. Should it, whatever it might be, whatever its contents might be, be returned to Tuvo Ausonius, or should she keep it with the same garb? Obviously there was no place to keep it in the bit of silk in her grasp. "May I?" asked Julian, extending his hand.

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"Yes, Milord," said Tuvo Ausonius, reddening slightly. Sesella surrendered the envelope to Julian and he opened it, and perused the contents. "Person Ausonius, it seems," said Julian to the slave Sesella, now kneeling before him, "suspected the treachery of Iaachus, arbiter of protocol, or that of someone purportedly acting on his behalf. He had apparently intended to risk opening the case while unattended, in the event his suspicions were justified. But he had with him a slave, of whom, despite the fact she was a mere slave, he had, it seems, made the mistake of permitting himself to grow fond." Sesella threw a wild, joyful glance at Tuvo Ausonius, but he glared at her, angrily, with embarrassed savagery, and she instantly lowered her head, but seemed to smile. "These papers," said Julian, "pertain to such a slave." Sesella lifted her head. "Flora," said Julian. The slave girl addressed was kneeling to one side. "Master?" she said. "You have had some training in the law, have you not?" asked Julian.

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"Yes, Master." "To be sure," said Julian, "given your nature, it would have been better had you been trained as a slave girl from the cradle." "Yes, Master," she said. "What do you think is the purport of these papers?" asked Julian. "They are doubtless papers of manumission, Master," said Flora. "No!" protested Sesella. "It is clear you are from Terennia," smiled Julian. "Master?" asked Flora. "Do you not understand that lovely Sesella is as much a slave girl as you?" "Yes, Master," said Flora. "Do you think that slave girls are freed?" he asked. "No, Master," she said. "Do you think these are papers of manumission?" Julian asked Sesella.

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"I trust not, Master," she said. "The purport of these papers," said Julian, "is that his wealth, and estate, what they are, and certain funds supposed to have been deposited on Miton in his name, were to be used to secure you a light slavery and a kind master." "Ah," said Sesella. "Incidentally, Person Ausonius," said Julian, "I rather suspect that the funds supposed to have been deposited for you on Miton have not been so deposited." Tuvo Ausonius nodded. One who has been blasted to atoms had little need of such resources. "What think you of the generosity of your master?" asked Julian. "I do not know if my master knows that what he owns is truly a slave girl," said Sesella. "Oh?" said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius regarded her, with interest. "The thought means much to me," she said.

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"Speak clearly," said Julian. "I want my slavery to be real," she said. "I want to know that I am a slave." "The lightness of your slavery is not important to you?" asked Julian. "Such matters," she said, "are at the discretion of the master. I am a slave." "A master is to be under no obligations in such matters?" "No, Master," she said. "But surely you would wish a kind master," said Julian. "I want a strong master," she said, "one who is not weak, one who will take what he wants from me, as he wants it, and how he wants it, one who will not compromise in the least with me." "Surely you would want him to be kind?" "Oh, yes," she said. "At least sometimes. And sometimes we hope desperately for that." "I see," said Julian. "But such things are meaningless," she said, "except against a background of strength, a background of leather and iron."

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"Give me the papers," said Tuvo Ausonius. Julian handed the papers, and the envelope, to Ausonius. To the wonder of Sesella, and the others there, Tuvo Ausonius tore the papers, and even the envelope, to bits. "I see I was too lenient with you, slave girl," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No special provisions should have been made for you, for you are a true slave girl. Should anything happen to me now, you will be merely another of my properties, to be disposed of at the discretion of others, as what you are, merely a chattel. You will take your chances, like any other slave, in the open market." "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master!" He regarded her. "But I want to be yours!" she said. "I may sell you," he said. "No!" she cried. Then she hurried to him, and put her head to his feet. "Let me serve you that you will desire to keep me!" she said. "I will have you serve me as few slaves have ever served a man," he said, "now that I know, fully, what you are!"

Page 587

"Yes, Master," she said. "I want to serve as what I am, fully. I love you! I love you!" He rose to his feet, and nodded to Julian and Otto. "What of the same garb?" asked Julian. "Burn it," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It will be done," said Julian. "It is unbecoming to a slave girl," said Tuvo Ausonius. "True," said Julian. Sesella looked down at the gray, formless heap of concealing, disguising materials thrown to the floor. "Heel me," said Tuvo Ausonius, "slave girl." "Yes, Master!" she said. At the door to the room she looked back, once, at the same garb on the floor. She realized that she might never again be put in such garb. She was a slave girl and would now, presumably, be clad, if she were clad, accordingly. "No!" said Tuvo Ausonius, suddenly, a little beyond the portal. "You will precede me."

Page 588

"As a free woman?" she asked. "No," said he, "as a female slave on whom I look at my pleasure." "I do not know the way," she said. "I shall direct you," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Move," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. She hurried on ahead then, clutching in her right hand a tiny bit of scarlet silk. "It is late," said Julian. Gerune hurried to Julian, and knelt before him. "What is it?" he asked. "You have taught me that I am a slave," she said. "I would serve you as such." "Is this the proud Gerune, the barbarian princess, the princess of the Ortungs and Drisriaks?" he asked.

Page 589

"No, Master," she said. "It is only Gerune, your slave, naked and in her collar, who begs to serve you." He looked at her for some time. Tears were in her eyes. "Hurry before me to my chambers," he said. "Prepare them for love." "Yes, Master!" she cried, and leapt to her feet, hurrying from the room. Julian rose to his feet. "It is the turn of Renata, as I recall, from the roster in the kitchen, to clear, and to restore the room," said Julian. Otto looked up. "Unless you wish otherwise," said Julian. Otto had made it clear earlier that Renata, his curvaceous blond slave from the summer world, was to participate in the duties of the house. "No," said Otto. Flora looked up, startled.

Page 590

"What of the guard?" asked Julian. "What of this one?" asked Otto, indicating Flora. "But it is Renata who is on the roster," said Julian. "Surely he should receive some compensation for his inconvenience, supervising her labors," said Otto. "Excellent," said Julian. The guard would presumably enjoy Renata on the tiles of the floor of the dining hall, and he might, also, if he wished, take her by the hair to the mat in his quarters. She should, however, be kenneled before dawn. "I will want a good report on you before noon," said Otto. "I do not wish to have to have to whip you." "It will not be necessary to whip me, Master," she said. "If the guard should show interest in you," said Otto, "see to it that you are fully pleasing." "I will not be able to help myself, Master," she said. "He is a man. I am a slave." "You may begin to clear," said Julian.

Page 591

"Yes, Master," said Renata, attending to the table. "I am going to my room," said Otto. "Master!" said Flora. "I did not realize that it was Renata's turn on the roster," said Otto. "It seems to have turned out that way," said Julian. "Master, please, Master!" said Flora. "Treacherous, lying slut," snarled Otto at the kneeling slave. "It is fortunate

for

you

that

Tuvo

Ausonius

recommended

lenience.

Otherwise you might have been thrown to the dogs." "Yes, Master," she whispered. Otto then turned about and strode angrily from the room. Julian gathered up the commission from the table. He looked down at the slave who knelt there, her head in her hands. "It is growing late," he said. "It is appropriate then that you should either be in your cell or chained in your master's room." "Master?" she asked.

Page 592

"There is a slave rose in the kitchen," he said. "It is fresh, and beautiful."

Page 593

CHAPTER 33 The dark-haired slave knelt before Otto, in the privacy of his chambers. A lamp, suspended on three chains, burned to one side. Heavy tapestries were about, hunting and battle scenes, but they were muchly

dark

now,

their

thick,

heavily

woven

textures

hardly

discernible. There were narrow bars on the window. Shadows were cast by the massive couch. "How dare you have come here?" had inquired Otto, who had opened the door in response to the timid knock. There, kneeling in the threshold, had been the slave. "Master Julian has sent me," she said, frightened. In her hands there was a silver tray, on which were a flask of wine, with a goblet, and some viands, and a flower. "It is thoughtful of him to send me a light collation," said Otto. He gestured that the slave might enter. She did so, and placed the tray on a table, near the couch. She was dressed in a brief slave tunic, much like Renata and Gerune had worn earlier.

Page 594

It seemed that Julian, who had much taken her garmenting and her quarters in hand, had decided that she would no longer wear the long, sleeveless garment of wool, that which had been for so long her garment in her cell. Otto looked away from her, angrily. Her legs were superb. She then knelt at the foot of the couch. "You may leave," said Otto, not looking at her. "Master Julian," she said, "has desired that I inquire after your wants." "You have now done so," he said. "You may now leave." "It is late," she said. "At this hour I might be severely punished if found in the halls." At this hour it would be normal for a slave to be secured, perhaps in the master's room, perhaps in the slave quarters, in a cell, or kennel, such things. "You came here upon command," he said. "But a guard may seize me and beat me," she said. "Inform him that you are here on the orders of the master of the house," said Otto.

Page 595

"Master Julian will not wish to be disturbed now," she said. "Then be whipped," said Otto, angrily. "At the least," she said, "I would spend the night in close chains." "I will bind your hands behind your back," said Otto, "and then it will be understood that you are in proper custody." "I was being kept in a cell," she said. "But now it has been taken from me." "You now have a kennel?" asked Otto. "Yes," she said. "Is it clean and dry?" he asked. "I must keep it that way," she said. "How large is it?" he asked. "It is larger than the cage you keep me in on Varna," she said. "You look well in a cage," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

Page 596

She looked about. "It seems Master has not slept," she said. Otto growled with rage. "Master?" she asked, innocently. "May I pour the wine, Master?" she asked. "I would have a woman," said Otto suddenly, fiercely. She rose to her feet, unbidden, to pour the wine. Otto looked to the slave whip, on its hook, on the wall, but he did not advance toward it, and remove it from its hook. She poured the wine. "The girls are now in service," she said, "or kenneled for the night. I suppose one might be brought up, from the kennels." She replaced the decanter on the tray. "I am a woman," she said. Otto cried out with rage. She took the goblet and knelt before him, kissing it and then lifting it to him. "I have been sent," she said, "to inquire after your wants."

Page 597

"My wants," said Otto, in rage, "are well satisfied." "What of mine?" she cried, suddenly, tears brimming in her eyes. "What of my wants?" "They are nothing," said Otto. "They are only those of a female slave." He turned away from her. "Do not treat us with such cruelty!" she cried. " 'Us'?" he said. "Slaves," she wept. "You do not know what it is to be a woman, and a slave. You do not know what it is to be in bondage, to be property, to be owned. You do not understand how this at once makes us so vulnerable, so helpless, and yet so free and needful. Do you think we do not know the meaning of our brands, of the collars on our necks? Do you think we do not understand how it is that we are garbed as we are, and what this means? Can you not understand how such things touch us in our deepest belly, how they liberate, and inflame, our sexuality? Have you not heard how desperate we are to obey, to love and to serve, to be the most complete and perfect of women, to be mastered, and in being mastered, in our own conquest, to become most ourselves, and secure our greatest fulfillment, our greatest exultation and ecstasy? Can you not understand how we long to return to the very wellsprings of our being, to the world in which we were bred, a world of flint, of hammers and thongs? Have you not heard

Page 598

how slave girls, in their kennels, weep and scratch, and moan, and cry out for the touch of a man? Do you think any other woman can know the heats of one who is a slave? Can you understand what it is to be subject to sale, to know that one must please, to fear the whip, to know that one is owned? I have screamed with need, for the touch of my master, and he does not even look upon me!" Otto turned to regard her. "I beg kindness," she said. "You are worthless," he said. "A thousand things have shown me this." "Even the lowliest, and most worthless of slaves," she said, "may beg her master for his touch." "And you do so?" said Otto. "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes, Master!" Otto took the wine from her. He put it on the tray. "Strange remarks," he said, "for one who was formerly an officer of a court on Terennia." "That was long ago, Master," she said. She put her fingers to her

Page 599

collar. She lifted it, just a little, on her neck. "See, Master," she said, "I am now only your slave." "It is true," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He looked down upon the distraught beauty. "Do not send me away, Master," she said. "Is this behavior seemly in one who was once an officer of a court on Terennia?" he asked. "Surely," she said, "if she who was an officer of a court on Terennia was even then a slave, deceitfully concealing the fact, which deceit she is now no longer permitted to practice, for her slavery has now been confirmed upon her, publicly, for all to see, legally, for all to know." "Are you not ashamed?" he asked. "No, Master, for slaves are not permitted shame." "It is obvious that you are no longer a free woman," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "You would love, and serve and obey?"

Page 600

"With my whole heart, and all that I am, and might be," she said. "Surely you lie," he said. "No!" she wept. "Cannot you see the transformation which has taken place in me, that I am now collared, am now a helpless slave, that I am owned, and you are my master, and that I love you!" "Lying slut," he snarled. "Then hate me," she wept. "Abuse me! Tie me to a ring and whip me, if you wish! But do not neglect me! That is the most cruel of all!" "Do you not find me attractive, even a little?" she asked. He cried out with rage. "Master?" she asked, frightened. "Yes," he cried. "I find you attractive, slave slut! If I did not know you, do you think I would not ride a thousand leagues to capture you, to put a rope on you and run you beside my stirrup? Do you think I would not, having merely glimpsed you in a public place, have followed you, and scouted your residence, and entered it, and stolen you? Do you think I could have rested before you were safe at my feet, on my chain? Do you think I would not break walls, subdue cities, and fight armies to own you?" "To own me!" she cried.

Page 601

"Yes," he said, angrily. "Master!" she cried, delighted. "But I do know you!" he cried. "I know how meaningless, and petty, and treacherous, and worthless you are!" "Then treat me as your enemy," she said, "and subdue me! Teach me my defeat!" "Bitch," he said. "You are a barbarian," she said. "Do you think I do not know how you view women of the empire? As booty, worth only a pittance as slaves!" "How can you know this?" he said. "Do you think that slaves do not know who are their rightful masters, and that they do not long for them?" He glared at her, savagely. "I am yours," she said. "Put me mercilessly to your pleasure. I beg it!" He turned away, his fists clenched. "I have been trained to please," she said. "I am sure you will find me

Page 602

suitable. My tongue has been educated. I have been taught the use of my hair. I can cater to the most refined taste, or to the most savage taste!" "You are a true slave," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "If your kennel is so spacious and pleasant," he said, "perhaps you should soon go to it." "It is still a kennel, Master," she said. He turned, again, angrily, to face her. "And doubtless one too good for such as you," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Perhaps I shall speak to Julian," he said, "that a crate, or tiny bitch cage, may be arranged." "As Master wishes," she said. "What more could a slave want?" he asked. She turned a little, putting her fingers on the furs with which the massive couch was bedecked.

Page 603

"These are softer, Master," she whispered. "Turn them down," he said. "Yes, Master," she said, rising. "With your hands clasped behind you, with your teeth," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. When she had completed her task she knelt again, at the foot of the couch. "You have brought me a light collation," he said. "You have turned down the bed. You may now leave." "Master!" she wept, pleadingly, looking up at him. He put his hand upon her. "Master!" she begged. "It is well," he said, "that there is no nether closure in a slave tunic." "Yes, Master," she sobbed. He pointed to the door. She rose to her feet and went slowly toward the door. She paused at

Page 604

the door, weakly, defeated, leaning her head against the stout, dark wood. He looked to the tray on which was the goblet, the decanter of wine, the viands, the slave flower. She was sobbing. He heard the latch lifted. The door had opened only a little, little more than a crack, to let the slave slip through, when she jerked her hands back, alarmed, as the door was thrust shut again, loudly, with fury. She turned, frightened, her back against the wood, looking up at the gigantic form that loomed over her. Otto's arms were over her shoulders, the palms of his hands flat on the door. His hands then were lowered to her shoulders, to the slave tunic there. Angrily he tore it down, away from her arms, to her hips. For an instant it seemed she would have darted her hands to her breasts, as though, in sudden embarrassment, to cover them, but, just as suddenly, she recalled she was before her master and put her arms down, a little behind her, their palms against the heavy dark wood of the door. Her eyes were frightened. He turned about and strode to the other side of the room. He turned about, again, and studied her, she standing there, against the door, in the light of the lamp, hanging from its tiny chains, hooked to a beam in the ceiling. There was a glint of the warm lamplight on the band on her neck, the steel of her collar. Her long dark hair was behind her shoulders. "Yes," he said. "You are a pretty slave. Let us see the rest of you."

Page 605

"Master!" she protested. Then she slipped the shreds of the slave tunic away. She stood with her back against the wood, the palms of her hands, too, flat, back, against the wood. "You are a pretty slave," he said. "Why should you not be used, like any other?" "Are you too good for use?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "Turn about," he said. "Bolt the door." Two heavy bolts, one after the other, were thrust home, securing the great door. "Kneel there," he said, "facing me." "Proud woman of the empire," he said. She shook her head, negatively. "Now only a slave," he said. "Yes, Master," she said.

Page 606

"Here," he said, pointing to his feet, "crawl, on your belly." She went to her belly, and crawled to his feet, where, her head down, she covered them with kisses. "You are afraid, aren't you?" he said. "Yes, Master," she whispered. "On all fours," he said. "Go to the tray. Fetch the slave flower in your teeth." She went to the tray and, turning her head, delicately, managed to grip the stem of the flower in her teeth. She then backed to where he stood, and put down her head, and placed the flower at his feet, between them. "You offer me the slave flower?" he asked. She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. "Yes, Master," she said. "Pick it up, again, in your teeth," he said. "Yes, Master," she whispered. Then she had the stem between her teeth, the flower to the left side of her lips, the base of the stem to the right. She lifted her head to him, the flower between her teeth.

Page 607

"You again offer me the slave flower?" he asked. She nodded, tears in her eyes. "And more properly this time?" he said. She nodded, again, and lifted her head even more, proffering the flower. To her consternation, he crouched down before her, and pried open her teeth. "You do not offer it to me," he said, angrily. "I take it," he said. He tore it from her mouth. She shuddered. "On your knees, hands clasped behind you," he said. "Draw the furs to the floor, at the foot of the couch." She looked at him, wildly. "One such as you surely did not expect the dignity of being used upon its surface, did you?" She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "With your teeth, of course," he said.

Page 608

She drew the furs from the couch. She then, on all fours, as he stood to one side, her head down, using only her teeth, as she knew she must, spread them carefully. She knelt to one side. He snapped his fingers, and pointed to the furs. "On them, slave girl," he said. Obediently she crawled to the furs. He dropped the slave flower down, beside her. He arranged her, as he wished. "Master?" she said, as her small wrists were locked in the cuffs of chains, one to each side, above her, behind her. "I have waited long for you," he said. "Ever since the court on Terennia." "And I have waited long for you, my master," she said. "Ever since the court on Terennia." He crouched down beside her, and put the slave flower again between her teeth, but it did not remain there long.

Page 609

"This will be done quickly," he said. "Then I will teach you what it is to be a slave." "Oh!" she cried. He pulled the flower from between her teeth and cast it to the side. "Your slave flower has been plucked, my dear," he said. "That can be done but once, and now, among knowing men, you will have even greater value as a slave." "Yes, Master," she whispered. It was long that she lay in his chains, and in this time she experienced

feelings,

and

ecstasies,

which

she

had

not

even

understood were possible, and further knew that in them she had only begun to sense what might await her, could only begin to dimly sense new dawns, rising on new worlds, far seas, distant horizons, beckoning continents of sentience, realities toward which she wished to race, but knew that she must in any event follow, whether she wished to or not, in the chains of masters. "Already you writhe well," Otto commented. "I am totally yours, my savage master, my barbarian Lord !" she wept. "That is known to me," he said, "slave girl."

Page 610

"More! More! Do not stop!" she begged. "I shall do as I please," he informed her. "Yes, Master!" she wept. "This is what you are good for," he informed her. "Yes, Master!" she wept. "But I want to serve you, too, in all ways, totally, helplessly!" "You will," he informed her. Toward morning it was necessary to gag her. When the sounds of the rising of the house were audible in the corridor, Otto rose and dressed. He looked down at the slave, who was curled on the furs, and looking up at him. She was no longer gagged, and the only bond now on her was a chain which ran to her left ankle, fastening her to a ring at the foot of the couch. She looked away from him, trembling. Yes, he thought, it seems possible that she has the makings of a good slave.

Page 611

CHAPTER 34 Otto and Julian breakfasted upon a terrace, one outside the office which had suffered much damage in the explosion. The seared, protective dome, which could withstand most strafing blasts from atmospheric craft, had been returned to its sheath. The morning was bright, and the air crisp. The mountains, which could be seen over the terrace, were striking in the sunlight. On the tops of some distant peaks there was snow, some of which lingered throughout the year. The breakfast was being served by a barbarian slave girl whose name was Gerune, who now wore the simple, short slave tunic which was common to women of her condition throughout the empire. When not serving she knelt to one side, to be ready if aught was desired. She was clearly a beautiful slave, and was becoming well trained. Earlier this morning, before breakfast, Julian and Otto had bid farewell to a citizen of the empire and his slave. They had left in a road vehicle, and the citizen had had in his possession new papers, which were excellently done, .and unlikely to provoke suspicion at almost any checkpoint. His purse was also filled with coins and certain letters of credit, and introduction. He wore clothing of a sort common in the empire, at least among the upper honestori, the patricians and such, a tunic and robe. These were not ostentatious and were not likely to attract undue attention. The slave who accompanied him wore slave garb, in this case, Serian slave leather, which her master had picked out for her. This was a combination of garment and harness, which held her hands buckled in cuffs behind her. She was also

Page 612

leashed, which leash ran to the ring on the thick leather collar, part of the harnesslike garment. No identificatory papers were required for her, no more than for any other animal. There was, however, required for her, a health certificate. This was kept by the master. It primarily attested that, at the time of the preparation of the certificate, the slave had been found free of communicable disease. She might, thus, be legally transported among worlds. Julian and Otto looked up from their coffees, as I shall call them. One, favored by Julian, was feldis, a steaming, bluish-black liquid brewed from the feldis lichen. It was popular in the navy, particularly on long interstellar flights. He did not care greatly for kemac, brewed from the stewing of kemac leaves, popular at the court. The other, sipped by Otto, was oris, a bitter, black fluid generally served hot, as well. It was brewed from the oris root, found only on Sybyl II. It was expensive, and rare. Otto did not find the taste displeasing. Many, and diverse, thought Otto, are the riches of the empire. "Slaves," announced the guard. He had approached, being preceded by two slaves, Renata and Flora. They were naked, and each had a whip tied about their neck, and their hands were thonged behind them. They both knelt, head down, before the table. Each, as we may recall, had been consigned to duties in the house. In this regard, they were both now being presented before Julian. Julian put down his coffee.

Page 613

"Was Renata satisfactory?" Julian asked the guard, he to whom Renata's custody had been given the preceding evening. "Yes, milord," said the guard. "She worked well?" "Yes, milord." "And did you require slave use from her?" "Yes, milord." "How was she?" "A slave, milord," he said. "Totally?" "Yes, milord." "Excellent," said Julian. He then regarded the kneeling Flora. "As I recall, my dear," he said, "you were sent last night with a light supper to the room of my friend, Otto, and were to see to his comfort and needs." "Yes, Master," she said. "Was everything satisfactory?" Julian asked Otto.

Page 614

"Yes," he said. "And did you require slave use from her?" "Yes," said Otto. "How was she?" asked Julian. "She is already muchly needful," said Otto. "And I think that, in a matter of even days, she will be helplessly so, and will crawl, and whine and beg, and will do anything for the touch of a master." "You found her satisfactory then?" said Julian. "Yes," said Otto, "for a new slave, one whose slave flower was only recently plucked, one at this stage in her development and training." "Excellent," said Julian. He then turned to the guard. "Take the slaves away," he said. "To the kitchen." "Yes, milord," said the man. The two slaves rose quickly to their feet, and turned about. "Wait," said Otto. The party hesitated.

Page 615

"That one," said Otto. "Give her ten lashes in the kitchen." Both slaves trembled. "The one with dark hair," said Otto. Renata visibly relaxed and Flora stiffened, in bewilderment, and apprehension. "You were not satisfied?" inquired Julian. "That is not it," said Otto. "It is merely to remind her that she is a slave." "Excellent," said Julian. He then waved his hand, and the party left the terrace, the slaves preceding their guard. "She will doubtless be twice as diligent tonight," said Julian. "When I next call her," said Otto. "Tonight, I think I will call Renata." The men then returned to their coffees. "Abrogastes will grow ever more dangerous," said Julian. "You would have me recruit on Tangara, among the Otungs," said Otto.

Page 616

The Otungs were one of the five tribes of the Vandal nation. They are not to be confused with the Ortungs, which was a secessionist tribe from the Drisriaks, one of the eleven traditional tribes of the Alemanni. "Yes, but alas," said Julian, "for my hopes in this matter have been frustrated by the long delay in the delivery of your commission." "In what way?" asked Otto, puzzled. "The time is no longer ripe," said Julian, wearily. "It had to have been done earlier." "Why?" asked Otto. "Because, on Tangara, among the Otungs," said Julian, gravely, "this is now the Killing Time." "I have heard of that," said Otto. "It is too dangerous to go there at such a time," said Julian. "I will leave immediately," said Otto. "As you wish," said Julian.

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The King (The third book in the Telnarian Histories series) (1993) A novel by John Norman

June 2009 : Paperback Title: The King (The Telnarian Histories) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 158586725X / 9781585867257 (USA edition) Publisher: E-Rights/E-Reads Ltd

September 1993 : Paperback Title: The King (The Telnarian Histories) Author(s): John Norman ISBN: 0446362409 / 978-0-446-36240-5 (USA edition) Publisher: Warner Books

The King John Norman *** This book is dedicated to all who approve of, and welcome, and celebrate, the liberty and glory of the human imagination. ***

PROLOGUE "

And there were wolves in the land."

-The Annals "Let us laugh with steel." -An Otung Saying "Let us see if there are men here." -A Drisriak Challenge "The laurel is unpicked; We have forgotten the festivals; The laurel is unpicked; The statues are broken; The limbs of the gods lie in the dust; The holy places are defiled; The temples are in ruins. The laurel is unpicked; It has died upon the branch; The tree is dead; It is winter; It grows cold. Night has fallen upon the empire." -Alarion "I have heard the drums; I have seen the riders on the hill; The breath of their horses is like fire; Their hoofs are like thunder; On their arms the sun blazes; The lords have come; I will come forth from the forest; I will plant again; I will find a wife; It is a new morning." -Anonymous, after Alarion

Page 1

Note: It has been the custom of the chronicler, or chroniclers, as the case may be, and as some have argued, to include certain observations, or reflections, in a manner prefatory to the Telnarian manuscripts. Here, however, we seem to encounter a departure from that practice. We have only these three quotations, and the two short poems. I do not understand them, or, at any rate, their placement here. Their inclusion with the manuscript may be the result of some accident, or mistake. This sometimes happens with complex papers. Certainly they seem, the poems at least, to have little to do with the story. I have included them, however, as they were with the manuscript. -Editor

Page 2

CHAPTER 1 "Let us see if there are men here," said Abrogastes. He handed the empty drinking horn to a shieldsman. He wiped his face with the back of his right forearm. Retainers, and clients, pounded on the long tables lining the edges of the hall. Drinking vessels were brought hastily by former ladies of the empire. The drinking horn, refilled, was handed to Abrogastes by his shieldsman. Abrogastes, seated on the bench, between the tall, carved high-seat pillars, looked down from the dais, on the hall, and the tables, grasping the drinking horn, formed from the horn of the hoofed sorit, adorned, enwrapped, with golden filigree, foaming with bror, spiced and honeyed, brewed from golden lee. This was the season of the storms, of the rain of stones between the world of the Alemanni and its yellow star. The lionships slept in their steel sheds. In the season of the storms was sealed the world of the Alemanni, the stones in their annual tides, streaming in the skies, some visible at night, closing the gates of the world, closing it to those without, locking within, as well, those on its surface.

Page 3

But in the spring the skies would clear. It was then that the lionships would awaken. Abrogastes was moody of late. He stared sullenly into the drinking horn. Bror was on his beard. Behind him, to his left, his shieldsman carried his sword. On the bench beside him, at his right, lay an imperial pistol. It was a simple, yet precious weapon. In the empire, only one of senatorial rank, or above, would be likely to possess such a weapon, or a limited number of charges for it, privately. In billions of years, you see, resources which once seemed inexhaustible proved themselves finite, after all, and often unrenewable. In many places even imperial troops were armed with simple weapons. A parity, thus, had developed in many places between the empire and its encroaching foes, and foes not unoften, former federates, within its own borders. The advantages of the imperial troops on many worlds lay sometimes in little more than military engineering, discipline, and tactics. Acres of land, or a woman, had often been exchanged for no more than an ancient bullet. Yet there was no doubt as to the strength of the empire yet, an empire concerned to husband its resources, and resist tenaciously incursions into its central systems. It could still destroy worlds. Yet there were

Page 4

many worlds and once one was destroyed, the energy, the means, to destroy such a world no longer existed. That bullet, so to speak, had been fired. There was the sound of slim, belled ankles, as former ladies of the empire, bearing great wooden trenchers, hurried barefoot over the dirt, rush-strewn floor to serve the guests, the clients, the retinue, the men at arms, the high men, the ambassadors, the merchants, the scholars, the sons of chieftains in fosterage, the hostages, seated beneath the high-roofed hall of Abrogastes, lord of the Drisriaks, largest and fiercest of the eleven tribes of the Alemanni nation, that nation referred to commonly in imperial records as the Aatii. Abrogastes handed his drinking horn, emptied, to his shieldsman, who laid it to one side. Such a horn must be drained before it can be put down. This is common among the Alemanni, the Vandals, and other such nations. The former ladies of the empire hurried about. The switches of lads in attendance, here and there, in colorful garments, in colorful cloaks, a livery of sorts, would brook neither delays nor dallyings on the part of the beauties. Abrogastes seemed angry. He was often so, of course, when the sword, his signet on the

Page 5

pommel, for signing deeds, was not in his hand, when he was not aflight, when he was not adventuring. Yet Abrogastes was not a simple adventurer, no ordinary raider, no simple brigand or pirate, sniffing about here and there, watching for his chance, prowling at the outskirts of cities, then slipping into a port at night, bringing the storm of fire and steel to some town, and then slipping away again, almost as swiftly as he had come, before the imperial cruisers could, or would, reach the scene. Some worlds, he was sure, had been abandoned to the predations of such as he, as they lay open and inviting, whereas others, doubtless richer, were zealously guarded, so much so that they might cost a fleet. Was this supposed to constitute an unspoken contract, he had wondered, a concession of sorts, that he might occupy himself somewhere, and content himself with what he was offered? That he should then give up the rest? Did they think to cast him a bone, that he might carry it away, and gnaw on it, and worry it, thereby being distracted from the stores of roasted beeves, the scent of which was on every wind? Did they think he was a dog, to be so easily distracted? Those of the empire, he knew, regarded him, and his kind, as dogs.

Page 6

But they did not know the dogs of the Alemanni, he thought to himself, one of which lay to his right, on the dais, humped, alert, its crest half-aroused, watching the tables between half-closed lids. The dogs of the Alemanni, and of many worlds, were large, agile, restless, vicious beasts. Dogs, mused Abrogastes, have teeth, and will. With some worlds, still nominally within the empire, many of which on whom federates were housed, he had formed arrangements. On many of these worlds citizens still sacrificed to the empire on the public altars, whereas resources, and tributes, secured their impunity from incursions. These became, in effect, tacit client states of the Alemanni. They increased the power of the Alemanni, and, indeed, of other peoples who were engaged in similar projects, enterprises of an economic and political nature. Imperial insignia, and standards, continued in such places to dignify public buildings, theaters and such, whereas, in justice, a banner of pelts, flown from a pole in a field, or mounted on a great wagon, might have been more appropriate. At this very assemblage in the hall were men from such states, and others. There were representatives here, as well, from each of the eleven tribes of the Alemanni people. Too, present, were others, from other tribes, and other peoples, some officially allied, or federated, with the empire, at least in some

Page 7

titular fashion, and some not, and there were present, too, others from outworlds, of diverse species, eager for soil, seeds, gold, and power. The shieldsman, the sword of Abrogastes in its leather sling behind his left shoulder, like the dog, surveyed the assemblage. At such gatherings he did not drink. He, a shieldsman, would remain, like the dog, watchful, and alert. Abrogastes was no ordinary bandit, no ordinary brigand. He saw far, he thought deeply. His appellation was the Far-Grasper. Abrogastes, the lord of the Drisriaks, Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper. Had he been an ordinary brigand, he would not have called, nor could he, in plausibility, have called, this gathering. There were present guests of many tribes, and many species. There was a small sound of chain, from the dais, to the left of his bench, with the high-seat pillars. He felt something soft press itself against his fur boot. He thrust with his boot to the side, irritably, forcing it away. There was another sound of chain, that of a heavy chain, and a tiny whimper of misery, of timid, pleading protest. "Would milord be fed?" inquired the shieldsman. "I would be fed," said Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper. The shieldsman lifted his hand, and made a peremptory gesture.

Page 8

CHAPTER 2 "The greatest danger to the empire," said Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, "is not from beyond the stars, not from the ships of barbarous dogs, but from traitors, within the empire." "Surely," she said, putting down her tiny bowl of kana, and leaning back in the chair. It was late at night, in one of the many palaces of the imperial family. It does not matter which palace, as it might have been any one of several. Nor was the palace on the Telnarian home world. It was, however, within the first imperial sector. I mention this that one may conjecture the nature of its grounds, the extent and arrangement of its gardens, the splendor of its fountains, its securities, the fields, forces, and armaments, the richness of its furnishings, the lavishness of its appointments

and

such.

Many

rich

individuals

in

the

empire,

incidentally, had their own palaces, members of ancient families, some of whom putatively dated back to the early worlds of the empire, some of them members of the hereditary senatorial class, still officially required to confirm the appointment of an emperor; high officials, such as prefects civil and military; rich merchants; great landlords, and such. But this was a palace of the imperial family, though none of the imperial family, Aesilesius, the emperor; Atalana, the empress mother; or the two sisters of the emperor, blond Viviana and brunet Alacida were currently in residence. That was not a matter of coincidence. On the other hand, we may surmise that the affair afoot this late night was not one undertaken without the knowledge of, and approval of, the empress mother, Atalana.

Page 9

Iaachus glanced to one side. "Elena," he said. "Leave us." The girl addressed, a beauty, with brown hair and gray eyes, hesitated only a moment, but then, barefoot, in a white, ankle-length, sleeveless gown, hurried from the room. "I do believe she is jealous," said the young woman sitting across from Iaachus. Iaachus smiled. "Who would not be, of one such as you?" he asked. His guest stiffened, ever so slightly, in the investiture of her ornate, brocaded robes. "The fortunes of your family have declined, as I have heard," said Iaachus. "Imperceptibly," she said. "The burning of the piers at Governor's Landing, the seizure of granaries at Losann, by unruly coloni. The raids on the storehouses on Clarus IV. The loss of the cargo contract between Archus and Miton. The salt monopoly abolished on Teris. The razing of the resort complex at Felnar. The closing of the routes to Canaris and the Drakar

Page 10

Archipelago." She was silent. "I am very sorry," he said. "There are many disturbances within the empire," she said. "It is a time of unrest." "But not of change," said Iaachus. "In its essence the empire is changeless, and eternal," she said. "True," said Iaachus. "Such

things

are

minor

considerations,"

she

said.

"They

are

negligible, at best." "I am so pleased to hear it," he said. She did not speak. "To be sure," he said, smiling, "though the empire is changeless, and eternal, its forms imperishable and such, there might be changes within the empire." "Oh?" she said. "Changes, for example, in power, in the positions, and fortunes, of

Page 11

families, of individuals." "Perhaps," she said. "Such things have occurred, countless times in the past," he said. "That is true," she said. "Your family is among the highest, and most revered, in the empire," he said. "True," she said. "If there has been a decline in its fortunes, that is a tragedy not only for the family, but the empire, as well." "I have little to do with my family any longer," she said. "There is a rumor," he said, "that they have dissociated themselves from you." "Possibly," she said. "Perhaps they have reservations pertaining to your character, your tastes, your friends, your manner of living?" "Perhaps," she said. "They are fools," she added. "I am well rid of them."

Page 12

"Are you in debt?" he asked. "I have an allowance," she said. "It seems you were heavily in debt," he remarked. " 'Were'?" she said. "I have consolidated your debts," he said, "and have discharged them." "They have been discharged?" she asked, "Yes," he said. He put papers before her. "You recognize the items, the vouchers, and such?" She lifted her head from the papers, and regarded him. "I did not request such a thing," she said. "Nor did I suggest it, nor bargain for it." "Of course not," he said. "I do not recognize the signatures," she said. "Those of agents," he said. "It was done through private, concealed accounts."

Page 13

"Why did you do this?" she asked. "You owe me nothing," he said. "Why?" she pressed. "In respect of your lineage," he said. "For the sake of your name, the honor of your family, the good of the empire." "I do not understand," she said. "I could see to it," he said, "that your fortunes might considerably improve. That they might far, in the future, outdistance even the residues of your family's fortune. I could manage it in such a way that you could become one of the wealthiest, and most envied, women in the empire, honored, rich with dignities, welcome even at the imperial court." "I do not understand," she said. "Let us say," he said, "merely that I think your prospects are splendid." She did not speak, but regarded him. "I gather you are not overly fond of your family," he said. "Oh?" she said.

Page 14

"Are my informants reliable?" he asked. "Perhaps," she said. "Nor they of you," he said. "Perhaps," she said. "You have been repudiated, disowned," he said, "save, of course, for a not ungenerous allowance." "It is a pittance," she said. "They do not care in the least for what happens to you," He said. "Nor I for them," she snapped. "They are all fools, fools!" "You would have no objection to becoming independently, and fabulously, wealthy, I would suppose." "I think I might manage to accommodate myself to such a modality," she said. "You could even look down upon your family, and ruin it, if you wish, with the power I could give you." "Ah!" she said, her eyes sparkling. "It would be a splendid vengeance, would it not?" he asked.

Page 15

"Yes," she said. "I owe you nothing," she said. "But you are interested, are you not?" he asked. "Perhaps," she said. "What would I do?" "You must serve the empire," he said. "The empire has, of course, my undivided allegiance," she said. "Your allegiance is only to yourself," he said. "As yours is only to yourself?" she inquired. "In my case," smiled Iaachus, "the interest of the empire, and my own interest, coincide perfectly." "A most happy coincidence," she observed. "Precisely," he said. "As I mentioned earlier," he said, "the greatest danger faced by the empire comes not from without, but from within, from traitors." "Of course," she said.

Page 16

"And, particularly," said he, lowering his voice, "from traitors of insatiable ambition, villains who, with the help of barbarians, would aspire to seize the throne itself." Her eyes widened. "You have heard of the Aurelianii?" he asked. "Of course," she said. "They are kin even to the emperor." "Which makes them even more dangerous," he said. "Their loyalty is unquestioned," she said. "No," confided Iaachus. She reached for the tiny bowl of kana, but her hand shook. "Julian, of the Aurelianii," said he, "has designs upon the throne. He plans to enlist barbarians in the mobile forces, as mercenary companies, with ships, with weapons, at their disposal. They will owe their allegiance only to him, not to the empire." "Have him seized," she said. "Confiscate his property. Surely it is considerable." The Aurelianii were one of the oldest, and richest, families in the empire. They traced their roots back to the original Telnarian world, the home world of the empire itself.

Page 17

"He is too powerful, we must be careful how we proceed, we do not wish to precipitate civil war. There are portions of the navy which are loyal to him." "What are we to do?" she asked. "We must drive a wedge between him and his barbarian cohorts, we must frustrate his scheme of enlisting barbarians in the regular forces. That is crucial. That is the first step. We must deprive him of these allies, and, in doing this, cast discredit entirely upon his probity, and the feasibility of his plan to defend the empire." "Can the empire defend itself?" she asked. "Of course," he said. "Who is the barbarian, or barbarians, in question," she asked. "First, and primarily, one whom he encountered, it seems, on the forest world of Varna, a chieftain of the Wolfungs." "I have never heard of them," she said. "They are a tribe of the Vandals," he said. "I have not heard of such a people," she said. That was, of course, a genuine possibility at that time. At that time,

Page 18

you see, few in the empire had heard of the Vandals. Indeed, at that time, few outside of the administration and the military had heard even of the Alemanni, or, as the imperial records have it, the Aatii. And even in the war office such peoples tended to be dismissed, much as one might think little of rumblings in the distance, the darkenings of far skies, the occasional flash of lightning over distant mountains, such things, things far away. "His name," said Iaachus, "is Ottonius." She moved the bowl of kana a bit on the table with her finger, turning it a little, watching the ruby fluid move in the shallow container. "I am a woman," she said. "But one highborn, one of lofty family, of noble station, one who may be relied upon." She looked up at him. "And one, one supposes, of great beauty," he said. She stiffened again, slightly, as she had once before. She regarded him, irritably. She was vain of her striking beauty, and took great pleasure in it. She enjoyed the effect, too, which it seemed to have on men, as it seemed to put them much at her mercy. She enjoyed using it to

Page 19

tantalize, and frustrate, men. It was pleasant to taunt them, and arouse them, and then, with cold pleasure, deny them. "And one of great wealth?" she asked. "That is for you to decide," he said. "It is said," she said, "that Iaachus is the most powerful man in the empire." "I am only the humble Arbiter of Protocol," he said, "a modest office, an ancillary office, with little authority or power affixed thereto." "It is said you have the ear of the empress mother," she said. "She consults me on small matters," said he, "having to do with the arrangements, and etiquette, of the court." "What is to be the fate of this Ottonius?" she asked. "He is leaving in two days for Tangara, to recruit a comitatus, a company, among Otungs. I shall see to it that our beloved Julian, scion of the Aurelianii, will be unable to accompany him." "Tangara is far away," she said. "Its provincial capital is Venitzia," he said. "And what is to happen on Tangara?" she asked.

Page 20

Iaachus rose to his feet, went to a cupboard at the side of the room, opened it, moved some small objects on a shelf to one side, and pressed a button, that actuating a panel which, sliding back, revealed a small recess. From this recess he withdrew a flat, rectangular leather case. He placed this on a table at the side of the room, returning to the cupboard to close the recess, rearrange the articles on the shelf, and shut the cupboard door. He then brought the leather case from the table at the side of the room and returned to his seat at the table near the center of the room. He placed the leather case on this table, between them. She looked at him, and then, with two hands, lifted up the lid of the leather case. "It is beautiful," she said. "Who knows what may happen on a primitive world such as Tangara," he said, "particularly once one is outside the fences of the capital? "Be careful," he said. In the container there lay a dagger, or poniard, small, and delicate, with a slender, gleaming blade, some seven inches in length, and an oval, yellow handle, some five inches in length, with a swirled design in black wrought within it. "It is a woman's dagger," she said.

Page 21

"Yes," he said. Between the hilt and the slender blade there was a guard, one of its terminations scrolled toward the point, the other back, toward the hilt. The guard, of course, aside from permitting resources of additional leverage, if needed, would prevent the hand from slipping down the blade. In certain situations that is a not negligible advantage of this sort of tool. Such guards, with their capacity to protect the hand, are common in certain forms of weapons, where the strike might be made through silk or velvet, a silk or velvet concealing, say, a lining, or a coat or jacket, of interwoven metal links. She looked up at him, puzzled. "Do not touch the blade," he said. "It is coated with a transparent poison. The tiniest cut, the smallest break, in the skin will introduce the poison into the wound. A most unpleasant, most ugly, death would ensue within seconds." "It need not be driven into the body then," she said, looking at it. "It is marvelously sharp," he said. "The strength of a child would suffice to drive it into a man's body." "Or that of a woman," she said. "To the hilt," he said.

Page 22

"I see," she said. "But a scratch would suffice," he said. "If you wish him slain," she said, "why do you not hire ruffians to manage the business?" The eyes of Iaachus clouded. Then he smiled. "No," he said, "it is better done by an agent, on a distant world, far from public attention, by an agent whose presence would arouse no suspicion, by an agent who would be utterly unsuspected." "What if I cannot approach him, what if he is armored?" she asked. "You will doubtless be able to approach him," he said, "and I suspect that, at times, in your presence, armor would be laid aside, and, if not, remember that so small a thing as a scratch on the back of the hand will be quite enough. "Are you interested in this matter?" he asked. "Perhaps," she said. "But I am not a mariner, not a gunner, not a technician. I do not understand under what excuse, or pretext, I might be included in a crew voyaging to Tangara on such a business." "There will be various goods taken with the vessel to Tangara," he said.

Page 23

" 'Goods'?" she asked. "Yes," he said, "trade goods, and goods to smooth the way, to serve as inducements, to serve as gifts, and such, things that barbarians might find of interest, for example, skins, wines, grains, cloths, gems, silks, oils, copper plates, spices, gold, brooches, rings, nails, wire, ivory, iron, silver, goods, many forms of goods, ranging from the common to the exquisite." "To the exquisite?" she asked. "Yes," he said, "such as emerald cameos, carved in the likeness of the emperor." "I do not understand," she said. "Drink your kana," he said. She lifted the tiny bowl to her lips. Over the rim, of purest luxite porcelain, from the valley of Raf, milled later in the tradition of the Toronichi, she regarded him. Her eyes were blue. Then she put back her head and drained the shallow container. As she had her head back he glimpsed, in the partage of her high brocaded collar, her white throat. She then again regarded him. She then replaced the tiny bowl, now empty, on the table. Her hair was blond. It was fixed in a way not uncommon among high ladies of the

Page 24

empire, being fixed upward, formally, stiffly, in an intricate coiffure, held tightly in place by a rather rectangular, peaked, enclosing frame, a headdress in effect, of golden wire and jeweled leather. "Of course," he said, "it may be that you would prove to be an unsuitable choice for the matter at hand." "Unsuitable?" she inquired. "That you might not prove an appropriate choice for the agent in question, that it is not, at the moment, clear that you possess the necessary qualifications." "Milord?" she inquired. "In the role in which you would be cast," he said, "you must be believable. If you are not, suspicions would be immediately aroused, and all might be lost." "It is my hope that I might prove believable in the role which I am to play," she said. "My informants suggest that there would be no difficulty in the matter," he said. "Informants?" she said. "Attendants at the women's baths, and such."

Page 25

"I do not understand," she said. "But you understand that I must be sure of the matter," he said. "There is much at stake." "I do not understand," she said. "Rise, and stand there," he said, pointing to a place on the marbled floor, a few feet from the table. "For what reason?" she asked. "Do it," he said. "I am not accustomed to being addressed in that fashion," she said, coldly. "Now," he said. "Good," he said. "Now remove your clothing, completely." "Milord!" she protested. "Do so," he said, not patiently. "I am of the senatorial class!" she said. "Now," he said.

Page 26

She angrily removed the robes, and the many garments beneath them. It was not easy for her to do, as women of her station were customarily assisted by one or more maids in these tasks. "Ah," he said. Her eyes flashed fire. "Straighten your body," he said. "Good. "You are angry?" he asked. "I am of the senatorial class!" she said, in fury. "Is this the first time you have been naked before a man?" he asked. "Yes!" she said. "Remove your headdress," he said. "Loosen your hair." "Please!" she said. "Now," he said. Angrily she unfastened the headdress, and lifted it off, and put it to one side, with the robes on the floor, near her feet, and then fumbled with the net and wire. It had taken better than three hours for her coiffure to be arranged earlier in the day.

Page 27

"Shake your hair loose," he said. With an angry shake of her head she freed her hair. "Put it behind your shoulders," he said. In fury she put it back, behind her. "Turn," he said, "slowly." She complied. "Now kneel here," he said, indicating a place near the table. "Straighten your back, put your hands on your thighs, put your head up, widen your knees." He then regarded her, with care. "With the expedition to Tangara," he said, "among the trade goods, the gifts, and such, to be kept, distributed, or utilized at the discretion of the barbarian, there will be twenty slave girls, who must be of remarkable beauty, of the highest order of beauty.'' She looked up at him. "You are trembling," he said. "But, of course, it must be the first time you have been before a man in such a position."

Page 28

"And in what position am I?" she asked. "In one of the common positions of the female slave," he said. She made an angry noise. "I would not look into the eyes of a male," he said, "or any free person, for that matter, unless you sense that it is permitted, or you have been commanded to do so." "I am free!" she cried. "Yes," he said, "but to see you kneel so, one might forgiven for having doubted it." "I will rise!" she announced. "Not without its being permitted," he said. "I am free, am I not?" she said. "Of course," he said. But she remained kneeling. She had not received permission to rise. "Yes," he said, approvingly, "I think you will do very nicely." "I suppose I should be pleased," she said.

Page 29

"Of course," he said. She shook, half in trepidation, half in fury. She did not know whether she was pleased, or angered. Within her lovely, tumultuous bosom feelings warred. Then she became again the woman of the senatorial class. "I shall see that you are included on the cargo manifest for Tangara," he said. "The other nineteen women will also be free women, of high class?" she said. "No," he said. "They will be common slave girls, save, of course, that they will be of extraordinary beauty." "But I will be the most beautiful," she said. "One does not know," he said. "One must see what the men think." "I despise men," she said. "But not your lordship, of course," she added, quickly. "Another agent will be sent with you," he said. "But, in the interests of security, he will make himself known to you only later." "He will be a member of the crew?"

Page 30

"Yes." "He will bring the dagger?" "Yes, and he will, of course, assist you in your work, in so far as it is practical." "I do not understand," she said. "He will see that you obtain the knife," he said. "After all, it is not he who is likely to be alone with the barbarian at night.'' "I see," she said. "Too, of course, he must arrange for your mutual flight, after the deed, and see that you are returned safe and sound to the inner precincts of the empire, to receive your rewards, your renewed wealth and status, your new estates and palaces, such tokens of an empire's gratitude." "My thanks, milord!" she said. "Do you think you can carry off this matter?" he asked. "Surely, milord," she smiled. "Do you think that you will be able to stand it," he asked, "if your small, fair limbs should be encircled with steel, if you should feel chains upon your beauty, if your neck might even feel upon it a collar

Page 31

of steel?" "I would know such things to be an empty farce," she said. "I think that you would find that they would hold you as well as any other girl upon the ship." " 'Girl'?" she asked. "Such an expression," he said, "is commonly used of the female slave, perhaps because she is lowly, and nothing, perhaps because it sweeps away cant and hypocrisy, and speaks of unmitigated, direct, uncompromising sexuality." "I could wear chains," she said, "contenting myself with the knowledge that a hundred times their weight in gold awaits me later!" "You may rise," he said. She leapt to her feet and ran to her clothing, which lay strewn on the marble. She began to gather it up, and sort it out. She turned to him. "May I bring my intimate maid?" she asked. "No," smiled Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol. "How then shall I manage?" she asked, puzzled.

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"The slave girl, which will be your guise," he said, "seldom needs assistance in dressing, for her garb is commonly simple, if, indeed, any is permitted to her at all." "What of my hair?" she asked. "That, too, will be quite simple," he said. "It need only be well washed, brushed and combed-vital, abundant, full-bodied, glossy and long." "I would take my maid with me," she said. "No," he said. "I would have more kana," she said, irritably. "No," he said. "Do not dress here," he said. "I have work to do." She stood there, clutching her garments about her. "I would forget, for the time," he said, "the drinking of kana from luxite vessels. I would rather accustom myself to the prospect of drinking water from pans, on all fours." "Doubtless it is time that I was on my way," she said.

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"Doubtless," he concurred. She threw him a look of fury. She had been conducted to the palace secretly, and would be returned to her chambers in the city in the same way. But it would be best if as few as possible noted the comings and goings of a mysterious party, arriving and parting in darkness, hurrying in and out of a closed carriage, a party which consisted, it might seem, of some high lady and her escort. "You may leave," he said. "I am not to be addressed in that fashion," she said. "I am a lady of the senatorial class." "You are now an agent, and will take orders," he said. She stiffened, angrily, holding her garments about her. "Later," he said, "you may revel in the glories of your wealth and status. In the meantime, you are no more than a vain, declined aristocrat, of dubious character, and repudiated by your family." "Beast!" she said. He regarded her, and she stepped back, uncertainly. "Perhaps I should throw you to the marble," he said.

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She gasped. "Perhaps you can imagine what it would feel like, on your body, as you were seized, held helplessly and ravished." She retreated. She clutched the clothing before her, about her, closely, defensively. "I jest, of course," he said. "Of course, milord!" she laughed. "Milord," she said. "Yes?" he said. "Your informants?" she said. "You spoke of bath attendants, and such." "Yes?" he said. "Was my intimate maid among them?" she asked, angrily. "Perhaps," he said. "I will beat her," she said, "as she has never been beaten before!"

Page 35

"Your carriage will be waiting," said Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol. "You

will

be

contacted

again,

tomorrow,

and

the

necessary

arrangements will be made. "Dress outside," he said. "Yes, milord," she said, and backed from the room. Her emotions, in the anteroom, were like charging, leaping seas within her, chaotic tides, irrepressible stirrings, storms of confusion, of delight, of ambition, of fury, of humiliation, of curiosity. She reveled in the improvement of her prospects, the prospect of the redemption of her fortunes, the vistas of status, of wealth and power held out before her, that she could become one of the foremost ladies in the empire, perhaps, nay, undoubtedly, invited even to participate in the court! And so much could be purchased so simply, at so little cost as an awaited opportunity and the merest scratch of a tiny point. She could, once success was hers, so easily wrought, return to the empire, ruin her family, bring destruction in a thousand ways upon her enemies, and upon others, whom she might please, who perhaps had slighted her, or disapproved of her, or might have done so. But, too, she shook with humiliation, with fury. Within, a man had seen her, she, though a woman of the senatorial class, as naked as a slave girl! To be sure, he had doubtless had no choice. He must have had, she reassured herself, to make what determinations he needed, to make certain that she was fully suitable for inclusion within his plans, to ascertain her fittingness for the role in which he was considering casting her. Yes! Yes! And apparently he had found her fitting all right! She was extremely beautiful! She knew that. She would do quite well. She

Page 36

would do superbly! She was extremely vain of her beauty, and relished its power. But, too, she was disturbed by feelings she had had, before him, as when turning before him, when he had told her to do so, as when kneeling before him, when he had told her to do so, and precisely according to his instructions. For an instant, here and there, she had suddenly, overwhelmingly, frighteningly, felt wholly, radically, simply, basically, fundamentally female, felt herself a creature to be seen in terms of its basic, radical psychosexuality, a creature with no alternatives, no options, other than a total helpless, yielded femininity, a creature of basic femaleness, a femaleness imbued with, redolent with, radiant, profound, pervasive passion, and, too, for an instant, she sensed what might be the nature of a total love, obedience and service,

sensed

the

profound

sexuality

of

a

creature

who

is

uncompromisingly owned, and must be, under the threat of terrible punishments, but is eager, as well, to be, hot, devoted, and dutiful. She had sensed then, in distracted, terrified, resisted moments, simply, what it might be to be a woman, a true woman, radically, fundamentally, basically. How she hurled such thoughts from her head! How she hated men! How she hated the dark-garbed, mysterious, powerful Iaachus, Arbiter of Protocol. How she hated slaves! How she hated the world, the empire, everything! She was of noble family, she was of the highest lineage, she was, even, of the senatorial class! She thought of her intimate maid!

Page 37

The chit! How she would beat her! It was at this moment that, in the outer room, the anteroom, she saw the white-gowned young woman who had been, earlier, in the inner room, who had been dismissed before she, the woman of the senatorial class, and the Arbiter of Protocol had begun to discuss matters of a possibly delicate, sensitive nature. The girl had been lying curled on a mat, in the white, sleeveless, woolen gown, at the far wall, well out of earshot of the inner room, which, in any event, was sealed with a mighty door, a heavy portal designed to be soundproof. When the woman of senatorial class had entered the room the girl at the far wall had stirred, and then, becoming aware of her, had hurriedly knelt on the mat, her head to the floor, the palms of her hands on the floor, as well. "Girl!" snapped the woman of senatorial rank. The girl hurried forward, and knelt before her, her head to the floor, her palms upon the floor, as well. "Mistress?" asked the girl, frightened. "Are you trained as a lady's maid?" inquired the woman of senatorial rank. "No, Mistress!" said the girl, frightened.

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The woman of senatorial rank uttered a sound of exasperation, of impatience. "I would dress," she said. "Do you think yourself competent to assist me?" "I will try, Mistress," said the girl. And, in a few moments, with the assistance of the girl, who was deferent, and whose fingers seemed adept in such matters, the woman of senatorial rank was again suitably robed. There was little to be done about the coiffure, of course, and it would have taken hours to manage properly, but her hair could be muchly concealed within the frame of wire and jeweled leather, and, particularly in the darkness, few would guess that it had been disarranged. The bedecking of the imperial female, of the upper classes, was not a simple task, given the numerous garments, their positioning, the cunning closures, and such, but the matter was soon finished. "You are certain you have not been a lady's maid before?" asked the woman of senatorial rank, regarding herself in one of the wall mirrors. "No, Mistress," said the girl, again kneeling. "That dress you are wearing," said the woman of senatorial rank. "It

Page 39

is all you are wearing, is it not?" "Yes, Mistress. Forgive me, Mistress," whispered the girl. "You are very pretty," said the woman of senatorial rank. Though the gown of the girl was loose, and of an ankle-length, it was not difficult to detect a graceful, well-curved form within it, and the neckline was surely lower than it need have been, making clear that it held merely precariously captive a lovely, well-formed bosom. "Thank you, Mistress," whispered the girl. "You have not been trained as a lady's maid, and yet you seem familiar with the subtleties, the intricacies, of a lady's investiture," said the woman of senatorial rank. "Forgive me, Mistress," said the girl. "Interesting," mused the woman of senatorial rank. The girl, fearful, kept her head to the floor. "Look at me," said the woman of senatorial rank. The girl looked up, timidly, but did not dare to raise her eyes above the ornate collar of the robes of the woman standing before her. "Look into my eyes, my dear," said the woman of senatorial rank,

Page 40

kindly. Timidly, gratefully, the girl did so. The woman of senatorial rank then slapped her, viciously, with all her force, across the face. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. She looked at the woman of senatorial rank. Her eyes were startled, questioning. "Do you not know," inquired the woman of senatorial rank, "that you are not to look into the eyes of one such as I, unless you sense that you may do so, or unless permission is granted?" "Forgive me, Mistress," said the girl, shuddering, putting her head down to the floor, as she had before. "On your belly," said the woman of senatorial rank. "Kiss my slippers!" Instantly the girl obeyed. The woman of senatorial rank then spurned her to her side, with her foot. The girl lay on her side then, in pain, but did not dare, of course, to look into the eyes of the one who had spurned her to her place. "Slaves are disgusting," said the free woman.

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"Yes, Mistress!" said the slave, putting her head down. The free woman then spun about, and left the room, with a swirl of her robes. How shamed I have been, she thought. How I will beat my intimate maid tonight, the embonded little chit! To be sure, that maid was now her only slave, that being one of the unfortunate,

degrading

consequences

of

the

reduction

in

her

resources, in the slippage of her fortunes. Her carriage would be waiting. Shortly after her departure a bell rang in the anteroom, and the slave girl, whose name, we recall, was Elena, hurried to the inner room, where she knelt before the Arbiter of Protocol, in suitable obeisance. "You are crying," he observed. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "Our guest has left?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "Go to my chamber," he said. "Prepare it for pleasure. Then chain yourself, naked, at the foot of the couch."

Page 42

"Yes, Master!" she said, and then, unbidden, she crawled to his boots and kissed them, gratefully, fervently. She then hurried from the room. From his chambers she saw a darkened, closed carriage leaving the grounds. She looked to the cuffs and shackles, the collar. They were all open. She looked about the room, to make certain that all was in readiness. In a moment it would be too late to repair any last-minute oversights. All seemed in order. She slipped her gown to the side. She looked down at the chains, the impediments. How totally helpless, how much at his, or anyone's, mercy, she would be in a moment. She loved their weight, the sound of them on her body, how they moved against the ring. How they told her what she was, and how she must be. The master, of course, held the key to them.

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She began with the left ankle, for there is an order to such things. It is one of the first things a girl is taught. Then, in moments, the steel, in all its beauty, its efficiency, its closeness, its meaningfulness, was upon her. She could scarcely control herself. She had a good deal of slack now, but such devices may be shortened and adjusted, as the master may please. She looked to the wall. On it was a whip. She did not think she would be beaten. Surely she would do her best to please. She lay there, like a tethered kitten, at the foot of the couch, like the animal she was. She trembled with desire. She did not envy the free woman. The free woman, in anger, confused, filled with the hope of improved fortunes, fearful of the future, resolved, rode alone in the closed, unmarked carriage, the blinds drawn, her guards, her escort, on the box outside.

Page 44

Coming to the palace she had permitted her escort to share the carriage. Doubtless that had given him much pleasure. Doubtless he had been looking forward to the return trip, as well, to the opportunity, if only briefly, to be again close to one such as she. She was sure of it! Then she had banished him to the box. How amused she had been at this. It had been difficult for him to conceal his disappointment. Too, for a moment there had been a look in his eyes which had frightened her, but then it was gone. She reassured herself. Men are weak, she thought. She smiled to herself. She looked down at the floor of the carriage. Slave

girls,

she

thought,

those

meaningless

chits,

might

be

transported in such a carriage naked, kneeling, crouched down, on the floor, a blanket, or cloak, thrown over them. Slave girls are commonly so transported, in closed vehicles, and

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such. They are commonly kept in ignorance. How fitting for them, she thought. How pleased she was, that she was a different sort of woman, not such as they. The wheels sounded hollow on the hard surface; the hoofs of the draft beasts rang on the pavement. Back in the palace Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, gathered together papers, inserting them in a portfolio, and then placing the portfolio in the recess from which, earlier, a rectangular leather case had been withdrawn. Afterward he proceeded to his chambers.

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CHAPTER 3 "Let us see if there are men here!" called Abrogastes. "Are there men here?" "There are men here!" cried the feasters. Drinking horns were lifted. Greasy hands snatched at slabs of roasted meat, dripping with juices and blood, from heavy, broad, stained wooden trenchers proffered almost frantically by former ladies of the empire, their ankles belled. Behind them, here and there, in colorful garments, in their colorful cloaks, were lads, with switches, whose business it was to see that the former ladies of the empire performed well. Abrogastes, clearing his vision, angry, sat back on the bench, between the high-seat pillars. He was moody, angry. He had drunk too much. At his right there lay a great hound, of a sort bred for loyalty and suspicion, for ferocity and courage, a dog of the hunt and war, which will defend its master to the last drop of its blood, who will hurl itself at the merest spoken word on even an arn bear or vi-cat, or a dozen armed men, wreaking havoc amongst them. To his left, at his feet, in a collar, on a chain, there lay a softer pet, one appropriate for other uses. Abrogastes bent down and put down his hand on the massive head of the hound. It rumbled, a growl that betokened affection.

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"Good lad," said Abrogastes thickly. He tousled the mane on that great head. Another hand, so placed, might have been torn from the wrist, with one sudden, unexpected, fierce movement of the great jaws. Abrogastes straightened up, looked out on the open space, at the serving, and, at the tables along the walls, the feasters. He then looked down, moodily, angrily, to the left, at the other pet, on its chain. It put down its head, terrified. It did not know why it had been brought to this feast. It dared not put its lips again, timidly, beggingly, placatingly, hopefully, to Abrogastes' boot. There was a sound of swearing from one of the tables. Two men pushed back their one-man benches. "Desist!" cried a fellow. Blades whipped from sheaths. One of the former ladies of the empire screamed.

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Two men leapt upon the table, scattering flagons and trenchers, and then from it, to the floor, rage in their eyes. There was a sound of steel. Then the very ground between the two men erupted upward in a blinding spume of dust, and there was a narrow trench, smoking, between the men. All eyes turned to Abrogastes who stood before the bench, a smoking pistol in his hand. "Who is the enemy?" he inquired. "Milord?" asked one of the men, sword in hand. "It is not he," said Abrogastes, pointing to one of the combatants. "Nor he!" he said, pointing to the other. There was a sound of belled ankles, as ladies of the empire shrank back toward the tables. "The true enemy," said Abrogastes, "is the empire." The former ladies of the empire, carrying their trenchers, and their flagons, trembled. There was a tiny sound of bells, as the small feet, bared, of former ladies of the empire stirred on the earthen, rush-strewn floor. Then

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they tried to stand perfectly still, but, even so, here and there, inadvertently, miserably, a tiny bell would sound. The lads stood by with their switches. They grinned at one another. It would be easy enough to make those bells jangle a merry tune. "And this, too," said Abrogastes, lifting the smoking pistol, "is the enemy.'' He regarded the silent men. "This is an imperial pistol," he said, "of the sort carried by officers of the mobile forces of the empire." Abrogastes looked about himself. "And this, I think," said he, brandishing the weapon, "is the true enemy, the only real enemy-the only enemy to be regarded with respect, with circumspection-the weaponry, the ships, the machines, the technology of the empire." He looked again about himself. "But what if we, too, had such things?" he asked. Men looked at one another. "Think on that," said he. "But it is not possible," said a man. Abrogastes smiled, and resumed his seat.

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"Our weapons, milord, have been drawn!" cried one of the paused combatants. "Then let blood be shed," said Abrogastes. "And how shall it be shed?" asked the other. "As the blood of what we all must be," said Abrogastes, "as the blood of brothers." Both men then slashed their forearms, and stood there, blood flowing down their arms, regarding one another, and then, as one, they sheathed their weapons, not having been drawn without blood being shed. Among the Alemanni and such peoples one does not draw a weapon lightly. Into the sheaths struck the weapons, decisively. The men then approached one another. They held their bleeding, slashed arms together, pressed, the one to the other. Their bloods mingled. Weeping, they embraced, the blood of each on the other. There was cheering from the tables. Both men resumed their seats. There was the lively sound of switches and the beautiful waitresses, the former ladies of the empire, all of them highborn, and chosen from many for their loveliness, crying out in pain and misery, sped by the impatient lads, their bells jangling, addressed themselves again, and zealously, to their appointed tasks. "Surely, milord," said a clerk, a small man, with dark garments, carrying papers, tied with string, and a clerk's wallet, with its ink flask and sheathed pens, leaning toward Abrogastes, "the time is propitious

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for the business of the evening." Abrogastes lifted his head. "The colleagues are in a splendid mood," said the clerk. "They will be receptive to your proposal." "It is not time," said Abrogastes. "You have much to learn, yet, of the ways of the Alemanni, of the Drisriaks." The Alemanni nation, as I have mentioned elsewhere, consists of eleven tribes. Representatives of all were present, as well as representatives of many other tribes, and groups, and species. The Drisriaks were the largest and fiercest of the Alemanni tribes. Abrogastes was king of the Drisriaks. The Alemanni nation was indisputably the most powerful of the barbarian nations, particularly since the decimation by the empire of their hereditary enemies, the Vandal peoples. Abrogastes thus, as king of the Drisriaks, occupied a very important position. "Yes, milord," said the clerk, withdrawing. "For what purpose has this feast been called?" asked a nobleman, to the right of Abrogastes, of his fellow, to his own right. Abrogastes gave no sign that he had heard the question. "Perhaps to celebrate the victory of the Drisriaks over the Ortungen," the first nobleman was told.

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A son of Abrogastes, one named Ortog, had broken away from the Drisriaks, with loyalties from his own retainers, from those who had taken rings from him, to form his own tribe, the Ortungs, or Ortungen. The Ortungs, and their ships, had been pursued relentlessly, and finally apprehended by Abrogastes, first on, and in the vicinity of, the world we know only by its number in the imperial records, 738.2, and later, others, in the vicinity of another world, one whose location, also, is unknown, a world, however, whose Alemanni name survives, Tenguthaxichai, possibly "Tengutha's Camp," or "Tengutha's Lair." Tengutha, incidentally, is a common name among several of the barbarian peoples, including the Alemanni. Justice, as viewed by Abrogastes, had been meted out on that world, on Tenguthaxichai. "I have many sons," had said Abrogastes. He had then wiped his bloodied knife on his thigh, and returned it to its sheath. His traitorous daughter, Gerune, who had fled the Drisriaks with Ortog, the rebel, had been humbled, disowned, and enslaved. Abrogastes had permitted her to be claimed, and thusly owned, by one whom he had taken to be a tender of pigs. He looked about the tables. Yes, he had many sons. Two were Ingeld and Hrothgar. Are they loyal, wondered Abrogastes. His favorite had been Ortog. Hrothgar is simple, and cares for little but drink, and his horses and

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falcons, thought Abrogastes, and I do not fear him, but Ingeld is silent, and keeps his own counsel. His eyes are restless. I have never seen Ingeld drunk, he thought. If one is to be feared, it must be Ingeld. But Ingeld, he thought, did not seem likely to be a giver of rings. Men did not understand him. They did not seek out his hall. He was not, like Ortog, a leader, the likely founder of a line, a laughing, insouciant prince, one for whom hearty men would willingly die. "Yes," said the addressed nobleman. "Perhaps that is the purpose of the feast, to commemorate the defeat of the secessionists." "No," said another. "That was done long ago, on the ships." "What then is the purpose of the feast?" asked one of the noblemen. "I do not know," said the man who had spoken. "It must be of great importance," said one of the noblemen. "See who is here, so many, from so far!" "Yes," said another. "I have many sons," had said Abrogastes. He had then cleaned the knife. It was even now in its sheath, at his side.

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It is hard to know, thought Abrogastes, when one might need such a thing. "Milord?" inquired one of the noblemen of Abrogastes, the FarGrasper. "Feast," said Abrogastes, who had heard their conversation. "Yes, milord," said the man. "Drink!" called another. And one of the former ladies of the empire hurried to him, to humbly, head down, her hair falling about the flagon and vessel, fill the giant drinking horn. As she leaned forward, between the feasters, she dared not protest the hand upon her flank. Abrogastes looked at the former ladies of the empire serving the feast. It was no mischance or coincidence that they were there, and as they were. He wanted the feasters to see them thusly, former ladies of the empire, now serving.

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Surely they were no different from other women. And surely they were not without interest. These things were in accord with his plan. To his left, he felt a soft cheek press itself to his boot. He did not, this time, thrust it to the side, angrily. He heard a tiny, grateful whimper. He felt tender kisses pressed against his foot, through the fur of the boot. The pet at his feet, to his left, did not know why it had been brought to the feast. It was fearful. It whimpered. There was a reason, of course. Abrogastes gave no sign that he was aware of the pathetic, tender pressings of lips on his boot. It is better, sometimes, that such things not be deigned to be noticed.

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That helps the pet to better understand all that it is. Later Abrogastes moved his foot to his right, away from the small, soft, chained object at his feet, its head to his left boot. As we have mentioned, there was a reason for its presence at the feast. It was, too, a part of the plan of Abrogastes.

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CHAPTER 4 "I am detained, unaccountably," said Julian, of the Aurelianii, to Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs. "I will go ahead," said Otto. They stood on a loading dock, one of dozens at Point North, some nine miles north of Lisle, on Inez IV. Even so, the departure of the ships, several times a day, like thunder, could be heard in the city. Men, some carrying burdens, some with carts, hurried about them, under the supervision of officers, placing supplies in the hold. "It is unexpected business at court," said Julian. "I will follow you as soon as possible. Do not proceed without me. Wait for me at Venitzia." Otto had no intention of waiting at Venitzia. Hoverers were already loaded. "Way, way!" said a longshoreman, parting crowds for a treaded vehicle drawing flat trailers loaded with boxes. Too, if it must be known, Julian, even though delayed, had no intention of proceeding directly to Venitzia, the provincial capital on Tangara. It was his intention, rather, to visit an obscure festung village on Tangara, one at the eastern edge of the plain of Barrionuevo, at the foot of the heights of Barrionuevo, one in tithe to the remote festung,

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or fortress, of Sim Giadini, far above it, massive, but seemingly tiny from the plain, almost invisible amongst the dark, forbidding, snowcapped, cloud-encircled mountains, the heights of Barrionuevo. "I will get away as soon as I can," said Julian. Otto nodded. The vehicle drawing the trailers passed them, moving toward the cargo hatch. Through another hatch, reached from a loading platform below, visible through the grille on which they stood, by means of trailers drawn by rumbling, motorized carts, gigantic drums of fuel were being taken aboard. They were on the second hatch level. Crew, and passengers, would ascend to the higher level, and board through the smaller entry way. "Watch out!" called a man. There was a roaring and a scratching and men struggled to lead wildeyed mounts through the hatch. "Be gentle with them!" cried Julian. We shall call these creatures horses, for the sake of simplicity.

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Otto snatched a canvas from one of the carts near him and cast it over the head of the first of the skittish animals. It pawed and scratched at the grille, and cast its long-haired head about, beneath the canvas, and then stood uneasily on the grille, shifting a little, snarling. "Ho, fellow," said Otto, quietly, patting the creature's shaggy side, "ho!" He then seized the halter, taking it higher than its groom's grip, near the jowls of the beast. "Ho," he said again, gently. "You may take him now," said Julian to the groom. Otto relinquished his hold on the halter. The groom then took the halter higher, where Otto had held it, his arm under the canvas. The groom then led the unprotesting animal through the hatch, into the ship. The beasts behind the first, seeing the first quiet, the contagion of their anxiety thus assuaged, seemingly contentedly, seemingly now unconcerned, followed it into the ship.

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"Put them carefully in their stalls," called Julian. "Yes, sir," said a man. The stalls for such beasts are commonly padded, as they are restless, energetic animals, and may injure themselves when they become active, as, for example, when they smell a female of their species. "Where did you learn the business with the canvas?" asked Julian. "In the school of Pulendius," said Otto. "It is a common way of quieting female prisoners. But a blanket, not canvas, is commonly used." "I see," said Julian. "It may be buckled about their waist, tightly, their hands inside." "Of course," said Julian. The blindfold, too, of course, has such virtues. It may not silence the captive, but it tends to reduce her activity, as she does not know where she is, or where she might step, or what dangers lie about her, or, say, what she might strike against, or how she might injure herself if she were to move, and so on. She would not care, for example, to run against spikes or plunge, bound, into a pond of carnivorous eels. If one wishes to silence the captive, of course, a variety of arrangements can manage that easily.

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"Prisoners?" asked Julian. "At the school of Pulendius?" "They are rounded up, occasionally. Girls of the humiliori, of course, unless a mistake is made." "I had not heard of this," said Julian. "The practice is not widely publicized." "That is understandable," said Julian. "They are freed later, of course. And given a coin." "Splendid," said Julian. "Do not concern yourself with them," said Otto. "They are only of the humiliori-and, too, only of the empire." "I see," said Julian. "We are nearly provisioned, sir," said a mariner, with a manifest. "Good," said Julian. "I thought," said Julian, "that in schools such as those of Pulendius slaves were kept for satisfying the hungers of the fighters." "They are," said Otto, "and they grow furious when they are kenneled, and the others are brought in, as a change of pace. But it,

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too, is excellent for the slaves, as it makes them more diligent, and more helplessly needful, and the men, too, of course, after the timid, confused, untutored girls of the countryside, are eager to relish once again the marvelous feel of a true woman in their arms, a gasping, yielding, begging, helplessly aroused slave." "The fuel is aboard, sir," said another mariner. "Good," said Julian. "The captain will be ready for departure shortly," said a junior officer. "Good," said Julian. Two men passed them, with sticks, herding cows. Four men followed, carrying poles. At the ends of each pole, balanced, swinging, were cages, filled with cackling poultry. These were destined for the small farms of Venitzia, tiny allotments within its fenced perimeter. In Venitzia an egg was a luxury. Outside the fence, occasionally seen on their mounts, in their furs, with their long lances held upright, against the sky, were Heruls. There was a point to the cows, too, of course, as fresh milk, like eggs, was a luxury in Venitzia. Outside the fence, as I have mentioned, were Heruls. Behind these men came others, other pairs, each pair here carrying,

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supported between themselves, a single pole, from which dangled, upside down, lines of the plucked, gutted bodies of similar fowl, these tied together in pairs, the narrow, scaled, clawed feet of each pair fastened together by string, the pair then thrown over the pole, held in place, swinging, by the string joining their feet. Quantities of dark-brown leaves of salted meat, baled with cord, went past, on carts. Great slabs of meat, too, were brought to the ship, on the shoulders of brawny porters. Much had already been loaded, such as casks of water; boxes of eggs, layered, cushioned in straw; tins of biscuits and bread; blocks of cheese, bearing the imprints of the manufacturers; butts of oil; crates of

dried

fish;

potted

ducks;

spices;

almonds;

dates;

sugar;

confections; condiments; hampers of vegetables; barrels of fruits; skins of cheap wine, amphorae of fine wines; and quantities of butter, salt, and flour. "Tenting, charcoal, weaponry, ammunition, parts?" asked Julian. "Fodder and food for the beasts? Fuel for the hoverers?" "Yes, sir," said a mariner. There was a squeal from within, ringing out from the metal, of one of the mounts, or horses. "Be careful in there!" called Julian.

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Otto had learned to ride such beasts near one of the holdings of Julian, a small fortresslike holding in the northern hemisphere of Vellmer. He had learned to master them with the bit and bridle, and quirt. It was at that holding that Otto had received his commission as a captain in the imperial auxilia, or auxiliary forces. Such beasts were not uncommon on Tangara, being ridden by peoples such as the Heruls, and, some said, the Otungs, one of the five tribes of the Vandals. We pause to remind the reader that the Ortungs, under Ortog, their king, were a secessionist tribe from the Drisriaks, and were decimated and scattered by Abrogastes. They are not to be confused with the Otungs, which was the leading tribe of the Vandal peoples. Five tribes, with their associated clans, constituted the Vandal nation. These tribes are the Darisi, the Haakons, the Basungs, the Wolfungs, and the Otungs.

We

apologize,

incidentally,

for

what

may

seem

the

unnecessary reiteration of such particulars. We trust that the reader does not find this offensive. Surely it is not our intention to impose upon his patience. But we have noted that such matters are occasionally confused even in the imperial records. A single, shrill note sounded in the vicinity of the ship, from a device on the port master's tower.

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Men lifted their heads, and looked to the tower. Many, below, visible through the grille on which they stood, backed away, though they were yards from the flat bottom of the blackened cement well, dozens of yards thick, below the ship. "It is the first warning," said Julian. Below, visible through the grille on which they stood, at the level below, the lower hatch slid shut. "You must soon be aboard," said Julian. "What is wrong?" asked Otto. "Ensign," said Julian. "Yes, sir?" said the officer. "The lading is not complete," said Julian. The ensign regarded him, startled. "It is not complete," said Julian. The officer, puzzled, consulted his records, and his markings on them, added throughout the afternoon. The officer looked up.

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"There are some sheep, some goats, some pigs," he said, "but they will be brought on momentarily." "Your manifest is not complete," said Julian. "Summon the chief supply officer." "Yes, sir," said the ensign, and hurried away, for the first warning had already sounded. There had already, with the first warning, been a change in the activity on the quay. It was much more subdued now. Fewer came and went now through the second hatch. Many now, their work finished, stood or sat about, some on their carts and vehicles. This was not unusual, that they would linger for a time, to see the departure of the ship. Too, in the distance, one could see colors, and flutterings, at the railings. Individuals from the city, nearby Lisle, sometimes came down to the quays to watch. The departure of such a ship, an imperial starship, even of the freighter class, is an awesome sight. "I fear the intent of our mission to Tangara may be more widely suspected than I feared," said Julian to Otto. "Why do you say that?" asked Otto. "There were two manifests, of course," said Julian, "the public manifest, filed with the port officer, listing supplies, vehicles, mounts, ammunition, and such, typical supplies for an expedition supplying and reinforcing Venitzia, outfitting scouting expeditions, conducting smallscale reprisals and such, and the second manifest, which was

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classified." "And what was its import?" asked Otto, puzzled. "Trade goods, gifts, and such, of course," said Julian, "to smooth your way among barbarians." "I am a barbarian," said Otto. "But you come in the rank of an imperial officer," said Julian. "It might be better, at first, if they did not know that," said Otto. "You will need gifts, to interest them, to make yourself welcome," said Julian. "No," said Otto. Behind them men were hurrying a small number of sheep through the second hatch. Following them were other men, bringing four pairs of goats. Within the hatch a mariner was hastening them forward, with gestures. Julian regarded him, irritably. "I am not an ambassador, not a merchant," said Otto.

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"What then are you?" asked Julian. "One who is chieftain of the Wolfungs," said Otto, "one who was lifted upon shields." "Without gifts, you will not be accepted," said Julian. "The time for gifts," said Otto, "is after one has been accepted." "You do not understand barbarians," said Julian. "It is you, my friend," said Otto, "who do not understand such folk." At this point the second warning sounded. Above their level, at the crew and passenger entryway, to the level of which had been wheeled a steel, stepped gangway, an officer was waiting. He looked down at Julian. "We are betrayed," said Julian. "We have been deprived of the goods essential to the success of our mission. Iaachus, or someone at court, I fear, has delayed or diverted them." "If you think them important, bring them with you, when you follow me," said Otto. "You must assuredly wait for me," said Julian, "at Venitzia."

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"No," said Otto. "Then all is lost," said Julian, dismally. "I do not want the goods," said Otto. "Surely you understand they would be of value, at least eventually," said Julian. "Perhaps," admitted Otto, shrugging. "I would know who has betrayed us," said Julian. "Surely it must be Iaachus," he said, angrily. "Iaachus supported your mission," said Otto. "It seemed so," said Julian. "It is time to board," said a mariner. "The third signal will be sounded any moment." "Where is the chief supply officer?" cried Julian. A technician hurried past, carrying loops of insulated cable over his shoulder. This cable had been detached from a socket in the ship. Communication with the ship was now, substantially, from the port tower, not from the level of the quay.

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"Time to board, sir," said the mariner, urgently. "Without the goods we are lost," said Julian. "No," said Otto. "Hurry!" said the mariner. "Farewell, my friend," said Julian, angrily, grasping Otto's hand. "Dismiss from your mind the dross of goods," said Otto. "Where I go they are not the coin." "And what, where you go, do you take to be the coin?" inquired Julian. "Steel," said Otto. "My poor, naive, simple, dear friend," said Julian. "You would buy allies?" asked Otto. "Yes," said Julian. "It is the way of the empire." "I had thought that civilitas was the way of the empire," said Otto. "One buys barbarians," said Julian. "It is only slaves who may be purchased," said Otto. There was

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suddenly on the quay, several yards away, from behind piled crates, rearing stacks of boxes, assemblages of large machinery, a wild hooting, and cries of pleasure, numerous, boisterous, masculine acclamatory shouts. Julian looked up, wildly. A senior officer approached him. Behind him was the ensign whom Julian had dispatched in search of the chief supply officer. "I am Lysis," said the senior officer, "chief officer in charge of supply, the Narcona." He and Julian exchanged salutes. Julian had saluted first, as his own rank, in the imperial navy, the protocol of which he was scrupulous to respect, was inferior to that of the supply officer. The supply officer turned about and began, losing no time, to wave several men behind him toward the still-open second hatch. They bore burdens of diverse size and weight. Though the nature of the goods was somewhat obscured by their packaging, the wrapping and boxings, and such, we may conjecture, and affirm with confidence, given what later became clear, their natures, which ranged from the common and ordinary, such as nails, wire and copper, to the remarkable, and even precious, such as emeralds, ivory and gold.

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"These are the goods of the second manifest," said Lysis, quietly. "They are late," said Julian. "No," said the officer. "On the instructions of one in high position, they were to be delivered at the last moment, in the interests of security, before inquiries could be made, before it would be possible to halt their embarkation." "One in a position of authority is brilliant," said Julian. "I was wrong to suspect him," said Julian to Otto. "It is good to know on whom one may depend," said Otto. The goods were now moving past them. "The manifest has been checked," said the supply officer. "To be sure," said Julian, "there is not time to check it now." For an instant he seemed troubled. "It is complete, milord," the officer assured him. "I went over it in the warehouse this morning, and it has been kept under seal, and guard, since then." "Good," said Julian.

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No need for concern was there then. "Be careful there," called the ensign, at the officer's side, as men fought to keep their grip on a bale of cloths. The heavy canvas cover of the baled cloths gave no clue as to the richness of the stuffs inside, brocades and velvets, and sheens of golden silk, materials fit to bedeck the consorts of chieftains. Other men struggled to carry, upon their shoulders, what, wrapped in burlap, appeared to be metal ingots. Many were of iron but there were, too, among them, concealed, ingots of gold, from which rings might be formed, fine rings, for the arm and wrist. Groups of men, four men in each group, bent under the weight of single tusks of the Thalasian torodont. Boxes passed, which contained plates of copper, and sacks of silver and gold coins. In other boxes there rattled cameos, and medallions, bearing the visage of the emperor, represented as a bearded, powerful man. "Hurry, hurry!" called a mariner. Bundles of furs, and skins, were carried by, even those of the golden vi-cat, though the golden fur was rolled to the inside, that the wealth within might be well concealed. Spices, and condiments, and many other foodstuffs, too, were hastily embarked.

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"I smell the pepper of Askalan," marveled a man. "Are you sure?" asked another. "Yes, I smelled it once in a bazaar on Rachis II," he was informed. It was an exotic trade good, doubtless little known on Tangara. The scent came through the pores of the box of fernwood in which it lay. Too, there were many other spices, and such, though well sealed, from

various

worlds,

such

as

nutmegs,

gingers,

cinnamons,

marjorams, frostfruit peel, coriander, thyme, extract of les, cream of kalot, essence of almond, rosemary, mint, siba, chives, mustard, whole cloves, ground cloves, curry powder, mixed herbs, flakes of hineen, tel sauce, minced basbas stalk, sage, paprika, boiled arla leaves, seed of the pinnate fennis and vanilla. "But the goods are not quite complete, are they?" asked Julian. "No," said the officer. He lifted his hand, to an unseen compatriot. "Move!" said a voice, from behind boxes, and machinery. "This way, this way!" said another voice. Instantly, there was another rousing cry of delight from the longshoremen, the stevedores, the porters, the drivers, the dock hands, some hooting, the clapping of hands.

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It was a similar sound to that which had risen upon the quay but moments earlier. "This way," said a voice, that of a young, blond officer. There were cries of pleasure from many men about, who, it seemed, had come from here and there, from many places about the quay, some descending even from their coigns of vantage on boxes, from the seats and hoods of vehicles, and such, to crowd about what was now the center of their attention. "This way, this way," said another voice, a severe, impatient voice. Approaching, uncertainly, were several muchly concealed figures. Each was covered, almost entirely, by a large, light, but closely woven, opaque, white, sheetlike cloth, which was thrown over the head and buckled about the neck, that portion of the cloth constituting then, in effect, an opaque, concealing hood. Below, at the sides, at the shoulders, two apertures appeared in the cloth, through which bared, fair arms projected. The cloth itself, its hem, so to speak, fell midway, in its voluminousness, upon lovely calves. In this way the lower portion of the well-rounded calves, and the trim ankles and the small feet of each figure, these lovely parts all bared fully, as the arms, were visible. The left ankle of each of the figures was encircled by a light, flatish, narrow, but sturdy, steel anklet, which was locked. After having been unloaded from some vehicle on the quay, which was doubtless the occasion of the first raucous greeting to which they had been subjected, they had assumed, doubtless upon command, a common hand linkage. In this case it was as follows: The first figure

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puts its right hand behind it and it is felt for, and grasped, by the second figure, who then puts its own left hand behind it, which is felt for, and grasped, by the left hand of the figure behind it, who then puts its own right hand behind it, which is felt for, and grasped, by the right hand of the figure behind it, and so on. To be sure, there are several other such linkages, hands on shoulders of the preceding figure, right hand back to left hand forward, repeated and so on. The figures had now been permitted to unclasp hands and had been pushed together, crowded together, closely, near the grille ramp leading to the second hatch, only a few feet from Julian and Otto. "Why are they not chained?" asked Julian. "They are not going to escape," said the supply officer. There was laughter from the men about. "Forgive me, milord," said the officer. "When such merchandise is moved," said Julian, "I prefer for it to be secured." "Yes, milord," said the officer. "And I do not mean by a cord or rope to which each clings,'' said Julian. "I mean a neck chain, a wrist chain, an ankle chain, an arrangement of bars and collars, locked, plank neck-stocks, nailed or bolted shut, such things."

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"Yes, milord," said the officer. The figures, under the sheetlike coverings, shifted, uneasily. The sound of the third warning then rang out, from the port tower. "The sequencing is begun," said an officer. "You must board immediately," said another. "He is right, milord," said the supply officer. "Sir!" called down the officer, anxiously, from the higher entryway, at the top of the wheeled, steel stairway. "I would see them," said Julian, suspiciously, abruptly. "There is no time, milord," said the chief supply officer. "Remove the traveling cloaks," commanded Julian. This was hastily done, almost frantically. There were shouts of pleasure from the ruffians, and others, on the quay. "They are not collared!" said Julian.

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"They are ankleted, milord," said the supply officer. Each of the figures was now revealed to be that of a lightly clad beautiful woman. Each wore a white, short skirt which wrapped about her hips, and a snug, tight white halter. The midriff of each was bared. "They are muchly clothed," said Julian. "They are prize slaves," said the officer. Julian went to one of the girls, and then to another. He thrust up the short skirt at the left hip. One of the slaves, a blonde, gasped, in protest, though it was not she whose

flank

was

thus

subjected

to

such

abrupt,

peremptory

inspection. Julian looked at her, puzzled, and then looked to the officer. "These are not branded," he said. "None are branded," said the supply officer. "One in authority, whose name need not be spoken here, thought that felicitous, that the masters into whose ownership they come might then have them marked as they please, or even not, if that be their wish." "I see," said Julian. "They are prize slaves," said the officer.

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"But in their condition as slave no more than any other slave,'' said Julian. "True," said the officer. "A common mark then would be as quite suitable for them, indeed, surely as appropriate for them, as for any other." "True," said the officer. "Indeed," said Julian, "let the most beautiful of slaves wear no more than a common mark, that it may help her to keep in mind what she is, that she is no more than a slave!" "Yes, milord," said the officer. One of the slaves, a blonde, stiffened, in anger. Once, again, this caught the eye of Julian. "It is time to board!" called the officer from the higher entryway. The sound of pigs could be heard on the quay. It might be recalled that goats, sheep, and pigs had appeared on the public manifest, with certain other animals, but that the pigs had not yet been embarked. The bared feet of the slaves were on the steel grille of the main platform, near the shallow ramp, also a grille, leading to the second

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hatch. It was not uncomfortable, as the grille was closely set, but it must have been warm, and they must have been aware, keenly, of the numerous, aligned ridges of the grille on the soles of their feet. The grille ramp, which was adjustable, as there is some variation in hatch placements, was of a similar construction. "Hurry!" called the officer, from the higher entryway. One of the slaves, a blonde, went to the entryway ladder, and had ascended three steps before she suddenly cried out in pain, the back of her legs, just below the hem of the short, white skirt, lashed with a switch, in the hand of one of the two officers who had brought them forward, he who seemed the more severe of the keepers. "What do you think you are doing?" he cried out, angrily. "Boarding," she said. There was laughter on the quay, about the hatch. "Get back where you belong," said the officer, fiercely, pointing with the switch to the bevy of briefly clad beauties near the ramp grille. She stood for just an instant on the step, but, when he raised his switch again, she hurried down and fled back among the others. Laughter rang out on the quay. "Forgive her, milord," said the blond officer to Julian. "She is a

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debtress, from Myron VII, sold to defray her own debts, and knows as yet little of what it is to be a slave." Julian was studying the blond slave, intently. "She will learn!" laughed a man. "Yes!" said another. There was more laughter. "Move aside!" said a man. There then came, being hurried, a tiny herd of pigs, some dozen or so, which, by men with sticks, were driven through the hatch. "This way!" called a mariner inside. "It is through this hatch that you will be loaded, my dear," said the supply officer to the blonde, indicating the second hatch, "with the other animals." She crouched down, and, it seemed, frantically, desperately, was trying to force the anklet from her fair ankle. Of the twenty slaves, or seeming slaves, ten were brunettes, and ten were blondes. "They are a likely lot," said a man.

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"Yes," said another. "I wonder what they will be doing on Tangara," said a fellow. "We are to be distributed among taverns on Venitzia," said one of the slaves. "I think I shall put in for duty on Venitzia," said a man. "Do not," laughed another, "it is a desolation, a wilderness." To such a world, thought Otto, angrily, were the Otungs banished. "I expect to be purchased for a high house, perhaps that of the prefect," said one of the slaves. "And doubtless among your other duties," said a man, "will be cleaning and the polishing of silver." The beauty, a brunette, tossed her head, and looked away. "Were you given permission to speak?" asked the blond officer, one of the two who had brought the women forward. "No, Master," said more than one. Several put their heads down. "Insolent slaves," said the severe officer.

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"They will learn quickly," said a man. "They need only be beaten, branded, and collared," said another. Several of the women shifted their weight, moving from one foot to another, apprehensively. Such things could be easily done to them. They were slaves. Few now met the eyes of the bystanders. The blond looked up, ceasing her efforts to free her ankle of its identificatory device, conscious of a shadow over her. It was Julian. "It is on you," said Julian. She stood, angrily. "Stand straighter," said Julian. She did so, angrily. "Do I not know you?" he asked. "I do not think so, milord," she said, seemingly suddenly frightened.

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"I have seen you somewhere," he said. "I do not think so, milord," she said. "It would seem unlikely, milord," said the blond officer, "as she is from Myron VII." That world was far from Inez IV. Julian took the hair of the blonde and held it, tightly, and pulled her head back, studying her face. "I am sure I have seen you somewhere," he said. "We must go," said the supply officer. "Some festival, some supper, some regatta, somewhere," said Julian. "She is a common type, though an exquisite specimen of the type," said the one officer, the more severe of the two, he with the switch. "There are millions like her in the galaxy." The woman made a tiny, protesting noise, but she could move her head scarcely at all, as it was held. "Perhaps she served as a slave at some such affair," said the blond officer.

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"Perhaps," said Julian. "Perhaps you met her when she was free," said a man. "Perhaps," said Julian. "She might then have been dressed differently," laughed a man. "Yes," said Julian. He then, slowly, by the hair, forced her down, to her knees. "Keep your hands down," he warned her, when she seemed tempted to raise her hands to her hair. "On all fours," he said. She complied. "Do you see him?" asked Julian, indicating Otto. She nodded. "To his feet, and kiss them," said Julian, releasing her hair. She hesitated for a moment. Then she crawled to Otto, who was but a foot or two away, where she hesitated again, for a moment, and then put down her head and kissed his feet. She then lifted her head, and met his eyes. Then she looked down. He had been regarding her, impassively.

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She trembled, but then controlled herself. "You may return to your place," said Julian. She quickly rose up, and fled back among the other women. "On the grille, on all fours, all of you!" said the supply officer. The beauties crowded onto the shallow ramp. "Cover them and load them," said the supply officer. The sheets were thrown over them, and they were hastened through the hatch. Within, mariners, with sticks, were waiting for them. They were to be conducted thusly, covered, herded, through the passageways of the ship. In this way they would not know their way about, or where they were on the ship. "Surely you admit they are an exquisite lot," said the supply officer. "Yes," said Julian. "Someone in authority has made a set of excellent choices." "We have let them believe that they are going to Venitzia as common slaves, for service in the taverns, for purchase by private houses, and such," said the supply officer.

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"Good," said Julian. "There did not seem much point in telling them that they are destined to be gifts for barbarians." "No," smiled Julian. "They can always learn that, to their terror, later." The hatch slid shut. "In their kennels," said Julian, "I trust that they will not be overly encumbered with garments." "Very well, milord," said the supply officer. "Perhaps," said Julian, "they might, aboard the ship, receive some training. Whereas barbarians might enjoy training them to their own harnesses, I would not want them to be slain the first night." "I understand, milord," said the officer. "You must board," said a junior officer, urgently, to Julian. "I am following later," said Julian. "I will board," said Otto. "Wait for me in Venitzia," said Julian.

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"No," said Otto. "At least," said Julian, "you now have the gifts." "Yes," said Otto. "That should smooth your way considerably," said Julian. "Perhaps," said Otto. "Farewell," said Julian. "Do you think you knew the slave?" asked Otto. "I had thought so, for a moment," said Julian. "But it seems unlikely. I think now that I must have been mistaken." "Farewell," said Otto. The men clasped hands, briefly. Otto then hurried up the stairway, and disappeared through the entryway. As soon as he had entered, the entryway hatch slid shut. A few minutes later, in a great burst of heat and flame, and smoke, an imperial freighter lifted up and, seemingly slowly at first, then much more rapidly, ascended into the sky over the quays at Point North.

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The sound was heard even in Lisle, some nine miles distant, in which city was one of the imperial palaces. To be sure, the imperial family was not then in residence.

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CHAPTER 5 "Surely it is time, milord," said the clerk, coming to stand behind the chair of Abrogastes. "Not yet," said Abrogastes, surveying the feasters, now become more riotous, considering, too, the former women of the empire, hurrying about, serving, the lads near them, with the switches. "There," said Abrogastes, to his shieldsman, "that one," pointing to one of the former women of the empire, who was at the farther end of the hall, with a hot, stained trencher of slabs of roasted meat, a blond woman, a particularly beautiful one, and one now exquisitely curved, from the merciless regimen of diet and exercise imposed upon her by her keepers. We have met her before. She was one of three display slaves. She had been, once, a free, haughty, highly placed, rich woman of the empire. She had been aboard the Alaria, when that vessel had been overtaken by an Ortung fleet, intent upon the rescue of Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks. The ship had been disabled, and boarded, and, after fierce fighting, taken. She, with many others, who had been unable to escape in smaller vessels, had found themselves, to their horror, become the booty of barbarians, spared only for the whip and collar. She then, with many others, had belonged to Ortog, king of the Ortungs, prince of the Drisriaks. She and two others, also blond, had been utilized by Ortog as display slaves, a particularly lovely matched set, which, together with other objects of value, boxes of coins, chests of gems, and such, advertised the splendor of his

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court, the wealth of his house. They had come into the possession of Abrogastes after the defeat and scattering of the Ortungs, and his raid on Tenguthaxichai. Abrogastes had seen fit, as well, to utilize the trio as display slaves. To be sure, they had many other uses, as well. "That one, milord?" asked the shieldsman, pointing. "Yes," said Abrogastes. The woman had avoided the height of the hall, opposite the great two-leaved portal of its main threshold, avoided the dais, where might be found the bench, with its high-seat pillars, of Abrogastes. Indeed, few of the lovely, belled servitors would have dared to approach that end of the hall, where were the tables of the higher nobles, were it not for the merry, hastening switches of the lads who supervised them. In a sense this was unusual, for often such women, women in such a condition in such a hall, might vie to serve the higher tables, eager to patter to the boards above the salt, hoping to draw themselves to the attention of the feasters there, hoping to be noticed, and called later, when the nobles and higher men might turn restlessly in the furs. Surely better to be chained at the foot of a noble, in some hall or three-aisled house, risking all, desperately, to please him, than to twist and turn, as one could, in the tiny confines of a kennel, to share a stall, ankle-chained, in a dairy barn, or to lie, collared, with pigs, in the mud of a sty. But tonight few of the women, unbidden by their jovial overseers, dared to approach the high tables, those at the end of the hall, and even fewer the bench of Abrogastes himself. At the right of Abrogastes, free, there crouched a great hound, alert and crested. Such hounds often help to keep excellent order among domestic

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animals, sheep and such. The shieldsman caught the eye of one of the colorfully garbed lads, with the colorful cloak, and pointed to the woman in question. The lad did not bother speaking to her but struck her suddenly, unexpectedly, with the switch, turning her toward the far end of the hall. She nearly tipped the trencher, but no meat fell from it to the dirt, rush-strewn floor. It would not be necessary, then, that she be beaten for such a clumsiness. She quailed. The shieldsman gestured that it was indeed she who was wanted, and should approach. The switch struck her high, well above the back of the knees, hurrying her forward, with a jangle of bells, toward the bench of Abrogastes. As she approached, and then, timidly, slowed her pace, the hound at the side of Abrogastes growled, and rose up, on its two front legs. Its hump, a knot of muscle at the back of its neck, tightened, its eyes blazed, the crest began to lift, its ears flattened themselves, back, at the sides of the head.

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"Steady, lad," said Abrogastes, soothingly. The woman had stopped, some feet from Abrogastes, in terror, given the obvious menace of the animal. Then she cried out in pain, as the lad behind her gave her an excellent stripe, across the back of the legs. Tears in her eyes, terrified, she came forward, and knelt before Abrogastes, on the dais, for there was no table directly before his bench, and, putting down her head, lifted the tray up, and forward, to him. He regarded her. In such a position a woman is quite beautiful. She was nude, of course, as were, as well, the other former ladies of the empire serving at the feast. Perhaps I have been remiss in not calling this sort of thing explicitly to the attention of the reader, but then it was doubtless not necessary to do so. How else would one expect former ladies of the empire to serve at such a feast? The Alemanni are men.

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To be sure, she, and the others, did wear metal anklets, to which bells were affixed, which would sound with the tiniest movement, and a steel collar. Underneath her blond hair Abrogastes could see the glint of her collar. On her left thigh, high, just under the hip, there was a brand. It was not the sign of the Drisriaks but a common brand, recognized in merchant law throughout galaxies. It would make it possible to put her on a slave block almost anywhere, with no questions asked. "Would you like to feed my little pet?" asked Abrogastes, indicating the restless, crested beast that crouched to his right. She shook her head, fearfully. The beast looked at her, and growled. "For what do you exist?" asked Abrogastes. "To serve my masters with instant, unquestioning obedience and total perfection," she said. "Do you know what would happen if you were to try to feed him?" asked Abrogastes.

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"No, Master," she said. "He would tear your arm off, at the shoulder," said Abrogastes. "Yes, Master!" she said. Such beasts are trained to accept food only from their master, and certain keepers, with whom they are familiar. They attack others who might try to feed them. This makes sense, as food from others might be drugged or poisoned. If the beasts do not receive food within a day or two from their master, or familiar keepers, they hunt for themselves. At such times they can be extremely dangerous. Abrogastes then, with one hand, his right, took three slabs of hot, greasy, roasted meat from the trencher. "Go," said Abrogastes. "Yes, Master!" said the slave and rose to her feet and backed away, quickly. There was laughter. A few feet away she turned to regard Abrogastes. She was trembling. She was perhaps even more terrified of Abrogastes than the shaggy brute that crouched to his right, but, too, now, every inch of her was alive. She shifted and her bells, telling their tales, jangled. Men laughed. Her belly, as she looked at him, was afire. He was her master. She belonged to him. She must obey him, instantly,

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unquestioningly and to the best of her ability, in any, and all, things. She moaned with desire. She could scarcely stand. The bells jangled, as she fought for balance. She felt weak. She feared she might faint. Never had she known a man such as Abrogastes, and these others, and they were her masters! "Back to your serving!" said a lad, giving her a quick, stinging lash beneath the small of the back with his switch. Tears bursting from her eyes, cruelly stung, embarrassed, she turned about, and hurried to the food table, to replenish the trencher. They must call for her tonight, someone must! Did they not know she was a slave, and needful! Someone be kind, she thought, wildly. Someone be kind to a poor slave! Be kind, someone, to a poor slave! Abrogastes took one of the three slabs of meat and held it down, to the hound at his right. The gigantic head lifted itself delicately, and, carefully, took the piece of meat, and then put it under one paw, holding it to the dais, and tore at it with its teeth. Abrogastes felt a cheek press itself against his boot, on his left. "Master," said a small voice, timidly. There was a small sound of chain, of heavy chain, on wood.

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Abrogastes looked down, to his left. "Greetings, little Huta," he said. Lying there, to his left, was a small, nude, dark-haired woman, with dark eyes, and high cheekbones. She was on a heavy chain, fastened to a ring on the dais. The chain was quite heavy. It might have easily held even a hoofed sorit. And, too, the collar she wore, to which the chain was attached, by a large padlock, was unusually heavy, and large, for a woman. Her lines had been much improved, by the regimen to which she had been subjected by her keepers, since her embondment on Tenguthaxichai. "I am hungry, Master," she said. "Oh?" said Abrogastes. "I have not been fed all day," she said. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. She looked up at him, pathetically. Abrogastes looked down at her, in anger. She looked away, frightened.

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Huta had been a consecrated, sacred virgin, an officiant of the rites of the Timbri. It had been under her influence, according to some, that Ortog had been tempted into the path of rebellion and secession. As a historical observation it seems likely that this analysis is overly simple, considering the energy and ambition of Ortog. On the other hand, there is no doubt that her predictions, prophecies, contrived "signs" and such, played their role in firing his ambition, and encouraging his break with the Drisriaks. In the raid on Tenguthaxichai she had fallen into the hands of Abrogastes. She had been unable to influence him. Such men are not easy to influence. Her guilt, her duplicity and fraud, had been manifest. On Tenguthaxichai she had forsworn her gods. Only by declaring herself slave had she managed to escape death, and that only, perhaps, for a moment. She knew that her life hung by a thread with Abrogastes, who held her, in part, responsible for the defection of Ortog. She was desperate to please him, not only that she might then live, but because of strange stirrings in her belly, because of profound

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helplessness,

newly

sensed,

because

of

unfamiliar

whispering,

insistent desires, because of yearnings, and beggings, and needings, things she now sensed arising in her as softly, as meaningfully, as stealthily, as irresistibly, as tides and seasons. "Perhaps I will throw you a piece of meat, to the dais," he said. He held the two pieces left, in his hand. The tone of his voice frightened her. "A slave would be most grateful, Master," she said. "Do not use your hands," he said. "No, Master," she said. "On all fours," he said, "here," indicating a place on the dais, before the bench. "Yes, Master," she said, rising to all fours, this posture lifting the chain on her neck, and coming a little about the bench. "Ready?" he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He then threw the piece of meat to the dais, suddenly, before the bench.

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She put down her head but then jerked it back, suddenly, screaming, in a sound of chain, of snarling, of the scratching of claws on wood. Not inches from her head had been the snarling, suddenly lunging visage and jaws of the fierce, crested hound of Abrogastes. Its eyes were blazing, regarding her, and its head, and jaws, down, were over the meat. Then, as she scrambled back on the other side of the bench, on the other side of the left high-seat pillar, the hound seized the meat and pulled it back to his place. She knelt then beside the bench, on the left of Abrogastes, shuddering, gasping. Abrogastes laughed, amusing himself at the discomfiture of the slave. Others, too, who had witnessed his joke, roared with laughter. To others, who might not have noticed, it was explained. There was more laughter. And men returned to their feasting. Huta looked for an instant into the eyes of Abrogastes, and then lowered her head, frightened. She knew that Abrogastes hated her, but, too, in his eyes, at times, she had seen something else, something which had seemingly infuriated Abrogastes, but which filled her with strange feelings, with something of hope, with even a sense of possible power. She had seen

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that he, at times, regarded her with keen desire. At such times, she had tried to kneel a little more straightly, or curl herself in his view, or at his feet, just a little more beautifully, or, timidly, seductively. At such times he would occasionally strike her, angrily, or spurn her with his foot. "You are learning your collar, aren't you, you stinking, clever little bitch," he would say. Then she would not dare to respond, but would keep her head down. He would then storm away. She then, kneeling there, left behind, or lying there, spurned, abandoned, wondered if, indeed, she might be learning her collar. She wanted him to care for her, if only a little. She knew she was falling in love with him. But how bold, or frightening, or terrifying, that would be for such as she, a mere slave! And how much more it would put her at his mercy! "Kneel here, more closely, pretty little slave slut, Huta," said Abrogastes. He tapped the side of the bench. She crawled a few inches closer, until she was at the very side of the bench. He lifted the large padlock on her collar, its bolt fitted through the stout collar staple and one of the links of the heavy chain, descending between her breasts, to the floor of the dais, and then looping up, over her left thigh, to descend again to the dais, to its ring, to which it was fastened, to the left of his bench. He let the padlock fall back, against the collar. He looked at her.

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"You appear to be collared and chained," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "It will soon be spring," he said, "and the storm of stones will be at an end." "Master?" she asked. "And then it will be time for the lions to come forth from their lairs," he said. This was an allusion to the lionships. "Master?" she said. "You were a consecrated, sacred virgin," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "You are now a slave girl," he said. "Yes, Master." "Yet you are still, as I understand it, a virgin," he said. "Master has not yet seen fit to remove my virginity," she said.

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"Or give you to a groom, that he may do so," said Abrogastes. "No, Master," she whispered. "Where do you think, this season," asked he, "the lions should prowl?" "I do not know, Master," she said, frightened. He then began to chew, holding it in one hand, and pulling at it with his teeth, the remaining piece of roasted meat, from the trencher of the display slave. She watched him, almost faint with hunger. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" she said. He tore off a piece of roasted meat and held it to her, but, when she reached up, to take it, delicately, gratefully, in her teeth, he removed it from her reach. He put it in his own mouth, and chewed upon it, and then swallowed it. Tears formed in her eyes. "Do you like your collar and chain?" he asked.

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"Yes, Master," she whispered. "Do you like your brand?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" she said. It was a common mark, familiar in almost all markets. "It marks you well," he said. "Yes, Master," she said, putting her head down. "As what you are, a slave," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "The proud, arrogant Huta," mused he, "is now no more than a slave." "Yes, Master," she said. "Perhaps the lions should visit the world of the Timbri," he said. She looked at him, frightened. "Perhaps you might be sent ahead," he said, "in the guise of a free woman, to assess diverse districts, with respect to their riches, to scout suitable landing points."

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"No, please, Master," she said. "You are a little fool," he said. "Master?" "Do you think I would entrust such a business to a slave?" She looked at him, trembling. "Do you think I would give you an opportunity to slip away from me?" he asked. "I do not know, Master," she whispered. "No," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. The look in his eyes frightened her. The consciousness of her slavery burned in her belly. "Do you not think there are numerous free women, who, for a price, would further such ends, who, for a chest of coins, a bracelet of diamonds, may be bought as easily as a slave girl, to which status they may then, in our own good time, be reduced?''

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She dared not speak. "Were you not once one such?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." Moodily he ate more of the meat. "I have not been fed this day, Master," she said. "Perhaps it was overlooked by the keepers." "No," he said. "It was by my orders." "Let Master not be angry with his slave," she said. "You are not worthy of being angry with," he said. "No, Master," she said. "Do you know why you have been permitted to be present at this feast?" he asked. "No, Master," she said, frightened. "There is a purpose," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Do you know why you have not been fed today?" he asked.

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"No, Master," she said. "There seemed no reason to waste food on you today," he said. "Master?" she said. "The lions will not hunt in the forests of the Timbri," he said, moodily. She was silent. "Elsewhere," said he, "there lie richer worlds for reaving." "Where?" she asked. "Does a pig inquire into the plans of her master?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "Let Master not hate his slave," she said. "Master," she said. "Yes?" said he. "Why was there no reason to waste food on me today?" "Because it is not likely that you will live out the day," he said.

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"Master!" she said. "I should have put you to the sword on Tenguthaxichai," he said, angrily. "No, Master!" she cried. "Why did I not do so?" he asked. "I do not know, Master," she said. "You stripped yourself well," he said. "I was weak." "I do not think so, Master," she said. "And what do you think was the reason?" he inquired. "Doubtless it amused Master to punish me, by enslaving me.'' "True," he said. "Too, I think Master was curious to see how I might prove to be, as an abject slave." "Perhaps," he said. "That is not weakness," she said. "No more than the lion is weak, when it stalks the gazelle."

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"And how do you think you would prove to be, as an abject slave?" he asked. "Master has denied me the opportunity to show him," she said. "Yes," he mused. "Let Master try me, and learn," she said. He regarded her, not speaking. "I beg to be given the opportunity to show Master," she said. "You beg to please as a slave?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" she said. "Interesting," he said. "It is a slave's hope," she said, "that her master might find her of some interest.'' His dark, keen eyes viewed her. She drew back. She began to realize what it might be, to be desired as a slave is desired.

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Then he looked away from her, angrily. "You are not important," he said. "To be sure, you have a small role to play here tonight. But you are not important. Mighty things are here afoot tonight. "Down," he said, and she lay down, beside the bench. He then, not looking at her, finished the meat. He looked out, over the feast. The former ladies of the empire served well. "Is it not nearly time, milord?" asked the clerk. "Yes," said Abrogastes. "Shall the spear be brought?" asked a man. "Yes," said Abrogastes.

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CHAPTER 6 "Your rations, milady," said the young, blond-haired junior officer, Corelius, sliding a shallow pan of moist gruel beneath the gate of the tiny cage, the bottom of which was some three inches above the steel floor of the cage. Inside, crouching within the cage, covering herself as best she could, the woman looked out through the closely set bars. "Is it you?" she pleaded. "It must be you!" Surely he was the only one of the crew who treated her with deference! It must be he! "What?" he asked. "Is it you?" she whispered. He smiled. Did the smile mean it was he, or that he thought her strange, or insane, or what? She cried out, inwardly, in anger, in misery. "Commonly," said he, "one thanks the keeper for food. That is courteous. Too, it need not be given to you, you know." "But you do not demand such things of me!" she said.

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"Nor of the others," he said. She cried out, inwardly, confused. She looked down at the pan of gruel. "Bring me something else," she said. "You cannot expect me to eat this moist slush!" "What would you like?" he asked. It must be he, then! "Tidbits of roast hen, tahareen will do, in siba sauce, hot rissit, fresh poma, frosted yar cakes, a custard of Vellmer, and wine, some wine, kana, yes kana, white kana!" "I scarcely think so," he smiled. "You could smuggle it here," she whispered. "Surely the risk would be too great," he whispered, conspiratorially. She shrank back in the cage. Perhaps it was not he. But perhaps the risks would be too great.

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But she resolved, when this business was done, as it must be soon, for she was frightened in the cage, to make him pay for not having complied with her requests, in this, her time of humiliation and hardship! How cruel he was, how lacking in understanding! How pleased she would be, reporting him to Iaachus. "Don't go!" she begged. He turned. "Yes, milady?" he said. "Is it you?" she begged. "Is it I, what?" he asked. "Nothing!" she said. "No! Do not go!" Again he paused. "You are polite," she said. "It is my wont," he said. "You call me 'milady,' " she whispered. "It is my wont," he said. "That is fitting, you know," she whispered. "Doubtless," he agreed.

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"I am caged alone," she said, "in this hold. There are no others here! Might that not arouse suspicion?" He looked at her, amused. She decided she hated him. He was clothed, and free. "Why is it?" she asked. "Surely the marks on your body should make that clear," he said. She flushed scarlet. The other officer, the severe, impatient one, had lashed her twice, with his switch, she, when she had been on all fours, in the common room. "You are being isolated, as a punishment," he said. "Too, it was felt that your example, your haughtiness, for example, might spread to the other girls, and imperil them later with masters. Too, if you must know, the other girls do not like you.'' "Do not like me!" she laughed. "That is amusing!" He shrugged. "Bring me something good to eat!" she said. "Consider," said he, "improving your behavior." "Improving my behavior?" she asked.

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"Some might suspect," he said, "that you were not a slave." "Get out!" she said. "Farewell, milady," he said, and turned about, and left. "Bring me something good to eat!" she called after him. When he had disappeared through the hatchway she crawled on her knees to the front of the cage, a movement of a foot or two, and grasped the bars. It must be he, she thought. He was polite. He called her "milady!" But perhaps he was mocking her. She did not know. Of course the agent would not care to make his identity too obvious to her, not until later. It must be he. Who else could it be? Improve her behavior! The other girls did not like her! That was too bad, that slaves might not like her, she, who could command them,

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and whip them, and buy and sell them as she pleased! But, too, perhaps it would not be wise for him to try to bring her luscious viands, and dainties, for what if the brute of a barbarian on board should learn of this, and become suspicious? She thought of the barbarian, such a formidable, silent, brooding giant of a man. She was terrified of him. But, too, she knew that she must, somehow, draw herself to his attention. That she must arrange, somehow, sometime, when she had the knife, to be alone with him. How terrifying to be alone with such a brute, a stranger to civilitas, not even civilized, not even, perhaps, of the empire! She did not wish to behave as a slave! Surely he would be more interested in her if she behaved as if she were free, not as one of those curvaceous, groveling, helpless, passionate chits in bondage! But his interest in her, if she seemed free, she feared, might be simply to tear her freedom from her, and put her to his feet, helpless, and no different then from any other slave! It must be the blond-haired officer, she thought, grasping the bars, it must be he! But if it were not he, who then might it be?

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How she hated the severe officer, the impatient officer, who had switched her, putting two sudden, stinging, rich stripes on her, she on all fours, as though she might have been no more than a slave girl! Before she had left Lisle, the very night she had left the royal palace, she had switched her own slave girl, mercilessly, for she had, it seems, rendered intelligence to the informants of Iaachus as to the marvelous beauty of her mistress. How the curvy little thing had wept and squirmed, as a slave, begging for mercy! So it could not be the severe officer, the beast! Too, it was he who had had her isolated, caged here, alone, her cage not with the cages of the others. Then she sat back in the cage, shuddering. It might be he. He might be trying to divert possible suspicion from himself, trying to conceal the latent relationship between them, that of the supplier of the weapon, that of the guarantor of safety, that of the provider of swift, sure return transportation to Lisle, to the one to whom the deed fell, to the appointed assassin, to the one who need do no more than scratch a skin with a tiny point. Perhaps he was a consummate actor?

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He had put her here, alone. Perhaps that was to diminish the chances of her being suspected, of her giving her true loftiness, her station and freedom away, doubtless inadvertently, perhaps in an instant of forgivable carelessness, in the presence of the mere slaves. It could be he. Perhaps, too, cleverly citing discipline as a blind, utilizing it as a pretext, he was giving her privacy, separating her from degraded animals, those meaningless slave girls, in deference to her different nature, and the delicacy of her feelings. It must be he! But he had not permitted her clothing in the cage. But then it had not been permitted to the others either, in their cages, in the common room. The young naval officer, he who had been on the quay, she thought, may have been responsible for that. He had made some remark which might have been interpreted as a recommendation to that effect. Why had they deferred to him, as they had? His rank, surely, at least insofar as she could read the relevant insignia, was not so high. She hated the young naval officer.

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But it seemed clear, too, that he would know how to treat slaves. Of that she was sure. But she was not a slave! How should she behave, she wondered, in the presence of the severe officer, he who had switched her. She smiled to herself. Perhaps she should behave in his presence as though she were truly a slave. That would surely be amusing, he acting his role, she hers, and none suspecting that they were both merely consummate actors! But what if he were not the one? What then, surely then she should not play such a role before him. Too, enacting such a role, as Iaachus had required of her, made her considerably uneasy. It produced feelings in her which she found oddly disturbing, not at all the sort of feelings one might expect to have if one were merely playing a role. Too, she had heard that there were tests in such matters, available to skilled masters, by means of which hypocrisy and sham might be detected. That frightened her. To be sure, she knew little of such tests. She sat back, farther, in the cage, her knees up. She regarded the gate, with its bars. She was well held in that cage, she knew, as well held as if she herself might be only a slave girl.

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There were two sorts of tests, we might remark, one of which was used to pick out slave girls from among free women, this usually used to detect runaway slave girls trying desperately to pass themselves off as free women, but which might, if one wished, serve equally well to pick out free women from among slave girls, among whom they might, as in the siege of a city, have attempted to hide themselves; and one of which was used to determine the authenticity or inauthenticity of slave behavior. Slavery is not, of course, a simple matter of behavior, though it manifests itself in behavior, sometimes even subtly, but it runs deep in the woman, coursing in every fiber of her being. A negative result in such tests distinguishes the mere appearance of slavery, its mere simulation, from its reality, or depth actuality. In such a situation the slave is quickly taught the truth of her slavery, that that is what she truly is. It does not take the intelligent woman long to understand this. Sometimes she is simply offered the choice of a full and perfect slavery or death, and she understands that there are no third options, such as acting, sham, or pretense, or even the tiniest particle of mental reservation. In this moment the woman must examine herself, perhaps more profoundly than ever before in her life. In a moment of emotional catharsis, she understands what she is, in her deepest heart, falls to the feet of even a hated master, and rejoices. The door to the hold opened and she raised her head instantly, and drew her knees up higher, and leaned forward, her hands about her legs, hiding herself so. How terrible that she should not have been permitted clothing!

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A stock keeper, a short, stocky, homely, simple-looking man, put his head inside the door and switched off the overhead hold light. "You!" she called, as he withdrew. After a moment the door slid back and the figure of the man reappeared in the portal. "Come here!" she said. The hold was now much in darkness except for two small, reddish night bulbs, on the wall. By the light of these one might check the hold, and, perhaps, its occupants, or cargo, without illuminating the entire area. It seemed that he was about to withdraw. She called out, "Sir!" He paused. "Please come here, sir!" she said. He stood there, in the reddish darkness. Then it seemed he would turn away.

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"Master!" she called. "Please, Master!" He approached the cage. "I have been brought by mistake only a pan of cold porridge,'' she said. "I cannot eat that. I will need something else. Please bring it to me." "Kneel," he said, "kneel straightly, back on heels, knees wide, head up, hands on your thighs, palms down." She obeyed. How she hated to be commanded by such a simpleton. But was some semblance of obedience not required by her role as putative slave? "Now put your hands, clasped, behind the back of your head," he said. That such a simpleton could command her! She did as she was told, feeling strange feelings. "I cannot eat this cold slush," she said. "It has been brought to me by mistake. Bring me something to eat." How strange sounded such words to her, in her present posture. He tried the cage gate, which was well locked.

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Was he trying to get in, and, if so, what for? Happily he did not have the key. He fingered a disk of wax wired about the gate and jamb of the cage. He let it drop, with an angry sound. It was, she had learned, the virgin seal, the rupture of which would testify to an unauthorized opening of the cage. He looked at her, in the half darkness, and she shrank back a bit. "No," he said. He turned away. "It is late," she said. This was true, in ship time. He turned about, to regard her, kneeling as she was. "The floor of the cage is hard, and metal!" she said. "I will be cold. Bring me a comforter!" "Curl," said he. " 'Curl'?" she said.

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"Lie down, on your side, curled up," said he. She did so. "Bring me a comforter," she said. "No," he said. "What is your name," she demanded. "Qualius," said he. "What do you do on the ship?" she asked. "I am a tender of pigs," he said. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Tending a pig," he said. She gasped, in fury. "Curl more prettily," he said. She did so, angrily, her right hip high, the love cradle of her vulnerable, and tormentingly beckoning, her waist marvelously turned, and roundly descendant, then swelling upward, roundly, to the excitements of her bosom.

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It was an excellent body, even for a slave. "Bring me a blanket!" she said. "No," he said. "I shall report you to the supply officer," she said, "to the captain!" To be sure, she had not even seen the captain, nor had she seen the supply officer since the quay. He turned away. "Even a tiny rag, Master!" she called. He stopped at the door, and looked back. "Please, Master!" she called. "Please, Master!" He stood there. "Even a tiny rag, Master!" she called. "No," he said. He then withdrew. She sat again in the cage.

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What a simpleton, and a fool he was, she thought. But she could dismiss him, she was sure, from her considerations. Iaachus would not have put a task of trust in the hands of so stolid and benighted a creature. But she had knelt for him, and posed for him, as he had commanded. Was she then, actually, a slave girl? Never! She was acting. But she did have strange feelings, and a sense of the radical dimorphism that separated the sexes in her species, a dimorphism that did not stop with, nor was it limited to, certain differentials of size and hardness, of smallness, of softness, and lusciousness. She feared she would be cold tonight. Ship, she thought, bring me soon to Tangara! She hoped that her isolation in the hold, her separation from the others, would not provoke suspicion. The supply officer, she thought, perhaps it is he, he who will provide me with the dagger. But I myself, she thought, may have to arrange the opportunity to be alone with the barbarian.

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How can I arrange that, she wondered. Perhaps my beauty will arrange it, she thought. But her beauty, it seemed, had had no great effect on the tender of pigs. But was it not extraordinary, even among slave girls, women embonded for their beauty, and, in places, she had heard, even bred for it? She was furious. She had not gotten her way. How she had demeaned herself, and yet had not gotten her way! Did they think she was a slave! She would think of some way to have her vengeance on the fellow. Iaachus could manage that. He had tried the gate of the cage. Had he merely been checking it, or had he been interested in seeing if it were securely fastened, and, if not, what might have happened then? He had seemed displeased at the discovery of the virgin seal on the gate. What if the gate had been insecure, and the seal not there? She shuddered. Too, she began to suspect the vulnerability of the female slave. She looked at the floor of the hold.

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She wondered what it might feel like, on her body. Suddenly, sitting there in the cage, she tried to slip the anklet from her left ankle. But she could not do so, and, in a few moments, she gave up the effort, angrily. It was on her, as the young officer on the quay had dryly observed. It was a slave anklet. It was part of her disguise, of course. It was not as though it was really on her. But it was, of course, really on her, at least in the sense that she could not remove it, no more than if she were in fact no more than another caged slave. She looked down with distaste at the now-reddish-appearing gruel in the shallow pan. Surely they did not expect her to eat such stuff. She would starve first. Who is the other agent, she wondered. Who has the dagger? She slept fitfully that night, or rest period. Her dreams were various. She dreamed of a slender, yellow-handled poniard, a black-swirled design wrought within the handle, the handle itself with a double-

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scrolled guard, which was important, that her hand not slip onto the blade, that lovely narrow blade, that beautifully, harmoniously narrow blade, ideal for penetration, some seven inches in length, razor-edged, needle-pointed,

coated

imperceptibly

with

some

transparent

substance. She dreamed of herself plunging it into the back of the unsuspecting giant, or perhaps, as he lay recumbent, unsuspecting, on a couch, into his chest. But, too, she had frightening dreams, of herself stripped, and thrown, painted and perfumed, and chained, among barbarians, with other loot, of herself on a slave block, of herself being sold in a hundred markets to a hundred masters, of Iaachus laughing, of her family laughing, of her intimate maid, whom she must now strive to dress as a lady, she herself now the intimate maid, laughing, and holding a switch, the very switch with which she had beaten the slave before, only that it was she herself who was now the slave! She awoke with a start. I am not a slave, she cried to the hold. And then she was frightened, fearing that someone might have heard. I am not a slave, she then whispered to herself, intensely. But then she remembered, from the dream, the fur beneath her knees, and the chains on her body, and the men about, regarding her, with a desire she had not understood that men could feel, and she knowing that she might belong to any of them and would then be his

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to command, she to be obedient to the least of his caprices. And she remembered the slave blocks and the cries of auctioneers and being exhibited, as a true slave. She shuddered. And, too, she remembered her indescribable thrills, knowing what she was, and how she must serve, joyfully, will-lessly compliant, how she must serve eagerly, helplessly, owned by another! Surely I am not a slave, she whispered to herself. Surely I cannot be a slave. She found herself ravenously hungry. There was nothing in the cage but the pan of gruel. I cannot eat this, she protested, tears in her eyes. Then she fingered it into her mouth. In a little while it was gone. There had not been much of it to begin with. Is this all we are to be fed, she asked herself. She touched the anklet. What is wrong with me, she asked herself.

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Ship,

she

whispered,

bring

me

swiftly

to

Tangara.

Unknown

confederate, put the dagger quickly into my hand. I would quickly be done with this, and would return quickly to the capitals of the empire. She then fell asleep again, and slept dreamlessly, until she was awakened by the young, blond officer, who released her from the cage, and conducted her, suitably, on all fours, to the common room. It was there that the slaves would receive some training. The supply officer, Lysis, who had direct charge of them, had apparently deemed this appropriate.

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CHAPTER 7 "Surely things proceed apace, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I am detained here, in Lisle," said Julian. "There seems no adequate reason for it, for my participation in these ceremonials." "It is fitting that those related to the imperial family participate, milord," said Ausonius. "I am troubled," said Julian. "Ottonius is well on his way to Tangara," said Tuvo Ausonius. "What does it matter if he arrives some weeks before you? He will surely wait for your assistance, and counsel." "I do not think he will wait," said Julian. "I think he has his own projects afoot." "You do not doubt his loyalty to the empire, surely?" asked Ausonius. "One does not know," said Julian. "Surely he is loyal," said Ausonius. "He was, as I understand it, raised in a festung village, one in tithe to the festung of Sim Giadini, in the Barrionuevo Heights." The festung, or fortress, of Sim Giadini was, in effect, a remote, fortified Floonian monastery, one occupied by members, or brothers,

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of the order of Sim Giadini, who had been an emanationist, a position now understood, following votes taken at three councils, to be heterodox. "He would doubtless have received instruction from the brothers of the order of Sim Giadini," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I think not," said Julian. "The relationship of the festung village to the festung is primarily economic. I suspect our Ottonius knows little more of Floon than of Orak and Umba.'' Orak was the king of the gods in the pantheon of the empire, and Umba was his consort. "But surely he will have learned the glory and wonder of the empire, and the value of civilitas," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Civilitas may be crumbling," said Julian. "Say 'No,' milord!" said Tuvo Ausonius, dismayed. "It may be the end of all things," said Julian. "The empire is eternal, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Once," brooded Julian, "there was no empire." "Do you feel the empire is in jeopardy?" asked Tuvo Ausonius.

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"Yes," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius was silent. "The empire needs fighters," said Julian. "Leadership fails, the aristocracy grows decadent, rabbles roam the streets, clients defect, allies become restless, borders contract, trade routes grow hazardous, outlying worlds grow indefensible, federates grow unruly." "But barbarians," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No children are born in golden beds," said Julian. "But barbarians, milord," protested Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes, barbarians," said Julian. "As our Ottonius?" "Yes," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius was silent. "They may save the empire," said Julian. "Or destroy it," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes," agreed Julian, wearily.

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"He is a peasant," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No," said Julian. "What is he then?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "I do not know," said Julian. "The answer to that mystery lies, I think, in the festung of Sim Giadini." "Surely, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius, "you do not think that the empire is truly in jeopardy?'' "No," said Julian, slowly, after a time. "I suppose not." "There is nothing to fear." "No," said Julian. "I think not." "The empire is eternal," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Of course," said Julian.

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CHAPTER 8 "Let us see if there are men here!" called Abrogastes, meaningfully, his eyes blazing, rising to his feet, from the bench, between the highseat pillars. He waved to the side. "It is the great spear!" cried a man. "It is the spear of oathing!" cried another. "What is it doing here?" cried another. "How is it come to the hall?" said another. "Surely it is not time for the spear," whispered others. "Not for a thousand years," cried a man. Two men bore the great spear forth, with its ashen shaft and bronze head, bore it muchly to the center of the feasting hall, but forward, some, toward the bench of Abrogastes. The brownish, ashen shaft of the spear was mighty, but might, in the hands of a titan, or giant, or in those of Kragon, the god of war, one supposes, have proven supple. The wood was fresh.

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The head was broad, and of bronze, and forged in an ancient fashion, one dating back to a time when the Alemanni were first learning the mysteries of metals, how to smelt, and mix, and shape them. There had been, of course, a succession of such spears, but each, you see, had touched its predecessor, and thus, as the Alemanni would have it, had become the spear. "This is the spear," the markings priest, who could read the ancient, secret signs, would say, and it had then, as it had touched its predecessor, become the spear. This succession of spears may have extended back farther than even the most ancient of war songs, to the first forests and storms, and wars. Its antiquity was not known. The earliest spears would have crumbled to dust but then, at such a time, they were no longer the spear, but another was the spear. In this sense the spear was thought to be eternal, as the Alemanni. It was a sacred object. Later the earlier spear was destroyed with axes, to cries of war. Thus it was as though it had perished in battle. The splinters were then wrapped in precious cloths, and burned in the sacred fire, in the secret

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place in what, by tradition, was said to be the first forest, where, as the stories had it, Kragon, the god of war, had fashioned the Alemanni, of earth, and fire, and his own blood, that in his hall he might have worthy cup companions. Kragon was usually represented as hawk-winged, this symbology presumably suggesting swiftness, ferocity, ruthlessness, unexpectedness of strike, and such things. He was also, generally, interestingly, regarded as a god of wisdom. In the syncretism of the empire he, with many alien gods, was sometimes included in the imperial pantheon. In the secret place in the forest, known only to the oldest of the markings priests, it was said that Kragon had breathed his spirit, with the breath of fire, into the Alemanni. The Vandals, too, interestingly, had such stories, which suggests the possible existence of an earlier cultural complex, perhaps an earlier cultural center, one perhaps even neolithic, or protoneolithic, underlying, in an obscure, basal fashion, the development of several of the barbarian peoples. "Unchain her!" roared Abrogastes, pointing to Huta, who shrank back, where she lay at the left side of his bench, as one would look toward the hall. One of the keepers rushed to the slave and pulled from his belt a great ring of keys, one of which he thrust into the massive padlock on her high, heavy iron collar. In an instant it was thrown in a clatter of metal to the stout planks of the dais, and Huta, whimpering, terrified, at a gesture from Abrogastes, was hurried from the dais, bent over, held by the hair, and flung to the earth, some five yards before the bench. Some three or four yards before the spear, which had now been placed, butt down, held by two men, in the rush-strewn dirt floor

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of the hall. She scrambled about, on all fours, to face Abrogastes, and then knelt in fearful obeisance, her head down, the palms of her hands on the floor, making herself as small as possible. "Kneel up!" shouted Abrogastes. Fearfully Huta did so, back straight, back on her heels, head up, palms

down

on

thighs,

knees

spread

widely,

pathetically,

beseechingly. "Behold, brothers!" cried Abrogastes in fury, pointing to the slave. "Behold she who was once Huta, priestess of the Timbri!" Anger coursed about the tables, for it was well known that she had been implicated in the secession of Ortog, and, indeed, by many, was held accountable for that defection, that treason and rebellion. "What is your name?" called Abrogastes to the slave. "Huta!" she cried. "And what sort of name is that?" he demanded. "It is a slave name, put on me by my master!" she cried. "Who is your master?" he asked. "You are my master," she cried, "Abrogastes, king of the Drisriaks, of the Alemanni!"

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"For what do you exist?" inquired Abrogastes. "To serve my masters with instant, unquestioning obedience and total perfection!" she said. "She it was," cried Abrogastes, to the assembled, now-sobered feasters, "who by trickery and cajolery, by promises, and false prophecies, fanned the ambition of Ortog, who tempted him to treason, who encouraged him in heinous sedition, who led him to rend the Drisriaks, his own people, who would have had him found a divisive tribe, even the name of which no longer exists!" The name, of course, of the failed, secessionist tribe was the Ortungs or the Ortungen. The name did still exist, of course, though it was not wise to speak it in the presence of Abrogastes, nor, generally, in the dwelling places of the Drisriaks. The Ortungs had been, of course, defeated, and scattered, as grass to the wind, as it was said. To be sure, there were, here and there, remnants who, in hiding, and unreconciled, continued defiantly to regard themselves as Ortungs, in their own right, by the acceptance of rings, and not traitorous Drisriaks. After the slaughter in the tent on Tenguthaxichai, recounted elsewhere, Abrogastes, on the advice of his counselors, had permitted pockets of surrendering, repentant Ortungs to return to the dwelling places of the Drisriaks. The olive branch, as well as the sword, can be an instrument of policy. "Is not treason the worst of crimes?" called Abrogastes.

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"Yes," cried several men, about the tables. "No!" shouted Abrogastes. "The instigation to treason is the worst of crimes!" He pointed to Huta. "Yes, yes!" cried men. The tables roared. The former ladies of the empire, kneeling about the hall, at the sides, before the tables, trembled. "Mercy, Master!" cried Huta, throwing herself to the rush-strewn floor of the hall. "What shall be done with her?" called Abrogastes. "Kill her! Kill her!" cried men. Men, too, rose from behind the tables. Others pounded upon them. "Kill her!" "Let it be a lesson to all who would betray the peoples!" cried a man. "Yes!" cried others. Huta, lying prone in the dirt, looked up, and lifted her hand to Abrogastes. "Mercy, Master!" she begged. Doubtless she then understood why food had not been given to her that day, that it might not be wasted upon her.

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The giant spear, held by two men, was large, upright, behind the slave. "Kneel up!" cried Abrogastes. Terrified, Huta obeyed, though she could scarcely, even kneeling, keep her balance, so shaken, so helpless, she was. "Let me cut her throat!" cried a man, coming about a table. "No, let me!" cried another. One man then even leapt to the slave and had her head back, cruelly, held by the hair, his knife at her throat. He looked eagerly to Abrogastes. Abrogastes waved him back, and the others, as well. "You were a priestess, were you not?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, Master," said Huta. "You were a consecrated, sacred virgin, were you not?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, Master," wept Huta.

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"You do not appear to be clothed," said Abrogastes. "No, Master," she wept. "She has her brand!" laughed a man. "Yes!" said another. There was laughter. "Behind you, behold the spear of the Alemanni!" said Abrogastes. "Yes, Master," she said, falling to all fours, and turning. "Go to it!" he said. Quickly she did so, and, unbidden, began to kiss, and lick it, desperately. There was laughter. "She is not unintelligent," said a man. "No," said another. The spear, interestingly, may not be touched by free women, of the Alemanni, or others. It may, however, receive the ministrations of female slaves, this being taken as a service or an obeisance, much as the washing of a warrior's feet by the tongues of the women of the

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enemy, the acts serving as a symbol of the nothingness of the slaves, as an irrevocable token of total submission, and as a recognition of, and an acknowledgment of, the power and glory of the Alemanni, "Turn about!" commanded Abrogastes. Huta, trembling and fearful, unsteady, on all fours, turned about, to face Abrogastes. "It will now be decided whether you live or die," said Abrogastes. "Master?" begged Huta. "Bring the scales," said Abrogastes. Men cried out with pleasure. Scales were brought, wide, shallow, pan scales, which, when the pointed staff was driven into the earth, to one side of the floor, and steadied there by the hand of a man, stood half as high as a man, and with them a small table, on which were a large number of lead pellets, tiny measured weights. "Stand!" commanded Abrogastes. Huta, trembling, unsteadily, stood. "Bring musicians," said Abrogastes.

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Three men, from the sand latitudes of Beyira II, were summoned, from where they had been waiting, in a small room off the main hall, a pantry shed. Two carried pipes, and one a small drum. The sand latitudes of Beyira II are, of course, not entirely sand, but they are, on the whole, windswept, desolate regions. They are crossed by lonely caravans. Here and there, among the dunes, there are small oases, where dates may be found, and grass, for small flocks. Some of these are well known and determine caravan routes. Some are known only to local groups, of nomads, of herdsmen, who move among them, seeking grass at one, while allowing it to replenish itself at another. Sometimes there are storms of sand which last for weeks, which must be weathered by the tiny groups and their small flocks. On the desert, and in the desolate regions in general, there is much loneliness, and much time. The inhabitants, the nomads and herdsmen, of these areas, as might be expected, have a rich oral culture, rich in such things as myth and storytelling. Too, they have their music, which is intricate, and melodiously sensuous, a music which moves the blood of men and the bellies of women. Although the tents of these nomads are dull, and inconspicuous, on the outside, melding in well with the browns and tans of the country, they are often lined with colorful silk, and, inside, may contain such things as rich rugs, carved wooden stools, and bright metal vessels. The world inside the tent contrasts with the plainness and hardship of the world outside the tent. Inside the tents is found another world. Within this world, not unoften, is found another aspect of the ancient culture of the men of the sand latitudes. Within the tents, on the gorgeous rugs, often pound small, bangled feet, within them often swirls colorful, revealing silks, within them often rings the sudden, bright erotic flash of finger cymbals. The men of Beyira II are known throughout galaxies for their dancing slave

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girls, for none but slaves are allowed by them to dance such dances, which so say "female" in all its beauty and vulnerability, in all its joy and radiance, in all its rhythmic gracefulness and incredible erotic allure, dances which celebrate, in all their unapologetic richness and glory, the astounding attractions, and the desirability and excitement of the female who, though perhaps collared, is totally free to be herself, and must be herself, even, if she be reluctant, to the instruction of the whip, or worse. These girls are often bought by the men of the sand latitudes at the cities which, like ports, border the edges of the lonely, terrible countries. They are then carried away, bound and hooded, on sand beasts, into the trackless deserts to serve. The men of the sand latitudes pay for these women in a variety of ways, as with fees from guiding, and guarding, caravans; with pressed dates, from the oases; with gleanings, of flesh, horn and skin, from their herds; with minerals, found in obscure outcroppings, which to them are largely useless, except for their aesthetic value, but which are valued by the men of the "coastal cities," minerals such as vessa and forschite, which are copper and gold; with semiprecious stones such as turquoise, garnets, amethysts, opals and topaz; and rare clays, reds and whites, used in the manufacture of the red-figured Beyiran ware. There is speculation, too, when the nomads come to the cities with struck coins, diamonds and pearls, and tales tending to provoke skepticism, if not unwise contradiction, of having found such goods in the remains of perished caravans. To be sure, there may be some truth to the claim, but, if so, the matter shifts to speculation having to do with the precise nature of the misfortune which may have befallen the caravan. Sometimes, too, girls appear in slave markets claiming

to

be

the

daughters

or

nieces

of

rich

merchants,

governmental officials, and such, but, as they are by then branded,

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they are whipped to silence, and must soon, generally far away, accommodate themselves to the nature of their new life. Some might be kept, too, it is speculated, by the nomads, to be trained in slave dance. In any event, in time, these dancers, however they may be acquired, either honestly, by trade or through purchase, or in gifting, as are doubtless most, or by some less open modality of acquisition, such as the ambush, cloak and rope, become, under the harsh tutelage of the men of the sand latitudes, incredibly valuable as prizes, and gifts, being exchanged among groups, sometimes traded to passing caravans, and sometimes, too, being lost to brigands, hunting such dancers, some for their own camps, some for marketing, even on other worlds. The dancers of Beyira II are famed throughout galaxies. To be sure, the lives of such women is not all dance and such. There is much work to do about such camps, and it falls to the hands of the beauties. Their life is not easy. They must even braid the leather whips, under male surveillance, which may be used upon themselves. The musicians took their position, cross-legged, on the floor of the hall, before the dais, but to its left side, as one would look out, toward the hall. Huta, standing in the center of the hall, before the great upright spear, to which she had rendered zealously the ministrations of a slave, shook her head wildly, negatively. There was a testing skirl of the pipes, the abrupt sound of a stroke on the small drum. The men with the pipes licked their lips. The fellow with the drum adjusted the tension of the head, and struck it twice more. He then seemed satisfied.

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Huta moaned, audibly. She had recognized the robes of the musicians, or the style and color, of their robes. She knew them for the sort of robes worn within the sloping, many-poled, lamp-hung tents on worlds such as Beyira II. Outside the tents, for most of the year, the robes tended to be white, to reflect sunlight, but, in the winter, in the prime traveling months for caravans, they tended, as the tents always were, to be mottled, with the result that they blended in with the background. The mottled robes, too, were usually worn away from the camps, even in the summer, when the men rode forth on various businesses, whatever might be the nature of those businesses, leaving boys behind, to supervise the flocks, and slaves. The men looked to Abrogastes, ready to play. Huta threw herself to her knees and, weeping, held out her hands to Abrogastes. "Please, no, Master!" she begged. "No!" Abrogastes looked about the tables. "How many of you," he asked, "have ever seen a priestess dance?" The men looked at one another. One or another said, "I have, milord, a priestess of the rites of the Libanian Grain Cult." Abrogastes laughed.

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Dance figured in the rites of many cults, for dance can be a language of the emotions, of feelings, even exalted feelings and emotions, and, too, like song, speech, and gesture, can have its religious applications, but in many of these cults, the dances were performed in sacred caves or grottoes by stately priestesses, sedate, dignified and grave, veiled, and fully clad, often elderly women, in purest white, who had for years ascended the hierarchies in their cult, earning their right to dance before the high, mysterious candlelit altars of their vegetation gods. "I have seen a priestess of the rites of Asharee dance!" said a man. "Better!" said Abrogastes, slapping his knee. A ripple of interest took its way about the tables. "Now that is a dance!" said a man. Asharee was a fertility goddess of Issia VI. Her priestesses were sacred prostitutes. Their dances, and subsequent embraces, brought many coins rattling into the golden bowls of Asharee's shrines. Only noble, freeborn women were accepted into the cult, sometimes even matrons. For a coin their husbands might find what a marvel they were married to, but then, so, too, might any others, visiting the shrine. "What of the rites of Lale?" called another man.

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"And those of Cytele!" cried a man. "Aleila!" called another. "Lanis," said another. "Seborah!" cried another. "Yes, yes!" said men. Many of these cults were now, for most practical purposes, secret cults. In most the priestesses were, in effect, temple dancers, whose caresses, for a suitable donation, might be bestowed upon the faithful. The services in many of these cults tended to begin, sometimes following certain days set aside for fastings and abstinences, and after a lengthy wait in a darkened temple, with the appearance of a small light, and readings, readings celebrating the wonders and joys of life, which readings were then followed as often or not, with a reenactment of a mythic drama, in which men, alone and without women, pathetic, lonely and miserable, besought mercy of the goddess in question, who, seeing their sorrow and pain, and taking pity upon them, created women in her own image, that his prayers might be answered, and that he might be granted a companion. At the conclusion of this drama, or, one supposes, rather as a culminating portion of it, the women appear, first one seen, and then another, so illuminated, and seem as if awakening, and finding themselves to be, begin to dance their joy in life, but soon, as the men before them, each seems apart

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and alone, and grieving, for, though they are created in the image of the goddess, they are not the goddess, but are finite, and thus incomplete. These women are, of course, the temple dancers. They are clothed, by intent, much as might be slaves, for example, they are barefoot, and bangled and silked. This, as well as the subdued light, and such, has its inevitable effect on the congregation, and, doubtless, too, on the officiants. They dance their loneliness to the men, whom they need as much as they are needed, for that was the intent of the goddess. Soon the dance becomes more enticing, more piteous, and more erotic until a final clash of cymbals occurs and the women and men rush to clasp one another, and the women are lifted, and carried, each to her alcove, or cell, in the temple. In their joyous union, as it is consummated in rapture, it is supposed that worship is offered up to the goddess, who is pleased with her work. There are many ways to worship gods, and this is one of the ways with certain cults, in the union of man and woman, joyously, gratefully, in mutual ecstasy. The gift of produce, or of coins, or whatever it might be, is left afterward in the alcove. The servants of the goddess, and the high priestess, and others associated with the temple, its keepers, and accountants, and such, require, of course, such things, for the satisfaction of their material needs. As I have mentioned, many of these cults now practice secretly. There is a good reason for that. Too, they tend to be far less numerous than before. There is a good reason, too, for that.

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Many of them, you see, have tended to share the fate of the cult of Asharee, or, at least, that of many of her shrines. The lusciousness, and desirability, of the priestesses of Asharee, and those of certain other cults, did not go unrecognized, nor was the potential value of such women long to be ignored. In the services it was scouted out, and marked, by men whose interests tended to be less religious than practical and economic. In the eyes of some, the cult places came to be regarded as little more than places where beauty, like fruit in an orchard, might be harvested, for disposal in various markets. The cults, and shrines, particularly as the administrative, organizational, and defensive capacities of the empire began to deteriorate, became frequently the targets of slavers. Many times, to screaming and dismay, to misery and panic, were the services interrupted, by the sudden appearance of intrusive, determined, merciless men, appearing as if from nowhere, yet seeming to be everywhere, bearing weapons, and chains. "If you would be slaves," they would say, laughing, placing chains on the small, fair limbs of the priestesses and dancers, "you will be slaves!" They were distributed to various markets, some on different worlds. Many were sold to taverns and brothels. In some cases the husbands purchased back their wives, who were then no more than their slaves. And their services, in all their fullnesses and delights, then belonged only to them, not merely to anyone who might pay a coin. Too, no more then was she neglected for she was now a slave, for whom money had been paid. Surely he will see that he gets superb returns upon his investment. Too, she must now serve and love, selflessly, unstintingly, and be owned, as she had wanted. Too, if she is not pleasing, she must fear the whip, or worse.

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"I cannot dance, Master!" Huta cried to Abrogastes. "I know nothing of such things!" "Kill her! Kill her!" called men from the tables. A saurian slid from about a table and, in one clawed appendage, picked a lead pellet from the table by the scales and flung it, contemptuously, into one of the pans, that which bore the emblem of a skull. That pan then, almost imperceptibly, descended, and the pointer associated with the arm, to which the pans, by small chains, were attached, inclined, by ever so little, toward the left side of the dial, that marked, too, with the emblem of a skull. On the other pan, as an emblem, was the representation of a slave collar, which representation, too, as emblem, lay at the termination of the dial on the right. "Please, no, Master!" wept Huta, as another saurian, a fellow of the first, left his bench and deposited, too, a pellet in the pan of the skull. Such creatures, of course, as would certain others about the tables, of diverse ambitious, aggressive species, alien to humans, as humans were alien to them, saw her only as a deceiver and troublemaker, and as a configuration which, as like as not, was not only unmoving to them, but tended to fill them with disgust. To be sure, such creatures occasionally kept human females as slaves. "Mercy, Masters!" wept Huta to the tables. Many of the cults, as we have suggested, had now gone, in effect,

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underground, and become secret cults, but it is a difficult secret to keep, the existence of such things, the times and places of their meetings, the identity of the officiants, and such. Too, many such cult meetings, it seems, were betrayed to slavers, sometimes by cult officials themselves, sometimes by members of the faithful, and so on. Slavers pay well for such information, often with bounties for excellent catches,

and

sometimes

with

bounties

for

individual

women,

depending on their quality. It seemed clear that many such cults, largely because of the abduction and embondment of their officiants, were disappearing. To be sure, in such a matter, it is difficult to gather data. "Do priestesses of the Timbri not dance?" inquired Abrogastes. "No, Master! No, Master!" cried Huta. To be sure there were many cults, billions, within the empire. Not all favored, of course, goddesses, and such. Many cults were dedicated to male gods, to virility, to manliness, to the principle of masculinity and such things. Women could, and frequently did, participate in the services of such cults, but only as slaves, which they were, commonly dancing first before the male gods, or the symbols of masculinity, and then before the faithful, dancing as women before men, to be overwhelmed and subdued, to be conquered, to be given no choice but to surrender totally to men. Such cults were popular in many places. They were

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popular, for example, in the army. The women used in these cults, temple slaves, or cult slaves, as one might think of them, were seldom the target of slavers. One reason for this was doubtless that such cults provided a valuable market for the lovely wares of the slavers, obtained elsewhere. Theft from actual or prospective customers was not regarded as being in the best interests of their profession. To be sure, barbarians, casual brigands, and such, tended to be deterred but little by such considerations, or scruples, and would be pleased, often enough, to get their ropes and chains on anything good. Such women were, however, bought and sold, as the temples tended to vary, replenish, and freshen their stock. A young woman could often be purchased cheaply as a cult or temple slave, and then later, after having been trained in the cult or temple precincts, sold at a considerable profit. Taverns and brothels, in many cases, investing similarly, followed similar practices. It might be added, as it may not be clear from the foregoing, that not only were free women not permitted to participate in the services of the masculine cults, but, also, were not permitted to so much as attend or witness them. Sometimes, of course, a young free woman, perhaps one too curious, or bold, or foolish, would attempt to attend the services, usually disguised as a boy. But if her disguise is penetrated, as it must be, to her horror, given an unexpected late phase of the ceremony, following the dance, she will find herself seized. Her pleas will be unavailing. In the next celebration of the rites, if she has not been slain, she will doubtless find herself among the other dancers, branded, and collared, and clad in such a way, if she be clad at all, that there is no longer the least doubt as to her gender.

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In the context of matters such as these, it would be remiss not to call, in passing, some attention to one of the most interesting deities in the Telnarian pantheon, Dira, whose devotion is widely spread among female slaves. Dira is the goddess of slave girls, and is herself a slave girl of the gods. She functions, too, as a goddess of love and beauty. Dira, as her legend goes, was an unhappy, haughty, frigid goddess, who regarded herself as superior to the other gods. In some versions of the legend she was said to be insulting to the other gods and to rejoice in treating them badly and making them miserable. This caused much anger among the other gods but nothing was done about it as Dira was a goddess. Now Orak, the king of the gods, was one day pondering the making of men, and other creatures, and what would be the appropriate arts and occupations of these creatures, and their natures, races, and kinds. He made things that lived on the land and in the sea, and even things that could fly in the air. He made many different sorts of things, and over a very long time. Indeed, according to the stories, he still makes things, new things, as they occur to him, according to his caprice, or curiosity, interested in seeing how they will turn out. This is one reason there are so many different things in the world. He made the gazelle for the vi-cat, so it would have something to hunt and eat, and the lamb for the lion, and so on. And, too, seeing how often men were lonely and angry, and restless, he made the slave girl, to love and serve men, not so much unlike he had made the gazelle for the vicat and the lamb for the lion, and he put a slave girl in every woman, hiding her there.

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"How silly!'' had said Dira, laughing, tossing her pretty head and, turning with a swirl of her voluminous, pure-white garments, left the hall of the gods. But Dira, learning of the making of the slave girl, had, for a moment, unnoted by the other gods, trembled, and had felt a troubling, unaccountable stirring between her lovely thighs. Now Dira had often criticized the works of Orak, who did not care for that. "How is it," asked Andrak, the artisan and builder of ships, "that men should have more than the gods?" "How is it," asked Foebus, the swift god, the carrier of messages, "that men should have slave girls and we none?" "Surely that is not right," said Tylethius, the maker of whips and breeder of dragons. "No!" cried Orak, with a roar like thunder, rising to his feet. Far off, Dira heard this, and was puzzled, wondering what it might mean. "Forge magic chains, hunting chains," said Orak to Andrak, the artisan. Dira heard this, and was apprehensive.

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"Call your dragons that can herd like hounds," said Orak to Tylethius. "And braid a whip fit to lash a goddess!" Dira heard this and was muchly frightened. She heard pounding in the smithy of Andrak. She heard the howling of the dragons of Tylethius. She summoned up her powers. But Orak, king of the gods, put forth his hand, and her powers were gone. Though a goddess she was now little more than a woman. Then Orak put forth his powers, and they were like winds and storms. "Go," said he, to his hawks, "and bring me the garments of Dira!" And with cries they were awing, fiercely. Dira, alone, deprived of her powers, little more now than a woman, cried out in fear, and began to run, but in a moment she found herself in the shadow of the wings of the hawks of Orak, who, crying shrilly, descended upon her, and, with their beaks and talons, tore away her snowy garments, leaving her on the plain, terrified, naked, and bloody. And then she heard the clanking of chains, like snakes, leaving the hall of the gods, and she fled, and fled, and hid herself in a dark, deep

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cave, cold and trembling, but the chains, slowly, sniffing like dogs, followed her, deep into the earth. "No!" cried Dira, backed against a wall of the cave, at its very end, but one of the chains, even in the darkness, near the ground, like a snake, unerringly, striking, snapped its ring about her ankle, as the legend has it, the left. Her right ankle was caught then by the next chain. As she reached down, hoping to free her ankles, her left and right wrists were seized by two other chains. Then the four chains began to draw her, protesting and weeping, out of the cave, upward, to the upper air, where two dragons, like hounds, with breaths of fire, were waiting for her. Then, dragged by the chains, and hastened by the dragons with their breaths of fire, scorching the earth and grass, and the stones at her feet, she was conducted across the plains, and into the hills, and into the mountains, and up the secret mountain trail, hidden from mortals, to the wide marble steps, the thousand steps, leading yet farther upward, to the hall of the gods, and thence she was conducted up the steps, and into the great marble-floored hall itself, where, on that great, smooth expanse of marble flooring, the gods sitting about in council upon their thrones, the chains, by themselves, whipped about four rings in the floor prepared by Andrak, and welded themselves shut. "I beg mercy!" cried Dira. These four rings were placed directly before the throne Orak. She knew she had many faults, but she had never expected be punished for them, because she was a goddess.

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But now she was afraid. "Mercy!" she whispered. "How beautiful she is!" marveled many of the gods. "Clothe her!" cried Umba, the consort of Orak. Orak lifted his hand and a tiny, narrow rag, of no more than half an inch in width, of bright red, wrapped itself twice about the left wrist of Dira, and knotted itself shut. Umba cried out in fury and left the hall, and so, too, did the other female deities, leaving Dira with only male gods about. The beauty of Dira had not made her popular with the other goddesses. Orak raised his hand again, and the tiny rag about her wrist vanished. The gods murmured their approval. "Kneel," said Orak. Dira knelt. This was the first time that Dira knelt. She did not dare to disobey. The hawks of Orak were perched upon the back of his throne. The

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dragons of Tylethius were behind her, one to each side, "You have been petty, and haughty, and troublesome," said Orak. "You have been supercilious and cruel." "You have taken my powers," she said. "I am little more now than a mortal woman." "But one who is very beautiful," said Andrak. "What is in your eyes?" she asked. "It is desire," said Orak. Dira trembled. "Do you find it amusing that I have made slave girls?" asked Orak. "No," said Dira. "Do you object in any way?" "No," said Dira. "Do you find it fitting?" asked Orak. "Yes," said Dira. "But they are unimportant, and worthless," said Orak.

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"Yes," said Dira. "And one may do what one wishes with them," said Orak. "Yes," said Dira. "Bring the lash," said Orak. Andrak produced the lash which Tylethius had braided. "What are you going to do?" asked Dira. "Put her hair forward," said Orak. Her hair was thrown forward, before her body. Tylethius did this. "What are you going to do?" asked Dira. "Lean forward, so that you are on all fours," said Orak. Dira complied. "What are you going to do?" she asked. "Surely you suspect," said Orak. "But I am a goddess!" she said.

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"Lash her," said Orak. In a moment the lash, wielded by Andrak, the artisan and builder of ships, fell upon the goddess. In another moment she was prone in her chains upon the floor, aghast and helpless, clinging disbelievingly to one of the rings with her small, chained hands. "Please stop!" she cried. Instantly, at a sign from Orak, the beating stopped. Dira gasped for breath, shuddering, aflame with pain. "You see, you received your way," said Orak. "Yes!" gasped Dira, sobbing. Then, at a sign from Orak, Andrak, the artisan god and the builder of ships, put again the cunningly braided leather to the back of the startled, chained beauty. "Stop!" she cried. "Please, please stop!" But this time the lash continued to fall and Dira, in consternation, bewildered, helpless, writhed under it, tangled in her chains, crying out for mercy.

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Then Orak indicated that Andrak should desist, and Andrak stepped back, coiling the whip. "You see," said Orak, "this time you did not receive your way." "No!" gasped Dira. "Kneel!" roared Orak, and Dira scrambled to her knees. "Thus it is shown to you," said Orak, "that, from this moment on, though you are a goddess, what is done to you, and what you must do, are no longer dependent upon your will, but upon the will of others." Dira shuddered. "Do you prefer to be fed alive to the dragons of Tylethius?" asked Orak. "No!" said Dira. "No!" "No longer will it be men alone who have slave girls," said Orak. The gods in the hall acclaimed this wisdom, and shouted, and clashed weapons. "You will be the first of the slave girls of the gods," said Orak. "I pronounce you slave," said Orak, "and give you the name 'Dira.' "

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And it was thusly done that the goddess, Dira, became the first of the many slave girls of the gods, and received, too, the name "Dira," though then, of course, as a mere slave name. Many, of course, are the stories and legends of Dira, how she served, how she learned to dance, how it was that she invented cosmetics, and jewelry, utilized even by free women, how it came about, in disputes concerning her ownership, that she was branded, how Andrak first forged a slave anklet, and later bracelets and collars, and such things, but we have time to note but a particle of these things. Among such stories, of course, is that of the sexual conquest of Dira by Orak, in which she learns her slavery, and rejoices in it, and thrives in it, living to love and serve selflessly, finding her meaning and ecstasy in her own subordination, her own ravishment and conquest. Her relationship to male gods would always be unique, and special. But her relationship to the female gods would be quite different. By them she would be held in contempt, and hated, and mistreated. Orak, as we may recall, as the stories have it, hid a slave girl within each woman. Indeed, it seems to have been Dira's predictable criticism of, or reservation concerning, this act which led finally to her own enslavement. Naturally the hidden slave girl seeks to come forth, and be accepted, that she may rejoice and serve, and become openly the woman which she secretly is, just as, from the other perspective, the woman longs to become and manifest the secret self which is her innermost reality. In the end, then, the slave girl is the woman, and

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the woman is the slave girl. As this is commonly understood, though seldom so baldly put, women are by nature the natural slaves of men. Free women, of course, are culturally encouraged, for a number of reasons, to deny and suppress their slavery. This is usually regarded as in the best interests of society, though it does play havoc with the psychology and mental health of the free woman, tending to manifest itself in various psychosomatic complaints, hostilities, neuroses, and other such ills. In many parts of the empire, of course, slavery is legal, and this tends to relieve the pain of an otherwise intolerable situation, giving a public role to, and an outlet for the needs of, slaves. As a last remark, then, which ties much of this together, we can understand the devotion to Dira among many female slaves. Indeed, sometimes even free maidens, and older free women, pray to Dira, that she may help them attract a desired male, that she may teach them something of the wiles of the slave, that she may consent to imbue them with at least a little of the softness, the vulnerability, the sensuousness, and the subtle sexual magnetism, of the female slave. But the devotion to Dira, of course, is most profound among female slaves. It is said that for a time, you see, most of the occupations and professions

of

men

had

their

particular

tutelary

deities,

their

supervising gods, who took a special interest in certain vocations, trades, crafts, and such. An obvious example would be the devotion to Andrak of smiths and shipbuilders. But slave girls had, for a time, it was said, no such god or goddess. Dira, who was herself a slave, of course, saw this, and one morning, after, on all fours, bringing Orak his sandals in her teeth, she brought his attention to the matter. "They

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have no special god," she pointed out, "to enlighten them, to inspire them, to bring joy to them, to bring them special graces, to aid them, to instruct and comfort them." "But they are slaves," said Orak, "and are unimportant, and worthless." "I, too, am a slave, Master," said Dira, "and am unimportant, and worthless." "True!" laughed Orak, striking his knee in amusement. "Be then their goddess." "Yes, Master!" said Dira, and that is how, according to the stories, Dira, the enslaved goddess, became the goddess of slave girls. "Does she live or die?" called Abrogastes to the tables. "How can one tell, milord?" laughed a man. "It seems she will die," said another. "Kill her!" cried men. Two creatures approached the scales, hybrids, creatures of exotic enzymes and catalysts, whose origins were lost in history, their ancestors perhaps the creations of a destroyed, pathological culture, one which might have been dying when the empire itself was but a set of villages on a single world, a handful of huts at the edge of a muddy,

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yellow river, each three-eyed, their skin sheathed with scales of bark, some scales darkish green, others brown, or black, coming, creeping forward, scratching at the rush-strewn floor, with their steel-jacketed roots, each then, with one leafy, tendriled appendage lifting and dropping, a lead pellet into the pan of the skull. "Master, let them not participate!" wept Huta. "To them I am meaningless." "You are meaningless to all of us, slut!" called a man. "You are a slave!" called another. Huta put back her head and howled with misery. Next came two insectoidal organisms, stalking forward, their wings folded, and sheathed behind them in leather. They regarded Huta with their compound eyes. Chitinous, pincerlike jaws clicked. Two more pellets struck down, into the pan of the skull. Then came two arachnoidal creatures, eight-legged, with accoutrements of leather, whose narrow, crooked legs, four of which might serve as grasping appendages, were festooned with ribbons, whose horizontally oriented bodies were sashed with silk, scurrying forward, depositing pellets in the pan of the skull, then hurrying backward, crablike, to their places. Huta wept, kneeling in the dirt. Abrogastes looked about the tables, seeking out, in particular, other creatures there, many of them mammalian, other than men.

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Abrogastes looked to one of them, to one of those sorts, Granath, of the Long-Toothed People. "What think you, brother?" inquired Abrogastes. The large eyes of Granath gleamed, and the jaws opened, revealing white bone-cleaned fangs. "It is hard to tell, milord," said Granath. It was not unknown for the shambling, shaggy scions of the LongToothed People to keep human females as slaves. They were useful, for example, for grooming fur, smoothing it with their small, soft tongues, and, with their tiny fingers, and fine teeth, removing parasites. Too, they were often used to do work regarded as beneath, or unfit for, their own females. It was rumored they were put to other purposes, as well. "Olath?" asked Abrogastes. Olath, of the Tusked People, shrugged, the movement involving almost his entire upper body. "Anton?" asked Abrogastes. This was a scion of one of several primate peoples, other than men, within the compass of the empire. His world was, in theory, a world loyal to the empire, and, indeed, he held an imperial post on that world, that of imperial agent, or commissioner, to those of his people who, long ago subdued by the empire, had been relocated to that

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world, that as the consequence of an imperial policy dating back to the days of the Tetrarchy. We have seen, earlier, how the Wolfungs had been relocated to Varna, and the Otungs to Tangara. Anton scratched his elbow, and turned his large, yellow eyes on Huta. "For what she has done, I think she should be killed," he said. "Yes!" cried men about the tables. "And she is almost hairless!" cried another primate, in disgust. "See how repulsively smooth she is!" cried another species of primate, one with long, silken hair. "Kill her!" said his fellow. "Yes," said another. "I do not object," said Anton, who was of a short-haired species, "to her hairlessness." There was knowing laughter among several other varieties of primates about the tables. "She does not even have a tail!" pointed out the long-haired primate. "Nor do I!" laughed Anton.

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"She can compensate for that with her hands and mouth," said another primate. "You should know," laughed his fellow. "She is smooth and would be pleasant to grasp," said another. "They feel pleasant, squirming and wriggling against you," said another. "They can perform other services, as well," said another. "Yes," agreed another. These were doubtless services which they would not think of expecting from their own mates. "But any of those, or any like them," said one of the primates, gesturing widely, indicating the former ladies of the empire, kneeling about, "would feel much the same, and, commanded, must supply eagerly, zealously, such services." "True," said another primate. There was an uneasy, frightened jangle of bells on the ankles of the former ladies of the empire, as they stirred. One almost rose to her feet but a swift stroke of her youthful keeper's switch put her quickly down again, frightened, on her knees.

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"And so, Anton?" asked Abrogastes. "For what she has done," said Anton, "I think she should be killed, but I am willing that the pellets be weighed." "Yes," said one or more of the primates, regarding the slave. Abrogastes grinned. He had thought that the mammalians, and, in particular, the primates, with whom the small, smooth, curved slave had more of an affinity, might be more willing than certain others, less similar life forms, to suspend judgment, at least for the moment, on the fate of the miserable slave, preferring to watch and wait, and gather evidence, and weigh matters, and then, in the light of the evidence, and their considered judgment, cast their pellets. "So," said Abrogastes, addressing the slave, "the priestesses of the Timbri do not dance?" "No, Master!" cried Huta. "The officiants of the rites of the ten thousand gods of Timbri are chaste, and sworn to purity! We are sacred virgins. We are consecrated virgins! We must not even think of men!" There was laughter about the tables. "Surely in your sacred beds you must think a little on such things, and wriggle upon occasion," called a fellow.

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Huta blushed scarlet, her body aflame. "Ours is a spiritual religion," she wept, crying out to the tables, looking one way, and then another. "We are concerned only with matters of the spirit! We must move sedately, with dignity. We must be modestly, heavily, and concealingly clothed! We may not reveal so much as an ankle! We dare not dance! It is forbidden! The dance is too biological! It is too real! In it it is often impossible to conceal the form of the body! It is a form of expression even of many animal species!" "But no animal can dance like a slave girl," said a man. That was true, of course. The dance was a form of expression of incredible psychophysical, psychosexual import. It was no mere instinctual acting out of ancient genetic patterns, but an acting out of such patterns, and imbued templates, as was consequent upon, embellished by, and enriched by, thousands of meaningful, expressive cultural, institutional, and societal refinements and enhancements. Still, of course, beneath all this sophistication and refinement, there lurked, in all their pristine fury, in all their primitive urgency, as old as tiny fires and limestone caves, ancient things, the pounding in the loins and the aching in the belly. Huta put her head in her hands, weeping. The pointer on the scale was now, of course, given the cast pellets, inclined clearly to the left, toward the tiny skull at the left, bottom termination of the semicircular, graduated dial.

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"You have forsworn your gods," said Abrogastes, loudly, as Huta looked up, between her hands. "Yes, Master," she said. "Then you are no longer a priestess of the Timbri," he said. "No, Master," she said. "Then you are no longer a sacred virgin, a consecrated virgin?" "No, Master!" "But you are a virgin," he said. "Until Master sees fit to take my virginity from me, or have it taken," she said. "A priestess of the Timbri may not dance," said Abrogastes. "But you are not a priestess of the Timbri." "No, Master." "You are no longer modestly, heavily, concealingly clothed," observed Abrogastes. "No, Master," she said.

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There was laughter from the tables. "What are you?" he asked. "A slave girl, Master," she said. "And it is permissible for a slave girl to dance?" "Yes, Master." "Many are even trained in the dances of slaves," said Abrogastes. "I would not know, Master," she said. "It is true," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "And for what do you exist?" he asked. "To serve my masters with instant, unquestioning obedience and total perfection!" she said, frightened. "Do not fear," he said. "I shall not, not now, command you to dance." "Thank you, Master!" she said. "The decision, rather, shall be yours," said Abrogastes.

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"Master?" she said. "Behold the scale," said Abrogastes. Huta moaned. Abrogastes signaled to the musicians, and they began to play a simple, arresting melody, one that seemed to speak of the sand latitudes of Beyira II, and the secret lamp-hung interiors of the dark tents, but, as the slave did not move, they ceased. They looked at Abrogastes, to see if they should continue. He gave them no sign. "I cannot dance!" wept Huta. "I do not know how! I would be clumsy, and the pellets would condemn me." "Consider the scale," said Abrogastes. "As it stands now, you already stand condemned." "You would so humiliate me, that I should dance as I am, and as a slave, and might still be condemned to death?" "Yes," said Abrogastes. "I was a priestess of the Timbri!" she cried. "I was a sacred virgin, a consecrated virgin, sworn to chastity, to purity and spirituality, and you would have me dance-as a slave!"

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"You may do as you wish," said Abrogastes. "I leave the matter up to you." "Kill her!" cried men. "Kill her!" "Be done with it, milord!" called another. "Kill her!" One man, clearly human, rose up and, looking fiercely at the slave, flung a pellet into the pan of the skull. Another leapt up, and did so, as well. The hound at the side of Abrogastes rose up, its fur bristling about its neck, and the hump there, eyeing the slave. "Steady, lad," said Abrogastes. "Steady!" And another man flung a pellet into the pan of death, and another did so, as well. "Master!" cried Huta. "Do you not care for your slave, a little?" "No," said Abrogastes. "Master?" she said. "You deceived my son, Ortog," said Abrogastes. "You abetted crime. You aided in the fomentation of rebellion and treason. You should die."

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"Please, no, Master!" she wept. "Have pity on one who is now no more than a poor slave!" Abrogastes made an angry noise, one of surly impatience, and scowled. "Do you not care, Master, for your slave, just a little?" "There is not one in this hall who does not despise and hate you," said Abrogastes. "But you, my master?" "You are hated," he said. She put her head down, and wept. Two more pellets were cast into the pan of the skull, the pan of death. Huta looked up, shaking her head wildly. "What do you think?" Abrogastes asked the leader of the musicians. "We find the whip loosens them up, milord," said the musician. "They can be whipped anytime," said Abrogastes.

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"She has a well-curved body," said the musician, "with sweet, fleshy thighs, and nicely rounded upper arms. They would look well in slave armlets. And her face is a fine one, with its distinctive cheekbones, and its look of great intelligence. The hair is long, and black as jet, and might, if she understood its uses, be used as bonds or veil." Another pellet struck into the pan of death. "I cannot dance!" she cried to the leader of the musicians. "All women can dance," said he. "What chance have I?" she begged. "I do not know, little pudding," he said. "I have never even seen you serve at the tables." "What chance have I, Master?" cried Huta. "Perhaps one in a thousand," said Abrogastes. Huta moaned. Another pellet struck into the pan of the skull. "They want me to die!" wept Huta. "Yes," said a man, eagerly.

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"Yes!" cried another. "Surely in your dreams, and thoughts, little pudding," said the musician, "you have danced." "One chance in a thousand," said a second musician, "is better than none." "What can I dance?" she cried. "Dance yourself, and your dreams, and needs, and secret thoughts," said the leader of the musicians. "They want me to die!" wept Huta. "Prove to them that there might be some point in letting you live," said one of the musicians. "Dance what you are," said another. "Dance your slavery!" "My slavery?" said Huta. "Yes," said the musician. "Loose the hound on her, Abrogastes!" cried a man. "The hound, the hound, let it tear her to pieces!" cried another man. The great hound, hunched to the right of Abrogastes, by his bench,

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growled, almost inaudibly, menacingly. "Look," cried a man. "She is on her feet!" "Yes," said another. Huta had risen up, trembling. The great spear, held in place by two warriors, was behind her. The tables were silent. "I beg to dance all those things, Master," said Huta to Abrogastes, "myself, my dreams, my needs, my secret thoughts my slavery." "You do not need my permission," said Abrogastes. "The matter is, for now, as I told you, in your own hands." "I dare not dance without the permission of my master," she said. Men at the tables exchanged glances, startled. Abrogastes lifted his hand, in token of permission, that the slave might dance. "But, too, I beg to dance as the slave of Abrogastes, who is my master!" Abrogastes regarded her, surprised. "Yes, Master," she said. "I am your slave, more deeply than you know."

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"Cunning slave!" snarled Abrogastes. But little did he suspect what wearing his chains and bonds had done to her. Their eyes met, and Abrogastes was troubled. "Your life is at stake," said Abrogastes. "Even so," she said, "I dare not dance without the permission of my master." "There are many here!" he said, gesturing angrily about the tables. "Yes, Master," she said. "Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "You must dance to them, as well." "Yes, Master," she said. The overwhelming majority of the feasters, as would be expected, were of the Alemanni, and related peoples. Too, substantial numbers of others were human, or humanoid.

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All eyes were on Huta. "You may dance," said Abrogastes. "Thank you, Master," said the slave. The musicians began to play, and Huta, in terror, tears in her eyes, in the midst of seething hostility and disgust, in the midst of those who called for her death, began to dance.

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CHAPTER 9 "Your researches, under your assumed name, with my clearance, have borne what fruit?" asked Julian. "None, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The likeness," said Julian, "is the best I can supply from memory." Between them, on the marbled table, lay a sketch, in color, of the face of a beautiful, blue-eyed, blond-haired woman. It had been prepared, painstakingly, secretly, by a gifted portraitist, each detail being examined, and revised, and revised again, according to the directions of Julian, until it bore a striking similarity to the woman seen on the quay at Port North. "I have taken the picture to the keepers at all the slave houses in Lisle, and Port North, and for many miles about," said Tuvo Ausonius. "There are hundreds of blond slaves, of course, but I found no keeper who could make a positive identification from the picture." "You added in such details, as her unusual behavior, her seeming newness to the anklet, and such?" "Yes, milord, as you recommended, but there was still no positive identification." "No record of a judicially embonded debtress from Myron VII, brought to Inez IV?"

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"Some," said Tuvo Ausonius, "but they do not seem to be the same individual." "What of the other nineteen women?" "We can account for them," said Tuvo Ausonius, "several are from local houses, and some were brought in, according to specifications, from diverse worlds." "She is, thus, the only one not accounted for," said Julian, "Yes, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It seems she would have been brought in, and held, if nothing else, pending shipment," said Julian. "It would seem so, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Is it important?" "No, I think not," said Julian. "But milord is troubled," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is nothing," said Julian. "Kana?" inquired Tuvo Ausonius. Julian nodded.

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Tuvo Ausonius clapped his hands, sharply, twice. In a moment a lovely, slender, young, dark-haired woman, barefoot, in a brief, yellow, silken tunic, cut at the left thigh, to the hip, in a light, yellow-enameled collar, and a yellow-enameled anklet, on her left ankle, hurried into the room, and knelt, "Kana," said Tuvo Ausonius. She rose to her feet and hurried to a sideboard, to fetch the decanter, and glasses. "It is strange," said Julian. "It seems that a slave should be easy enough to trace, if brought to Inez IV. She would have to be registered, measured, fingerprinted, toeprinted, and such." "Some doubtless slip through," said Tuvo Ausonius. "This one did," he remarked. The woman, head down, had set the glasses on the table and, deferentially, poured the glasses, a third full. She did not meet the eyes of the men. "But with my assistance," said Julian. "True," smiled Tuvo Ausonius. The woman replaced the decanter on the sideboard and turned to

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face Tuvo Ausonius. "Master?" she asked. "Kneel there," said Tuvo Ausonius, indicating a place on the tiles, to the side, where she would be inconspicuous, and yet at hand, in case wished. "Head down," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes, Master," she said. Julian regarded her, idly. "You have a pretty slave," he said. "She is nicely curved," granted Tuvo Ausonius, dismissively. "It is strange," said Julian, "how the blond slave seems not to have been registered, or locally boarded." "Yes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Ai!" said Julian, suddenly, rising to his feet. Tuvo Ausonius looked up at him, startled. "She is not a slave!" said Julian.

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Even the slave drew back a little, frightened, on her knees. Then she put her head down again, quickly. "But she must be a slave," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Inquire among free persons, in the hostels, in the insulae, in the towers, discretely at court, in restaurants, at the baths," said Julian. "As milord wishes," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The work of Iaachus!" snarled Julian. "Milord?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "And inquire first among higher free persons," said Julian. "Look for information pertaining to an incredibly beautiful blond woman, whose beauty might be the envy even of many slaves. Inquire after female patricians, even of the senatorial class, in particular any who might be in need or financial straits, any who might be living alone, or substantially so, any whose family connections might be tenuous, any in what might appear to be unfavorable or dubious circumstances, any in debt, any in difficulties, any in dishonor, any in want, any under suspicion, any subject to umbrage of any sort. Take the picture!" "Yes, milord!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Fetch my street cloak!" said Tuvo Ausonius to the slave. "Yes, Master!" she said.

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"Hurry!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes, Master!" she cried, hurrying from the room.

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CHAPTER 10 "You would not dare!" said the blonde. Her hands, wrists crossed and bound, were tied high over her head. They were fastened by a short rope to a ring, the ring dangling on a chain from the ceiling. The wrist rope could be shortened or lengthened, depending on the height of the slave. The blonde was of medium height. She was fastened in such a way that she was on her tiptoes, unable to get her heels to the metal flooring. Her white serving gown had been pulled down, about her ankles. Her body faced the metal wall. She turned her head, as she could. The severe officer, whose name was Ronisius, was behind her. Her hair had already been thrown forward. "Do not dare!" she said. Slaves, in the common room, laughed merrily. "You were insufficiently deferent," said Ronisius. She struggled, helplessly. "You were clumsy," he said. These things were true. At least twice her speech had been insufficiently deferent, even omitting the respectful term "Master." Too, she had been slow to bring a tureen of hiris to the table, and had failed once to kneel to the side, as is customary when waiting to serve

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or be summoned, but had stood, and had stood where the barbarian, if he might lift his head, must see her. The other slaves had not cared for this, for they, too, found the barbarian, in his brooding, feral way, handsome, but dared not so call themselves to his attention. Ronisius had criticized her, and she had gone to kneel with the others, pulling her gown up, and putting it about her knees, so that it would be her knees, and not the gown, which would be on the floor, as though she might be no more than another slave. Perhaps it was because of his criticism, and her fury at the reprimand, addressed to her as though she might be no more than a slave girl, that she had been unsteady, that she had spilled wine, and at his own goblet. All in all, she had certainly not served well at the captain's table, where the captain, the barbarian, and certain officers would sup at the conclusion of the ship day. Five slaves were assigned to serve there each ship evening. The ship had now been out for four days. It was the first time she had been permitted to serve at the captain's table. "You would not dare!" she said. "I think you are stupid," he said. "I am not stupid!" she cried. Then, as she cried out, she was switched. He was not as gentle with her as he might have been, considering that she was a new slave, not even branded, a recently embonded debtress from Myron VII.

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But it had been at his own goblet that the wine had been spilled. "You may now thank me for your beating," he said. She looked at him, over her shoulder, startled, tears in her eyes. Twice more, swiftly, impatiently, the switch spoke. "Thank you! Thank you!" she cried. Twice more then, again, angrily, the switch spoke, and she leapt in the bonds, squirming, crying. "Thank you, Master!" she said. "You will be released later," he said. "Yes, Master!" she gasped, startled by the piteous urgency of her exhalatory exclamation, and, too, by its seeming appropriateness, and fittingness,

and,

horrifyingly,

by

the

complete,

irrepressible

naturalness with which it had somehow escaped her. "Thank you, Master!" She then hung in the ropes, her back stinging. About her slaves were discoursing merrily, kneeling, facing one another, playing guessing games, amusing themselves.

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I hate everything, she thought. She grew furious. How could the agent, whoever he might be, permit her to be switched, as though she might be no more than a clumsy, errant slave? The blond officer, Corelius, had seemed horrified that she had been conducted from the captain's table by Ronisius. Corelius must be the agent then, but he had not objected, though he must have realized that the admonitory switch might have been laid to her beauty, just as if she were a slave. He could not interfere, of course, without revealing himself. But Ronisius might be the agent, treating her harshly, to conceal her true identity, and his relationship to her, as the purveyor of the delicate blade. There was Lysis, the chief supply officer, who had seemed to pay her little attention. But it was he who had brought them to the ship. The stock keeper, oddly, had been at the table, as well, with his porcine face, with the small eyes, the one who had subjected her to such humiliation in the slave cage. It might be he, why else would he, of his rank, be permitted at the

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table? How she had hated serving him, one of the humiliori, at best, Surely one of the humiliori could not be the agent, on whom she, herself of the honestori, even of the high patricians, indeed, of the senatorial class itself, would have to depend! There was the captain, too, of course, Phidias, lord of the Narcona. It could be he, she supposed. But the Narcona was only a freighter. Yet, too, it was an imperial ship. But presumably such an officer would stay with the ship. But, too, who would be less likely to be suspected than the commanding officer? Who would be more powerful than he, who better placed in manage the affair, to see it done? But then, she thought, who would be more likely, given his authority, his command, his prominence, to be suspected? No, it seemed that things had best be done secretly, far beneath his level of command, utterly unsuspected by him. He would not dream of

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the intrigues afoot, on his own vessel. It did not seem that Iaachus would risk taking such a fellow, a common

captain,

a

professional

mariner,

into

his

confidence,

entrusting him with such a serious business. It did not seem likely that it would be he. But it might be he. She jerked in the ropes. "Free yourself, Cornhair!" laughed one of the girls. The supply officer had given them names, making them kneel, in a line, in the common room. "You are 'Filene,' " he had said to her. "Who are you?" "I am Filene, Master," she had said, following the example of the other girls. In time a mariner came to the common room and released her. "Garments, ladies," he said. The few garments in the room were surrendered. These were the five serving gowns which had been worn by the

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slaves serving at the captain's table. He then, the gowns over his arm, turned off the light in the common room and left, closing the door. This left only some small, reddish hold lights lit, high in the walls. "They have not even chained us to the rings at the base of the wall," said one of the slaves. "We are not going anywhere," laughed one of the slaves, fingering the thin line that marked the separation of the steel wall from the closed hatch. "Why have we not been chained?" asked another, wonderingly. "We are special slaves," said another. The blonde smiled to herself, in the dim, reddish darkness. "Let us sleep," said one. "Give me your blanket," said the blonde to a small brunette, the smallest of the slaves. "You have your own blanket!" said the tiny, well-curved, exquisite slave. "Give it to me!" said the blonde. "No! Stop!" cried the smaller woman.

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"Give it to me," said the blonde, "slave!" They pulled at the blanket, it between them. "Cornhair, stop it!" said another brunette, she who had been designated by the supply officer as first girl. "Give it to me!" cried the blonde. "Seize her!" said the first girl. In a moment the blonde, seized, found herself held down, on her stomach, on the steel flooring of the common room, her arms and legs widely spread. "Bring the switch," said the first girl. "No!" cried the blonde. "Do not switch me! Please, Mistresses! Do not switch me, Mistresses!" She heard the switch being tossed aside. She was released. "But you will have no blanket tonight, Cornhair," said the first girl. "Yes, Mistress," said the blonde. The first girl is addressed by the other slaves as "Mistress." That much the blonde, surely, knew.

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Later, cold, her legs drawn up, on the flooring, trying to keep herself warm, the blonde was furious. When I am rich, and powerful, she thought, I will have my vengeance on them all. I will buy them and dispose of them to outposts, and mines, and farms, and sell them to worlds of reptiles! Then they will see how special they are! She moved a little. How hard was the metal. How uncomfortable she was! Ship, whispered she, bring me swiftly to Tangara. Then, my secret, hated confederate, who abuses me, or does so little to protect me, put the knife in my hand, that I may finish our business with dispatch. Then I shall come into my fortunes, and you shall all regret that I have not been better treated! She recalled how she had placed herself, standing, where the barbarian might have looked up, and seen her. She had pulled her gown down a little, and back, that the sweet fullness of her bosom might be excitingly apparent. He had looked up only at the moment that she had been reprimanded and, embarrassed, humiliated, had been hurried back to her place. Yet, that glimpse, she was sure, might have been sufficient. Too, she had returned to the place with the other girls in such a way, her head high, her shoulders back, and her belly tight, that he might well conjecture the delights of her figure, and find it of interest, for, after all, even the serving gown, long, white and

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sleeveless, as it is a slave's garment, does little to conceal the charms of its occupant. Too, in such a way, or similarly, so walking, or holding herself, she had tortured many men, as it had amused her to do. But when she had knelt, and put the gown up, over her knees, that her knees and not the gown might press the floor, she had looked up, and seen him regarding her. But there was something about being on her knees which did not give her confidence, and which put the entire matter into a quite different light. She tried to adjust her gown in such a way as to better conceal her bosom, but when she looked up, he had returned to his meal. She lay there on the steel flooring. She could not believe, and it muchly disturbed her, how easily, how naturally, at the time of her switching, the word "Master" had fled from her lips. She wondered what it might be to be in the arms of a man such as the barbarian, and as a slave.

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CHAPTER 11 "Aii!" cried a man, rising to his feet. Another pounded on the table, his eyes blazing. The melodies of Beyira II seemed incongruous somehow, at first, in the rough hall, with its high timbers, and smoke holes, and rushstrewn, dirt floor, but in moments these things had seemed forgotten and the venue of what occurred might as easily have been a hundred other places, as a woolen tent, lost among dunes; a tavern on Illyrius, a free planet, an emporium planet, a crossroads for slavers and brigands, where good buys might often be found; a brothel, utilizing slaves, on scorching Torus, where one cannot set foot outside without protective gear; a remote pre-embondment prison where the wives and daughters of traitors, awaiting enslavement, are trained for the collar; a slave farm on rural Granicum, where some slaves do not yet know that men exist, and cannot begin to understand the primitive discomforts which dismay them; or, perhaps, a chamber of state, many-columned, lofty, and marble-floored, somewhere within the white, high-walled, turreted palace of some sand lord, rising above a thousand hovels, and caravansaries, the cruel, waterless desert stretching away on all sides. But, too, as easily, and as well, it seems, might the venue be what it was, a rude hall of the Alemanni, a place of Drisriaks on a world now shielded, now closed away, by a whirling storm of stones, marking the skies with light, like the raking claws of beasts; anywhere would do, really, if there were slaves and men. "No, no, no!" cried a man, angrily. "Kill her! Kill her!"

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"Be still, watch!" cried another. "Do not weaken!" said a man. Abrogastes, on his bench, watched, with keen interest. Former women of the empire shrank back, moaning, terrified to see what a woman might be. "My thighs flame!" wept one. "I am a slave, a slave!" cried another. Many turned away, but turned back again, quickly. The hands of many were at their bared bosoms. They gasped for breath. Their hearts pounded. "Oh, oh!" moaned one. But the boy who was her keeper just put his switch lightly upon her left shoulder, cautioning her to silence, not even looking at her, unable, it seemed, to take his eyes from the floor. Then he lifted the switch a little, absently, hardly aware, it seemed, that he still held it. He was a lad, and had not seen such things before.

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The woman turned suddenly, as though she could not help herself, and kissed, and licked, the supple disciplinary instrument near her shoulder. The boy was hardly aware of this. The attention of both was then returned to the floor. "See her writhe at the spear!" cried a man. "Aii!" said another. The attention, even, of many of the creatures alien to men, was focused upon the floor. Whereas much must have been lost to them surely the vibrations in the air, however they may have experienced them, and the rhythm, and grace, of certain movements, must have had some effect upon them, as they shared with men a world in which there were, should one listen, should one see, should one be attentive, the movements, the songs, of nature, a world in which there were rhythms and cycles, a universe in which there were stars and orbits, and seasons, and days and nights, and tides, even in the earth, drawn by moons, and rain and heat, snow and winds. She was now on her knees at the massive spear, the spear of oathing, supported, its butt in the dirt, by two warriors, grasping it, caressing it with her body, her small hands, her helpless lips and mouth.

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Had it been a man surely it would have cried out, mad with pleasure. Then she flung herself before it, and, so before it, so prostrated, rolling and twisting, supine, and prone, and on her side, in the rushstrewn dirt, she writhed, sometimes holding out her hands to it, sometimes as though she might half fend it away in unendurable ecstasy, sometimes as though for pity, sometimes as though begging mercy. "Let me kill her now, great Abrogastes!" cried a man. "Let me cut her throat!" "There is time enough for that later," growled another man. The slave must have heard this, for she moaned in terror. "Kill her!" cried another man, one who may have cast his pellet earlier into the pan of death. "Be silent!" said a fellow. The slave threw the fellow a look of gratitude, but his scowl was such that she was again plunged into misery and terror. "Dance, dance, slut!" cried men. Then she knelt before the spear, a yard or so before it, and, slowly, to the music, bent herself backward, until her head was back, upon the dirt floor, her dark hair scattered upon it, in which position she

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could doubtless see Abrogastes, above and behind her, on his bench, between the high-seat pillars, and then she slowly straightened her body, until she was kneeling, and then knelt forward, until her head was in the dirt again, and then the palms of her hands were on the dirt, too, and she was, as men cried out with pleasure, in a common position of obeisance, and then she lowered herself to her belly, and inched herself to the spear, as in the belly obeisance where the slave hopes to be permitted to kiss the feet of the master, and she pressed her lips to the dirt before it, and then, tenderly, to its sides, the left and right. "Glory to the Alemanni!" cried a man. "Glory to the Alemanni!" cried others. Among slaves and masters there are many such ceremonies, which are meaningful. The spear, as we have mentioned, may not be touched by free women, but the ministrations of female slaves figure frequently in its rituals. "She is on her feet again!" cried a man. The slave then began to dance to the tables, and to individual men, pathetically, at first, almost timidly, begging their attention, their indulgence, but soon she noted, whether it was the subtle effect of those rich, sensuous, exotic melodies which, by themselves, might have swept away the resolve of the coldest and most determined of

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men, and tempted even the most frigid of free women to tear away their garments, or whether it was something of her own beauty, which she now began for the first time to truly understand might be something precious and remarkable, something of great interest to men, for which they might pay much, or the dance itself, or all these things, that in the eyes of many men there glistened intense interest, heat, and desire. She saw even, in the eyes of some, awe. I am beautiful, she thought to herself, startled. She danced before Anton, the short-haired primate, and she saw the knuckles of his hairy hands, beneath the hair, whiten. She saw a drinking horn whose edge had been half chewed away. There were furrows in the table of Granicus, of the Long-Toothed People, where his claws had left, as he watched, their marks. The scales of one of the saurians rippled. She hastily moved down the table. The bright, compound eyes of the insectoidal warriors were upon her, but they may have seen a hundred of her. Before the least human aliens, too, you see, she danced, even before those who had already cast their pellets in the pan of death, as though acknowledging their right to decide as they did, but nonetheless presenting herself before them, for their inspection, and contempt, if

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they wished, contritely, too, in her dance begging their forgiveness for not having been found by them to be sufficiently pleasing, performing for them, thusly, you see, as for the others, as what she was, in all humility, a slave. But her greatest strengths, of course, came, as she began to comprehend, almost daring to begin to hope, with the mammals, and mammalian sorts, and, progressively, among these forms of life, with the primates, both those closer to and farther from humans, and then, advancing further, with humanoidal sorts, and even more humanlike sorts, many of whom kept women such as she for labor and pleasure, and with some of whom such women, commonly with certain biological adjustments, would even be cross-fertile, and culminatingly, of course, like explosions and eruptions, like tides and seasons, with those for whom she had been prepared by a billion years of evolution and selection to appeal to and delight, the males of her own species, human males, and these, at the tables, she gratefully noted, were in the vast majority. I am beautiful, she thought to herself. I am desired. I am wanted, and as a slave! It is well known how beautiful and exciting women are when they dance the dances of slaves, even a legally free woman, but one who would be, of course, a slave in her heart, dancing before one, out there in the darkness, she hopes is her master. Suppose then that she who dances such a dance is truly a slave, fully and legally, which must be the case in many places in the empire, who can be priced and purchased, who knows herself slave, and is subject to discipline, and

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must obey. A thousand times more meaningful then is her dance, and her reality! How men might scream for her, and bid for her! "A gold ring for the slut!" called a man. "Two!" cried another. "No!" shouted a man, in fury. "The scales, and lead, will decide her fate!" On many worlds it is well known, though on others the information is suppressed, that biological realities exist, such as dominance and submission, strength and vulnerability, reciprocal needs, jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, sexual dimorphism and its meaning, claimancy and command, behavioral genetics, readinesses to respond to sign stimuli, longings for completeness, the desire to belong to, and yield to, the master animal, and such. Illustrative of one small aspect of these matters, one might consider the matter of sign stimuli and, in particular, what one might speak of as "emphasis sign stimuli." The lips of a woman, for example, have a natural color and function as sign stimuli, having a role to play, as does the totality of her loveliness, inward and outward, in arousing the male. But it is well known in many cultures for the color of the lips to be deepened and intensified by the application of, say, lipstick. This, in its way, enhances and intensifies nature, and thus, in its way, constitutes a sign stimulus which does not occur in nature itself, or, at least, in nature short of its witting enhancements, taken then as a part of nature. That is an "emphasis sign stimulus." Cosmetics, generally, and jewelry, and perhaps clothing, on the whole, function as such "emphasis sign

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stimuli." Now consider the subtler matter of possession. There is little doubt that the primitive human male, in effect, claimed and owned his mate, much as he might have his tools and weapons, though a legal concept of property is unlikely to have existed at such a time. In such a sense then, the sense of male dominance and female submission, the sense of the possession and ownership of the mate, and of other women captured, one can think of slavery as natural. Women who might, say, evade or flee such relationships would have been less likely, presumably, to replicate their genes, and thus, in time, nature would have selected for the dominant male and the submissive female, his subordinated, serving, treasured prize. As civilization developed, these relationships would tend to be elaborated and complicated, and, for example, the slavery of nature would tend to come, in some of its aspects, at least, to be the slavery, in effect, of merchant law. Thus, just as cosmetics and jewelry, and such, might enhance, as emphasis sign stimuli, the natural female, rendering her even more exciting and attractive, so, too, legalized slavery, in the context of a complex civilization, in the emotive and cognitive dimensions, as emotional and cognitive emphasis sign stimuli, would render the female ever more desirable, exciting, and attractive. This is doubtless one reason the female slave is far more sexually arousing than the free female; her slavery itself is an incredibly powerful emphasis sign stimulus. Add in then the lore of the slave, her skills, her role in the civilization, how she might be marked, or identified, collared, or ankleted, or such, how she is to be dressed, how she is to behave, and such, and considering all these things as emphasis sign stimuli, one begins to suspect something of the secret of her sexual magnetism, something of her incredible desirability, something of the extraordinary power of her attraction. And, too, of course, these things are reciprocal, working as

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much on the female, perhaps even more, than on the male. The woman who must see males as masters cannot help but find them sexually disturbing, and a thousand times more interesting and attractive than might a free woman. Bondage induces not only interest in the opposite sex in the human female, but primes her with readiness and eagerness. The collar makes her not only the slave of her master, but of her own passion, as well. Too, she longs to kneel and express her devotion in a thousand ways. She longs to love and serve, and give of herself. She is a slave. "Three rings!" cried a high fellow in one of the Alemanni tribes, the Dangars. "Five!" cried another fellow, from another of the Alemanni tribes, the Teragar, or Long-River, Borkons. "No, no!" cried a man, angrily. "See the scale! It tips to the skull! It points to death!" "No rings of gold for her!" cried a man. "Would that I had a ring of gray, base lead, to hurl it into the pan of death!" cried another. Huta hurried to the fellow who had cried this out, and fell to her knees before him, some feet before his table, and then, on her knees, with her body and arms, to the music, lifting her arms to him, so danced, on her knees, in supplication before him.

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"Ai!" cried a man. The fellow tried to turn away, but in a moment, furious, tears streaming down his face, turned again, to regard the slave. Huta lifted her dark, glorious hair, spreading it about herself, and then shielded herself with it and then, as though timidly, and as if commanded, drew it away from her body, looking at the fellow, as though shyly, frightened, as though he had ordered this done. "Ai!" he cried, in fury. And then, to the music, she wrapped the hair about her wrists, as though they might be bound, and then placed her wrists, crossed, behind the back of her head, holding them there, as though they were bound there, and then, before him, regarding him fearfully, surged, and struggled, as though helplessly, as though striving to free herself from bonds, but futilely. "How now will you cast your pellet?" inquired a fellow at his elbow. He put his head down, weeping, striking the table with his fists. And Huta was up, to dance before another. "I will fill your drinking horn with emeralds for her!" called a high fellow of the Aramars, one of many tribes allied with the Alemanni. "A thousand rubies!" cried another fellow, from the Vessites, the Copper People.

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"A diamond from Kolchis III!" cried another fellow, a Buron, from Safa Minor. There were a great many tribes, and peoples, allied with, or well disposed toward, the Alemanni. In the Alemanni nation itself, as we have mentioned, there were eleven tribes. "Dance, slave, dance!" cried a man. "Yes, Master!" cried Huta. Huta could not but have been aware of the effect of her dance on the feasters, and, in particular, on the humans, the Alemanni and others, and, indeed, even on certain of the other species as well, some not even closely kindred to the human species. As we have suggested, several of these species kept human females as slaves, putting them to a variety of purposes. Huta began to suspect, the hope rising in her, suddenly, irresistibly, wildly, elatedly, in her dance, that she might have a chance for life, that she might be able to exert some real influence in her favor, however small, on the dark matter which, only too realistically, hung in the balance. "Dance!" cried another.

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"Yes, Master!" she cried. I may live, she thought wildly. I may live! She swayed, meaningfully, before a man. She read his keen desire in his eyes. I have power, she thought. I have the power of a slave! "See! She grows proud!" cried a man. This terrified Huta, whose slavery then was only too clearly recalled to her. She flung herself to the rush-strewn, dirt floor, rolling and begging, prostrating herself, piteously. Her movements said, I am not proud! I am weak and helpless, and I beg mercy! "Oh!" she suddenly cried, as she lay supine, in the dirt. Her hips suddenly shook, and rocked, uncontrollably. She lifted herself a little, with her hands and her heels. Her haunches heaved, and she was startled. Her hips bucked. She lost the music, bewildered, for a moment, turning to her side, pulling her legs up, in consternation, trying to hide and cover herself. There was laughter.

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"Oh!" cried more than one of the ladies of the empire, moving wildly on her knees. Many of the others turned scarlet, trying to cover themselves. "Finish your dance!" cried a man. But Huta, now, could do little more than crawl on her knees, her stomach moving, to reach the foot of the dais. "Take the vote!" "Cast the pellets!" cried men. "Mercy,

Master!"

wept

Huta,

beside

herself

in

misery,

and

bewilderment, her eyes wide, her hands at her hips. Muchly then was there laughter. "Behold the needful, helpless slave!" cried a man. Huta cast a pathetic, helpless glance at him. "Masters! Masters!" cried one of the former ladies of the empire. "We are yours! Take pity on us!" "Down!" cried one of the lads, savagely, lashing across the shoulder with his supple, greenwood switch she who had cried out. The former lady of the empire put her head down, bent far over, weeping,

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clutching her thighs. Other

former

women

of

the

empire

moaned,

looking

about

themselves, fearfully, wonderingly, at men who might, at a word from Abrogastes, become their masters. Huta's hips, despite her efforts, moved. "Forgive me, Master! Mercy, Master!" she cried. "The music, slave, the music!" cried one of the musicians, angrily. Abrogastes regarded her, eyes closely lidded, face expressionless, considering what a mere touch might do to such a slave. "The music!" cried the musician. Doubtless for such a lapse, in a tavern or brothel, a girl might be muchly leathered. "The music!" insisted the musician. The whip lies always to hand, you see, to instruct such women in deportment, its presence admonishing them to control themselves to the end of the dance. They may afterward be thrown to those for whom they have been reserved.

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It was not unknown, too, that their own girls might, upon occasion, in the dark, woolen, silk-lined, lamp-lit tents, fall to the rugs, weeping, tearing away veils, touching their collars, writhing, begging for the touch of masters. Such was sometimes permitted, if there were no guests. But sometimes, even in taverns and brothels, it is recognized that a woman, even one frightened and resolved, cannot always help herself. She is, after all, a slave, and is thus in a state of intensified nature. Some of the manuals recommend lenience, even indulgence, at such times. What is done depends, of course, on the master. "Dance!" ordered he who was first among the musicians. Huta then, in agony, crawled to a few feet before the dais of Abrogastes, and knelt before him, precisely as she had before the spear. "Good! Good!" said the leader of the musicians. She then, to the music, leaned backward, until her dark hair was swirled upon the rush-strewn floor, and then, slowly, gracefully, came forward, lifting herself, her hands, and arms and body seemingly entwined with the music, obedient to its beat and caress, helplessly responsive

to the melody, exquisitely, vitally vulnerable to it,

submissive to it, swept up in it, like living silk in the wind, borne by it,

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and in it, sensuous and rhapsodic, wordless and eloquent, fluent in the speech of desire and emotion, like the glow of firelight on a brass vessel, the movement of silk, the rustle of ankle bells. "Good," said the leader of the musicians. Then she bent forward, as she had before the spear, and, trembling, performed obeisance, head to the dirt, palms on the dirt, before Abrogastes, and then lowered herself to her belly, and crawled to the dais. "Down," said Abrogastes to the rumbling, agitated hound to his right. The beast subsided, its ears erecting, the bristling, manelike hair, crackling, descending over the knot of muscle at the back of its neck. Huta then squirmed to the surface of the dais and, putting down her head, began to kiss and lick at the boots of Abrogastes, as she had at the butt of the spear, still held by the two warriors toward the center of the hall. The music then, suddenly, stopped, Huta's tiny hands about the left boot of Abrogastes, her lips pressed down, piteously, fervently, to the boot of her master. Huta trembled. The furred boot of Abrogastes was damp with her tears, and dampened, and streaked, pressed down, wet, from the desperate,

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placatory attentions of her soft tongue and lips. Abrogastes rose to his feet, and, with his boot, thrust Huta from the dais. She lay then on her side in the rush-strewn dirt at the foot of the dais, trembling. She drew her legs up, she covered the soft, swelling beauty of her bosom with her hands. Her hips stirred in the dirt. She wept. No longer could she help herself. "Behold the helpless slave!" laughed a man. There was much laughter. But the slave, miserable, and in agony, could not, as we have said, help herself. "The proud Huta has been stripped of her freedom," said a man. "And of her clothing," laughed another. "And now, too," said another, "she has been stripped of her pride." Huta shuddered.

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She sensed that no woman who has so danced can ever again be anything but a man's slave. She lay there in the dirt, trying to control herself. "It remains now only to strip her of her virginity," said another man. "Yes," said another. "Abrogastes!" cried men. "Abrogastes!" But Abrogastes descended from the dais, and stepped over the trembling form before the dais, which had, in the plans of Abrogastes, now served its purpose. "Are you well feasted, and well entertained?" called out Abrogastes. "Yes!" called men, and other forms of life. Goblets smote upon the heavy planks of the feasting tables. "This is nothing," cried Abrogastes, "only a little food and drink, and the pathetic appeal, in dance, of a meaningless slave." Men looked at one another. "Do you think it is for the sake of such trivialities, such pleasantries, that I have called you here?"

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"Speak, Abrogastes," called a man. "Behold the spear of oathing!" called Abrogastes, pointing to the great spear, held upright by two warriors. The hall was silent. Abrogastes then surveyed the former women of the empire, kneeling, huddled together, frightened, here and there, before the tables. They shrank back, but well, after the dance of Huta, knew themselves slaves. She who was the first of the three display slaves, kneeling, raised her hands from her thighs, turning them, and lifting the palms, piteously, to Abrogastes. Another, she who had been lashed when she had called out for the pity of masters, lifted her head a little, pathetically, but dared not move. Muchly did she fear the switch of her impatient, youthful mentor. Her eyes spoke for her. Others of the women had their thighs pressed closely together. Some squirmed. "To the spear, slaves!" called Abrogastes, harshly, waving his hand about.

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These women had been well instructed by the example of Huta, and they hurried piteously to the great spear, and desperately, in fear for their lives, and, too, muchly aroused by what they had seen, the dance, and the masters about, and their own vulnerability, and condition, as slaves, ministered to the great spear, holding it, grasping it, pressing themselves against it, pathetically, caressing it, licking and kissing it. There was much laughter at the tables, as the former women of the empire, with their bodies, their small hands, and their lips, and tongues, bestowed attentions upon the mighty spear. They crowded about the spear, trying to reach it, kneeling, and bellying, none on their feet, each vying with the other, each striving to touch it, to lick and kiss it, each attempting to do so more lovingly, more zealously, more submissively, than the other. "Behold the women of the empire!" called Abrogastes. He gestured to the crowd of slaves at the spear, performing the spear obeisance. The men at the tables looked on, approvingly. "Do they not attempt to caress pleasantly?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes," said men. "Do they not attempt to lick and kiss well?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes!" called men.

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"Are they not pretty little things?" called Abrogastes. "Yes," shouted men, approvingly. "Do you not think they could be instructed to squirm well?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes!" laughed men. "Enough!" cried Abrogastes, sharply, and the lads, who had been alerted to this moment in the feast, long before its commencement, lashed the ladies from the spear and to their bellies, where they then lay in the dirt, clustered about it. "We are despised, as you know, my brothers," said Abrogastes, "by those of the empire, we, the lords of stars, by the fat, the haughty and the weak, by the complacent, the petty, the smug, the wealthy, the arrogant." Men exchanged glances, uneasily. "What do they, with their vaunted civilization, their refinements and luxuries, know of hardship, of pain and war, of adventure, of victory?" "Little, milord," said the clerk. "Which of them has swum in cold, restless, black waters, who among them has hunted the long-maned lion, who trekked the ice of the

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month of Igon, pursuing the white bear, who marched, in the heat of solar fire, a pack on his back, a thousand miles to distant outposts, who braved the flood, who forded, afoot, turbulent rivers, who drawn the oars, or held the tiller, of river vessels, who driven the stakes of the high tents, who lived alone in the forest, who met enemies at borders, and on lonely skerries, who hunted beasts and by them was hunted?" "Not those, surely, of the empire, milord," said the clerk. "They wear silks and linens, and we coarse cloths, and the skins of beasts," said Abrogastes. There was silence. "To whom does the lamb belong?" asked Abrogastes. "To the lion, milord," said the clerk. "To whom the pig?" "The leopard, milord." "To whom the gazelle?" "The vi-cat, milord." "To whom the slaves?"

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"To the masters, milord." The former women of the empire trembled, lying in the dirt, about the foot of the great spear. "The empire is vast, and rich," said Abrogastes, "vast and rich beyond measure." "The empire is invincible, and eternal," said a man. "Once," said Abrogastes, "there was no empire." Men looked at one another, for the empire was taken much for granted, as might be a mountain or star. "It is true, milord," said the clerk. "The empire is invincible," said one of the men, uncertainly. "Let us raid now and then, and return to our worlds, with some loot, for feasting, the telling of stories, the songs of skalds,'' said a man. "While the empire strengthens her defenses, and even prepares to send her ships of reprisal forth to follow you?" asked Abrogastes. "They must find us first," said a man. There was some uneasy laughter.

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"Are you content to be weasels and scavengers, nocturnal filchen to rush forth, at night, to seize a crumb from the garbage of a palace?" "To what end do you speak, mighty Abrogastes?" inquired a Dangar. "Walls may be scaled, ditches may be bridged, portals may be smote down," said Abrogastes. Men looked at one another, uneasily. Much as they might hate the empire, they feared it, either as a dim, vast, remote presence just beyond the horizon, one awesome, one fearsome and menacing, or even as a reality, sharp and bright, fierce, which they may, upon occasion, almost as though in the dark, suddenly, their dismay and grief, have touched. Huta lay forgotten in the dirt, before the dais. Only gradually did she begin to understand how she had been used by Abrogastes, she responding totally naturally, in every particle of her being, as she must, in her own needs and interest, yet, at the same time, just as naturally, serving simultaneously, as was the intent of Abrogastes, to unite the feasters, giving them a common object to hate and hold in contempt, and to ignite their anger and resentment against any form of treason, any form of divisiveness; in these ways, thusly, she found herself used to serve the purposes of Abrogastes. Too, of course, her reduction to slavery, this reduction in status, from that of a consecrated, sacred virgin, even a priestess, to that of a mere desire object, a slave, who could be bought and sold in any market, must convey its message as well. And, of course, doubtless

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Abrogastes had enjoyed showing her off, displaying her as one of his properties.

And,

obviously,

she

had

figured

in

the

feast's

entertainment, as might have any slave. It seemed clear that several of the feasters had not failed to derive some pleasure from her performance. And, too, of course, she had, in her ministrations at the spear, and in her dance, served her purposes, as well. She had set an example for the former ladies of the empire, instructing them, in her way, in what was required of them at the spear. Too, there was no doubt that her dance had taught them, incontrovertibly, not only what she was, but what they were, as well. Many had moaned with helpless arousal and desire. Some had cried out. Many had squirmed in need, some scarcely understanding what was going on in their bodies. Her dance, if such were needed, had readied them, primed them, for slave service. They wanted now their masters' touch. They, though former ladies of the empire, were now eager for it, now zealous for it. Some were ready even now, though not so long in their collars, to beg for it. "The empire is not invincible," said Abrogastes. "We have met her on a hundred worlds, at a thousand ports and cities, and defeated her." "Those are border forces, not the mobile forces, auxiliaries, not regulars, conscripts, not professionals," said a man. "Even the Vandalii, our hated and hereditary foes, at one time resisted the empire!" said Abrogastes. "And they are now vanished, or scattered, and meaningless, exiled, banished to distant worlds, some even in rural service to the empire.''

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"Are we, of the Alemanni," asked Abrogastes, "less than the Vandals?" "No!" cried men, angrily. Huta lay in the dirt, small, forgotten, her knees drawn up, her arms about herself. She, overwhelmed with what had occurred, with her dance, with her feelings, her sensations, scarcely dared to move. Never had she been so alive, so frightened, so ready to feel, so real. It was as though she had somehow discovered herself, finding herself to be, in perfection, what she had always suspected herself to be, a woman, more in the state of nature than she would have dreamed possible. She felt an overwhelming desire to please, and serve. She wanted to live to do so, and be held, and mastered. Yet she lay there on the dirt floor of the hall, huddled up, naked. Whether the slave is clothed or not is up to the master, but they are often clad, if only in a ribbon, or rag, that it be clear that they are slave, to themselves and others, that their beauty might be the subject of provocative, betraying hints, and that there be something to remove from them, whenever the master wishes it. But on Huta's body there was not even a collar. She wanted the collar, or the anklet, or bracelet, or ring, or chains, anything, something to give her at least a little security, something to confirm upon her her status, something to make it clear that she might be wanted, that she might hope to be kept.

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Her hunger now began to return to her. She had not been fed. It had not been seen fit to waste food on her. It had not been clear that she was to survive the evening. She longed for the reassurance of chains. Would not such suggest that she might be kept, if only for the night? But there was not so much as a rag on her body. To be sure, on her left leg, high, just under the hip, she had been branded, a common brand, the tiny slave rose, one of several standard marks recognized in merchant law, but it had been done shortly after landfall from Tenguthaxichai, she one in a line of several others, no different, being put in the rack, which held the limb immobile, in her turn, as the others. She had cried out, struggling in the cuffs, pinioning her wrists behind her, which would not be removed for several hours, and had seen her thigh marked, saw it hissing, smoking, for a moment, and had understood that she was now something that could be recognized and identified for what it was throughout galaxies. She had hoped to be marked by Abrogastes himself but he did her no such honor. It was a common fellow, a smith, in his dark, stained leather apron, who did the work, he taking one iron after another from the brazier, these being cleaned and reheated by attendants. She had been on a common neck chain, with others. The work was done in a routine, unhurried, methodical, efficient manner. Did the smith, and the others, she had wondered, not understand what they were doing, what an absolute, incredible

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transformation they wreaked with each placing, and pressing in, of the iron? One might have thought, she had conjectured, that they might have been marking cattle. Then it had occurred to her that, in a sense, that was precisely what they were doing. They were marking livestock. She had, when free, despised slaves, and thought nothing of them. But then she had found herself one. Abrogastes had had her branded promptly, but had not done the work himself. He had given it over to the smith and his fellows. He himself had scarcely seen her afterward. She had, with others, served twice, her ankles in leather shackles, in his hut. The mark was on her, of course, and it identified her as a slave. But surely it provided her with little assurance that she might be spared. She might be thrown, tonight, to the dogs that guarded the camp. "They think," called Abrogastes to the tables, he striding about, fixing his fierce eyes upon one of the feasters after another, "that we are weak, that we are afraid of them! Are you weak, Granicus? Are you weak, Anton?" "No," responded these creatures. "You, Ingeld?" inquired Abrogastes. "No, milord." "Hrothgar?"

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"No, father!" cried Hrothgar. "Hensa? Orkon?" "No, milord," said these men. "Who here fears the empire?" called Abrogastes. "The empire is strong," said a man. "Do you fear her?" inquired Abrogastes. "No, milord!" said the man. "The empire believes that we cannot fight, that we are afraid to fight, that we are cowards!" said Abrogastes, his eyes blazing. "Surely she is wrong, milord," called the clerk. "Is she wrong, brothers?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes, milord!" cried a man. "The empire is strong, milord," said a man. "The empire," whispered Abrogastes, "is weak." "Milord?" asked the man.

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"Weak," said Abrogastes. He then turned about and, not more than a pace from the prostrate Huta, returned to the dais, where he stood before the bench, between the high-seat pillars. "You have spies, milord?" inquired a man. "Yes," said Abrogastes. "Let rings be brought!" called the clerk. Men gasped, looking about, many apprehensive. Huta, ignored, fearing, not knowing her fate, lay before the dais, frightened that no notice was taken of her, not even the blow of a boot, and yet fearing, as well, that she might, at any moment, by some happenstance, even by some caprice, as though by the shifting of a wind, be returned to the attention of the hall. Chain me, she whispered to herself, chain me. Abrogastes seated himself on the bench, between the high-seat pillars. I want chains, she whispered to herself. Chain me, so that I cannot run, chain me to a ring, by the wrists and ankles, by the neck, if you wish, so that I cannot escape, so that I will be secure, so that I know I

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will be kept, at least for the night! Chain me, my master. I beg chains. "I have thought long on these matters, and hard," said Abrogastes. "Is it wise to have rings brought, father?" inquired Ingeld. "There is a time to bring the rings," said Abrogastes. "Is this the time, father?" asked Ingeld. "It is the time," said Abrogastes. "It is the time!" said Hrothgar, smiting with two fists upon the table. "But the empire is eternal," said a man. "Let it be eternal," said Abrogastes. "I do not understand," said the man. Two men entered, from the side, bearing with them a coffer, bound in iron. "The rings, milord," said the shieldsman, at the left shoulder of Abrogastes, the sword of his lord over his left shoulder. Huta looked pathetically to one of the musicians, still by the dais. She could not read his expression.

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She shuddered. She had, as she had been urged, danced her secret dreams, her secret thoughts, her needs, herself, her slavery, what she was, who she was. She had danced as a slave, shamelessly, holding nothing back, surrendering everything, releasing all, throwing herself piteously upon the mercy of harsh masters. And she had danced, too, before Abrogastes, and as his helpless, and, to her consternation, so vulnerably, as his needful, slave. What more could she do? What more could she give? Surely she had lost everything. But he had then thrust her with his boot from the dais, and seemed now to have dismissed her from his mind. Mighty matters were afoot, and she knew herself only a worthless, meaningless slave. She moved herself a little, and, lifting herself on the palms of her hands, regarded the scale, the pointer of which inclined ever so slightly toward the left side of the semicircular dial, toward the skull at its termination, indicating that the greatest weight, at this moment, lay within the pan of death. What if they should forget her, and leave matters as they stood? Would not then the men come and, taking her by the arms, conduct her outside, to be thrown to the dogs? She lay back down, trembling. "Who here does not want wealth beyond his wildest dreams?" asked Abrogastes.

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Men looked at one another, and grinned. "It is there for the taking," said Abrogastes. "We need only have the courage to seize it! The empire is like a shell. It is hard on the outside, but once we break through, as I assure you that we, in strength, we brothers together, can, there is nothing to stop us, not until we reach the treasure rooms, the boudoirs, with our chains, the hearths of Telnaria herself!" "They have ships, thousands, and weapons," said a man. "We too have ships, and will have more, as we are joined by disaffected worlds. We are not the only enemies of the empire. Many are sophisticated, technological worlds which will support us with ships, with supplies, with equipment and armament." "You have sounded these things out?" asked a man. "Else you would not have been called to the feast," said Abrogastes. "There are many peoples here, milord," said a man. "We are strong," mused another. "The empire is a burden on many worlds, and places, milord," said a man. "They would be pleased to be rid of her." "The time to strike is now," said Abrogastes.

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"And what will these worlds want of us, who wish us to take their risks, and do their work for them?" asked a man. "What we give them," said Abrogastes, "is what they will receive." "It will be by our doing?" asked Ingeld. "Yes," said Abrogastes. "There will be worlds to distribute?" asked a man. "A billion worlds," said Abrogastes, "to be distributed, to the brave, the faithful, the loyal, to owe their duties to their lords." "The empire is eternal," said a man, his voice shaking. "Let it be eternal, or not," said Abrogastes. "What does it matter? It is a house into which we may, if we wish, enter. Do you think the empire, if she is to endure, cares who governs her, who is her master? Do you not think that power has not changed hands within her a thousand times, by poisonings, by assassinations, by untimely deaths, by intrigues, by palace seizures, by riots, by civil wars, in her long history? That there is a throne is all that is required, that and someone to sit upon it!" "But we are not of the empire," said a man. "So much the better," said Abrogastes. "Our blood is fresh, and hot.

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We are young, and the heat of our youth is upon us. We are a newer, more

ambitious, more

adventurous, more

determined, stronger

people. I will not be content until I ride my horse into the throne room of Telnaria, and wash my blade in the blood of the emperor!" "Beware, milord!" cried a man. "I have not gone mad," said Abrogastes. "What is required is courage." "We are only warriors," said a man. "Such," said Abrogastes, "stand at the beginning of all dynasties." Abrogastes rose to his feet. "Milord," said the clerk. Men gasped, for the clerk had drawn forth, from a chest at the back of the dais, a long, purple robe, of the imperial purple, trimmed with white fur, from the pelt of the ice bear. He draped this about the shoulders of Abrogastes. Abrogastes himself fastened the large, golden penannular clasp. The robe was so cut, in two leaves, that its length fell before and behind, leaving the arms free.

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In such a way a sword may be wielded. "Such robes may you all wear," said Abrogastes. Men regarded one another, wonderingly. "Let rings be distributed," said Abrogastes. The men who had brought the rings, in the iron-bound coffer began to distribute them. They were large, and of gold, such as might be worn on the upper arm, or wrist. Men drew back, fearing to accept them. "Do not be afraid, my brothers," said Abrogastes. "See. I do not ask that you kneel before me, and accept rings from my hand. These are tokens of the feast, and of my good will. Surely those who have accepted rings from me know who they are, and many of you, I know, have accepted rings from another. I ask no forswearing of allegiances. We are all brothers. These are gifts. No obligation attends them." "Our thanks, milord!" called a man. The rings then were distributed, though some were accepted with reluctance. It is a serious thing, the taking of rings.

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There was, you see, as Abrogastes well knew, something in the nature of an implicit understanding involved in such an acceptance, even though it might be formally denied. Abrogastes then resumed his seat upon the bench, between the pillars. "Bring gifts!" he called. Men rushed out and returned with rich gifts, drawn from chests, some of which required four men to bear. There was rich cloth, much of it cunningly woven, and satins and brocades for free women, and subtle silks, many diaphanous, with which to bedeck slaves, and there were jewels, of a dozen kinds, and golden wire, and brooches, buckles, strap ends, coins, plates, vessels, candelabra, lamps, swords, daggers, bracelets and necklaces, many such things. Much of this was heaped upon the tables. Men, and others, grasped these things, taking them to their places, putting them about themselves, thrusting them into their belts and garments. Abrogastes watched, with satisfaction. He witnessed men, and others, accepting his gifts, even eagerly. Too, he was the lord of the Drisriaks, the foremost tribe, the largest and fiercest, of the Alemanni nation. To accept gifts from him was not the same as from some minor lord.

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Abrogastes called to himself, while the gifts were being distributed, the chief of the lads in the bright livery, with the switches, and spoke with him. He then, the lad, went to the prone women, crowded together, radiated in their semicircle about and before the spear, and, with deft, significatory touches of the supple wand in his hand, brought three to their hands and knees and herded them, with a touch here and there, unobtrusively, on an arm, or flank, to a position before the dais, to the left, before the bench of Abrogastes. These were the three blondes who had, often, even on the Alaria, served as display slaves, the sort with which a barbaric court might be bedecked, as an indication of the wealth and power of a rude sovereign, one of a powerful, ruthless people

among

whom

the

complete

mastery

of

slaves

was

a

commonplace. At a nod from Abrogastes, a keeper chained them, the three of them, hand and foot, to a ring, it set in the side of the dais. This business was not muchly noticed by the men at the tables, boisterous, vying, arguing, reaching out, gathering in their gifts. "There is more than enough for all!" cried out one of the distributors of this largesse. The leader of the display slaves, shackled with the others, looked at Abrogastes fearfully, hopefully. She pressed her lips to her manacles, looking above them, timidly, to Abrogastes. A wave of hatred and jealousy swept through the small, exquisitely curved body of Huta, but then she put down her head in fear, in

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misery, and moaned. On her own throat there was not so much as a collar. The eyes of the hound, green, and alight with fire, that crouched to the right of Abrogastes, were upon her. At the merest word from Abrogastes, she knew the hound would be upon her, and tear her to pieces, its muzzle and fangs awash with blood, it feeding eagerly before the dais. Huta looked to the scales, and to the pointer, indicative of the weightier burden borne within the pan of death. She shuddered, and pressed the right side of her cheek into the dirt, against one of the broken reeds, or rushes. Muchly did she envy the display slaves their shackles. It seemed, at least, they had been found worth chaining, that they would be kept. "Behold!" called Abrogastes, rising from the bench, and gesturing expansively to the side, where, from an entrance, men filed in, bearing oblong boxes. "What is this, milord?" called a man, a Buron, from his home world of Safa Minor.

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"See!" laughed Abrogastes. The boxes were torn open, the boards splintered by swift, prying bars. "Aii!" cried feasters, for within there were Telnarian rifles. Such weapons were superior to those of most border troops, many of which, given the losses of resources over more than a billion years, were reduced to primitive weaponry, suitable for little more than the ordering, and pacification, of peoples scarcely less advanced than themselves. A quarrel, an arrow, may be reused, and, indeed, many charges, and the forcings of ground, had as their main intent the recovery of just such missiles from the field, some gathering them up, others maintaining the hurdles or shield walls behind which this harvesting might take place. A cartridge, on the other hand, once expended, is gone. A gallon of fuel burned is lost. A bomb, once exploded, has done its work, its reality then vanished in the debris of its birth and death. In these times, you see, a rifle might be worth a kingdom, and an unexploited world, newly discovered, rich in minerals and arable soil, worth a star. Resources, once carelessly conceived as if they might be infinite in nature and quantity, used upon occasion even to shatter and destroy worlds, had proved, over billions of years, finite, potentially exhaustible, and many were scattered, remote, and to most intents and purposes inaccessible. Small wonder then that simple metal, which might be fashioned into blades, and wood, that gloriously renewable resource, which might be fashioned into arrows and bows, began again to appear in the mixed arsenals of a million worlds.

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"Beware," laughed Abrogastes, as men eagerly seized these precious devices, "one must learn to use them!" "Do not unlatch that catch," said one of the more civilized of the feasters, to a second Buron, one to his left, fumbling with the contrivance. "They are loaded," cautioned one of the fellows who had distributed the weapons. "Each contains but a single charge," said a man, inspecting a springactuated loading panel. "Outside, to be distributed," said Abrogastes, "there are a thousand charges for each weapon." Men regarded one another, marveling. Such a weapon, with only five charges, might suffice for the governance of a city. A single charge might crash the wall of a building. "And there are ships, and heavier armaments than these," said Abrogastes. "With such weaponry," said a man, "one might challenge even the empire." "With such weaponry," said Abrogastes, "we are more than a match for the empire!"

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"We can attack her upon a thousand fronts!" said a man. "Those who rule the empire," said Abrogastes, "are soft and weak. We are hard, and strong. They are satisfied. We are lean and hungry. The empire, and everything within it, by the decree of nature, belongs to those who are strong enough to take it!" "Yes, yes!" cried men. The tables resounded with acclamatory pounding. Then Abrogastes pointed to the prone women, the former ladies of the empire, by the spear. "Huddle," cried he, harshly, "sluts!" Swiftly the women, terrified, rose to their knees, and, guided by the switches of the boys, crowded closely together. "More closely, in a circle!" said Abrogastes. And then the women, the more than fifty of them who had served at the long tables in the great hall, who were all the women in the hall other than Huta and the three display slaves, already huddled, already crowded and pressed closely together, weeping, to the jangle of ankle bells, were forced into an even smaller space, a tinier round space, one they could scarcely occupy. "Behold the beauty of their bosoms, the narrowness of their waists,

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the width of their hips," said Abrogastes. "Are they not pretty?" "Yes," cried out more than one man. "And they have slave collars on their necks, and slave bells on their ankles," said Abrogastes. "Yes!" said men. There was much laughter. "What are they?" asked Abrogastes. "Slaves!" cried men. Abrogastes made a sign to one of the men who had brought in the rifles and he, adjusting the device, suddenly, walking swiftly about the crowded women, holding the weapon down, tore, at their very knees, in a swift, but extended torrent of fire, a close ditch about them, which, better than a yard deep, smoked, and was bright with fused stones. The women screamed, the bodies of many reddened from the heat, the knees of some scorched, and clutched one another, and drew back, the tiny bit that they could. There was a piteous jangling of bells. Abrogastes turned to the horrified leader of the display slaves, in her chains, to his right, at the foot of the dais. "To whom do you belong, all of you?" he asked, gesturing to her, to

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the other two display slaves, and, broadly, to the weeping, crowded, huddled slaves within the circle, smoking, cut by fire in the floor of the hall. "To you, Master!" she cried. "To whom do you belong, all of you?" he inquired again, fiercely. "We belong to our barbarian lords, Master!" she cried. "Is it fitting?" he asked. "Yes, Master!" she cried. "For what do you exist?" he asked. "To serve our masters with instant, unquestioning obedience and total perfection!" she cried. "Yes!" cried men. There was pounding on the tables. "Those of the empire," said Abrogastes, addressing the tables, "hold us in contempt. They call us 'dogs'!" Men, and others, cried out in fury. "But these," said Abrogastes, gesturing to the women, those huddled

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before the spear, and the three, the display slaves, chained to his right, neglecting only the prostrate Huta, "are all high ladies of the empire!" There was laughter. "They call us 'dogs,' " said Abrogastes, "but their high ladies, as you can see, are no more than the lowest of our bitches!" "Yes!" cried men. "Do you think we can find uses to which to put them?" inquired Abrogastes. "Yes!" said a man. "Yes, Abrogastes!" cried another. "Yes, milord!" said another. Abrogastes then, in the purple robe, of imperial purple, trimmed with the fur of the ice bear, viewed the tables, as a huntsman, a warrior, a statesman. "My brothers," he said, "many of you were apprehensive, seeing the spear of oathing brought to the hall. That is understandable. It is brought here tonight only that you may remember it, and think upon it."

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"No, father!" cried Hrothgar. "Many, too, are reluctant to accept rings, though they are accorded here, this night, only as tokens of fellowship and esteem, of hospitality and good will. Your reluctance in this matter, too, is understandable. Surely we have fought amongst ourselves so long, and quarreled so frequently, that jealousy and suspicion are only to be expected. Indeed, is not our division, and our differences, one of the mightiest weapons of the empire, and mightier even, perhaps, than her ships and cannons? What a fearsome fate it must be for her the moment we should band together as the brothers we are. Together we outnumber her by thousands. She is mighty only as we are weak, only as we are many, and not one, and one not as abandoning our chieftains or kings, not as forgoing ourselves, not one as coming to be of one tribe or people, but one as being a thousand tribes and peoples with but a single purpose, the conquest of Telnaria." The tables were quiet. "It is true," said Abrogastes, "that I have invited you here tonight that we may think upon our enemies, upon the empire, and consider whether or not we are cowards, or warriors. I, myself, have long enough prowled the perimeters of rich countries. I, and my people, and yours, have long enough been shut away from well-watered pastures and black fertile fields. I have seen new worlds before me. The future has called to me. It calls to us. I will answer. I do not know if you will answer or not. Tomorrow I will learn." Men looked at one another.

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"Tonight," said Abrogastes, "we have feasted. Tomorrow, at noon, when you have slept, and thought, and your minds are clear of bror, so none can accuse me of imposing upon you, of cozening you to unwise pledging while in the pleasant delirium of drink and gifting, tomorrow, outside this hall, on the summit of the mountain of Kragon, on its lightning-smitten, seared stones, I, and those who follow me, will swear upon a ring, and upon the spear, our vengeance on an empire, and our undying determination to make her ours. We will swear brotherhood, and vengeance, and war." "In twenty days," said a man, "the stones will leave the sky." "Then let the lionships be unleashed," said a man. "Much planning is in order," said Ingeld. "Who would be the leader of this thing?" inquired Farrix, a chieftain of the Teragar, or Long-River, Borkons. The Borkons were the third largest of the tribes of the Alemanni nation. The second largest was the Dangars. There were several branches of the Borkons, the largest being the Lidanian, or Coastal, Borkons. "Whoever is lifted upon the shields," said Abrogastes. "But only as lord of war," said Farrix. "And for a time appointed," said another man, a high fellow of the Aratars, a people from Aratus, in the constellation of Megagon.

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"We shall see!" said Hrothgar. Two men sprang to their feet, but, in a moment, cautioned by their fellows, returned to their bench. "I shall retire now," said Abrogastes, "and leave you, if you wish, to your deliberations." "What of the sluts?" called a man. "Ah," said Abrogastes, "it seems I had forgotten them." There was a jangling of bells as the former ladies of the empire, crowded together in the small space, like an island within the encircling ditch, now naught but stripped, collared, belled slaves, trembled. "Gamble for them," said Abrogastes, laughing. No sooner had he spoken than several of the men who had brought in the rings began to distribute dice among the tables. Another, with the heel of his boot, scraped a small circle, some three feet in diameter, outside of, and before, the larger, ditched circle. In another instant another of the men had reached over the ditch and seized one of the women by the hand and dragged her from her knees into the ditch and out of it, unceremoniously, and put her on her feet, in the smaller, just-scraped circle, in front of the ditched circle. He held her small wrists together, pinioned over her head, in one hand, and turned her

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about. Dice rattled on the boards. "What of that one?" called a man, indicating Huta, who shuddered. "Let the hound have her!" called another. Those who scored the highest in the first roll of the dice rolled again, and so on, until a winner was established. "Twenty!" called a fellow. "Twenty-two!" cried another. Abrogastes, standing upon the dais, seemed bemused by the gambling. "What of the slut, Huta!" cried a man. The first of the former ladies of the empire was soon won and was put down upon her hands and knees and hurried, by a boy's switch, to her new master. She screamed, for it was an insectoidal creature, alien to mammals. ''You, quickly, to the circle!'' cried one of the men to another of the former ladies of the empire and she, weeping, scrambled down into the ditch, and then up, out of it, and put herself in the smaller circle, and, once again, the dice danced, scattering about, on those broad, rough planks.

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"Stand straight!" said a man. "Turn!" "Do not leave the circle without permission or you die," said another. "Let me cut the throat of the abettor of treason, Huta," said a man. "No!" cried another. The second of the former ladies of the empire, indeed, former high ladies of the empire, though perhaps we should now speak of them indiscriminately as slaves, for none, in her new condition was more than any other slave, any rural maid caught in the horseman's noose, any fleeing, netted debtress, to be sentenced to a slave brothel, any scullery thrall, any dirty-faced guttersnipe who, rounded up by the police in the alleys of some teeming metropolis, her days of vagrant parasitism abruptly concluded, was then sold. She was won by Granicus, whose snout now was moist, and beaded with sweat, and, in an instant, she was thrust beneath his table, to be tethered there by an aide, by the neck, the leash tied to one of the supports of the table, to crouch there, fearfully, amongst gold and other possessions, at her master's massive, leather-beribboned, clawed feet. And already Granicus scattered the dice from his mighty paw, for another woman, a brunette, on all fours, cowered within the tiny circle. And another woman was summoned forth, into the ditch, bells jangling, and then up, slipping at its side, to take a designated position, on all fours, near the circle, to be the next won. "Huta!" cried a man.

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"Huta!" cried another, howling it out. Abrogastes seemed not to hear. A fellow came from behind a table, bearing a double-headed war ax. "See the scale, mighty Abrogastes!" he cried. "It points to death!" He brandished his ax over Huta, who trembled beneath its heavy, tapered edge. A blow from such an implement can cut a shield in two. "I am your cousin, noble Abrogastes," said he. "Do not give her to the dogs! Let me have her first, piece by piece! I shall begin at the left ankle!" "No!" cried a fellow, his sword half-drawn. "She danced well," said another man. "She abetted treason!" said the fellow who had earlier asserted this charge, one which surely none in conscience would care to dispute. "Kill her!" said another. "Her body is not without interest," observed one of the more civilized of the guests. "I know markets in which she would bring a good price," said a merchant, Cang-lau, of Obont, he who had, incidentally, in a series of masked transactions, and at considerable risks to his shipping interests, from imperial inspectors and patrols, arranged for the delivery, from the client world of Dakir, via putatively neutral Obont, of the Telnarian rifles.

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"Kill her!" repeated he who had cried out before. "I will give you a ruby for her, a Glorion ruby!" called out a man. Such rubies are the size of a man's fist. Huta's heart leapt. She had value! "Kill her! Cut her throat!" screamed a fellow. Another woman, in the background, the brunette, was gambled for, and won. She went to a man, to whom she hastened eagerly, on all fours. Another was then put in the small circle, and another, bells jangling, brought to the place of readiness. "Death is too good for her!" called a fellow. "Let her be the slave she is!" "Slavery! Slavery!" cried a man. "Keep her as a slave!" called another. "Put the collar on her, Abrogastes!" "Sell her!" Were men so foolish, Huta wondered, to think that, for a woman,

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death was preferable to slavery. Did they know so little of women? Did they not realize, so many of them, the sweet, simple fools, why women made such perfect slaves? "Kill her! Cut her throat!" "Put her on a slave block!" Huta pressed her tiny body into the rush-strewn dirt, terrified, while these cries rang about her. She was, in legality, already a slave. Too, she had begun to sense, deeply, the wonder of chains, and the whip, and obedience, and subjection to the master. She had begun to sense what it might be to be under discipline, with its identities, with its realities, its perils and ecstasies. Already a profound transformation of her consciousness had begun to come about. From puberty on, in its own inexorable time of unfolding maturations, of insights and intuitions, she had begun to suspect, and to be aware of dim mechanisms awaiting

within

longed-for,

her,

genetic

releasing

preparations, latent

stimuli,

biological

responses,

destinies

and

fittingnesses. She had begun to long for the unswerving master beast to whom her desirability and beauty would be categorically and uncompromisingly subject. Even as a girl, frightened and resistant, she had unaccountably begun to long for the mighty master of her dreams, the man before whom she could never be more than an eager, impassioned slave. She had begun to sense, you see, what it might be to be truly free to feel, and to be sexually free, truly, wildly and

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helplessly, as no woman can be who is not subject to command, and to love and serve, as she must, and as no free woman could. In the background women were being gambled for, and won. "Like this!" cried the fellow who was the cousin of Abrogastes, driving his ax into the dirt not more than an inch from Huta's left ankle. She screamed. He looked up at Abrogastes, eagerly. But Abrogastes seemed to give him no attention. Another woman was forced into the tiny circle, on down upon her knees, and a fellow, his hand in her hair, bent her backward. Well was she displayed. Numbers were called out. "She is a beauty, milord," said the clerk. "Yes," said Abrogastes. "Milord!" protested the cousin of Abrogastes. "What of Huta?" called men.

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"Throw her to the dogs!" called a man. "Sell her!" demanded another, clutching a bag of coins, yet was not each, now, at those tables, rich? Had not Abrogastes, and the coffers of the Drisriaks, seen to that? "Put her on the slave block!" called a man. "Sell her to the highest bidder!" called another. "Kill her! Kill her!" cried others. Huta's body shook with terror and tears. One of the women in the tiny circle, throwing her head about, seemed mad with fear. She rose up, suddenly, staggering. "Do not leave the circle or you die!" snarled a fellow. She knelt down then, sobbing. She was soon sold. "Huta! Huta!" called men. "Abrogastes!" called others, pressing for his attention. "This is not happening to me!" cried a woman in the small circle, but, in moments, she was on her belly, and her new master, kneeling across her body, was binding her hands behind her back. When he stood she turned, on her side, bound, and looked up at him, and then swiftly pressed her lips to his boot.

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Another woman was put in the circle. "Put your hands behind the back of your head, and bend backward," she was told by the fellow at the circle. "Now put your hands on your hips, and flex your knees!" Wonderingly, frightened, the woman did so. "Now, move!" said the man at the circle. "Surely not, Master!" cried the woman. "Now!" he said. "Oh!" she cried. "There," said the man, "now you have moved as a slave before men. I do not think you will ever forget this moment." "No, Master!" she said, flushed, wonderingly, knowing she could never again, after that movement, be anything other than what she now was, a slave. "Slut! Slut!" cried one of the women in the larger circle. "Yes, yes," wept the woman in the smaller circle. "I am a slut! I am a slave. I cannot now be anything different." "I, too, am a slave!" cried one of the women in the larger circle.

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"I, too!" said others. "Take me next!" cried one. "I would be won!" "I am hot!" wept the woman in the smaller circle. "Yes, yes, I, too!" said another woman in the larger circle. Many held out their hands to be the next to be permitted to the smaller circle, but the one selected was she who had cried out, "Slut! Slut!" "You will have nothing from me!" she cried, as she was dragged, standing, to the circle. "I will be inert!" "The whip," said a man, putting out his hand, into which the implement was promptly placed. "No, Master!" she said. "Please, no!" "Shall our little critic be lashed?" inquired the fellow, of the tables. "Let her perform!" called a man. "Interest them," said the man with the whip. "Please, no!" she wept.

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The whip snapped. The men laughed as the distraught beauty attempted to interest them. "Is that the best you can do?" inquired the man with the whip. Again the whip cracked. "More," said the man with the whip. There was laughter. "It seems the next stroke must be upon your body," said the fellow with the whip. "No, no, Master!" she wept. He held her left arm with his left hand, and was behind her. "Aii!" she suddenly cried. There was, again, laughter, but this laughter was one not only of amusement, but one also of genuine interest. Gently, but surely, and unexpectedly, had the whip, coiled, touched her. The proud woman was now no more than a humbled, scarlet mass of shame in his hand.

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"It seems your body betrays your mouth," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Lying is not permitted to a slave girl," he said. "No, Master," she said. "Do you think, truly, you are different from other slaves?" he asked. "No, Master," she said. "Do you think you will be an inert slave?" he asked. "No, Master!" she said. "Please, Master, let me be won swiftly!'' "Inertness is not permitted in a slave," he said. "No, Master!" she said. She was soon won. Swiftly, eagerly, she crawled to her new master. Another woman, one eager to be won, was brought to the circle. "Hold, Abrogastes!" called Farrix, of the Borkons, who had risen to his feet.

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The woman in the circle shrank down, tiny. The dice stopped rattling. Abrogastes turned toward Farrix, for Farrix was on his feet, and a chieftain. "Let the pellets be cast," said Farrix, grimly. "Beware, father," whispered Ingeld. Abrogastes gave no sign he had heard the warning of Ingeld, Ingeld, who kept his thoughts muchly to himself. Huta, lying in the dirt before the dais, trembled, sensing suddenly that her fate might cease to depend on such simple matters as guilt or justice, or her desirability or lack of desirability as a female slave, but on other matters, subtle political matters, on rankings, on contests of will, on maneuverings for power. "Of course," said Abrogastes, affably. She knew that Abrogastes despised and hated her, for her role in the business of the Ortungs, but she also suspected that he, the thought both alarming and stirring her, found her not without interest as a slave. Surely more than once she had detected in his eyes, or thought she had, keen desire, even fierce desire, as for a slave to be uncompromisingly mastered and ravished. She had no hope of winning

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his love, that hope of almost every slave girl, to win the love of her master, but hoped that she might, if only by years of an abject slave's service and devotion, win perhaps at least some particle of a begrudging sufferance. "How will Abrogastes, lord of the Drisriaks, cast his pellet?" inquired Farrix. "Sacrifice her, father," whispered Ingeld. "How will Farrix cast his pellet?" inquired Abrogastes. "She is not worth the collar!" said another Borkon. "But she is not without interest," said another Borkon, evenly. The hand of Farrix went to his dagger, but he withdrew it, and it was almost as though he had not moved. "The matter is trivial, and it had escaped my mind," said Abrogastes. He nodded to the clerk. "Let the pellets be cast!" called the clerk. Huta was pulled to her knees, and turned to face the scales, that she might witness the deciding of her fate. "Death to her!" cried a man.

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"Life!" cried another. The feasters then, the women in the circle forgotten, even she in the smaller circle, waiting, small, kneeling there, to be won, began to leave the tables and file, one by one, to the table of pellets, and then each, to cries of acclamation, or anger, or derision, cast their pellets, those small, leaden counters, into the pan of their choice. Huta could scarcely kneel. "Straighten your body, head up," said the fellow who had positioned her. "Place your hands, wrists crossed, as though they were bound, at the small of your back." She tried to comply. Pellets struck into the pans. The pan of death began to descend even more. "See she who was once the proud Huta!" laughed a man. "See the slave," said another. "She trembles," said another. "She cannot even hold herself upon her knees," laughed another.

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"Tie her wrists behind her back," said Abrogastes. "Blindfold her," said Abrogastes. "Put her on a double leash," said Abrogastes. These things were done, that she might better hold her position, and then she knelt much as she had, save that now her small wrists, in reality, were fastened behind her back, her eyes were now bandaged, with a folded scarf, and on her neck were two leashes, the straps, short and taut, extending from the two leash collars on her neck to the fists of her keepers, one on each side. The residual lengths of the straps were muchly coiled, the higher coils wrapped about their fists. Huta moaned. The pellets, unseen by her now, continued to strike into the pans. She could not now, held as she was by the leashes, slip from her knees. "You can see the pans, father," said Ingeld. "Give her up." "What is she to me?" said Abrogastes. "Give her up," said Ingeld. "No!" said Hrothgar. He rose from his place and cast a pellet into the pan for life.

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"See how Hrothgar casts his pellet," said Abrogastes to Ingeld. "He sees only the shapely limbs of a slave," said Ingeld. "How shall I cast my pellet?" Abrogastes asked the clerk. "You will cast it as you wish, milord," said the clerk. "How should I cast my pellet?" Abrogastes asked his shieldsman, his own great sword in its sheath, over the fellow's left shoulder. "I shall defend my lord to the death," said the shieldsman, "whatever he does, whatever be his decision." Hrothgar returned to his place, casting a dark glance at Ingeld. "Hrothgar is a fool," said Ingeld. "He cares only for his horses and falcons." "And, it seems," said a man, "for slave girls." "Yes," said Ingeld, scowling, "and for slave girls." The pellets continued to be placed into the pans. Huta trembled. Tears ran from her eyes, beneath the blindfold, to stain her cheeks.

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The warriors, the merchants, the envoys, all, filed past the scales. "The matter is evening itself," said a man, wonderingly. Huta lifted her head, startled. She strained, as if to see through the dark layers of the blindfold. Her small wrists moved helplessly in the tight, confining thongs. "Now it inclines again toward death," said a man. The hall was now muchly silent, the eyes of the men upon the scales. The guests filed past, each putting his pellet into the pan of his choice. "Remove her blindfold," said Abrogastes. The blindfold was removed, and Huta saw that the pointer on the scale was poised, as though indecisive, restless, wavering, at the midpoint of the scale. "It seems your beauty is not without interest, slut," said a man. "She danced well," said another. "I think she might make an excellent slave," said another. "Not everyone who may has cast a pellet," said Farrix, quietly.

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He looked at Ingeld. Ingeld looked at Abrogastes. Ingeld then went to the pan and cast his pellet. "He casts it for life!" said a man. Abrogastes then descended to the floor and went to the table. The scale, still, was delicately difficult to read, so many pellets there were, so evenly were they distributed, so small the weight of each. "It points, does it not, to the collar," said a man. At one termination of the dial

on the scale there was the

representation of a skull, at the other the representation of a slave collar. Abrogastes picked up a pellet. "Remember Ortog, remember the Ortungs, remember the division of the nation, remember treason," said Farrix. "I remember those things," said Abrogastes. "How then will you cast your pellet, mighty Abrogastes?" asked Farrix.

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"As I please," said Abrogastes. The hall was silent. Abrogastes then tossed his pellet into the pan of life. "Aii!" cried men, and others. "Shieldsman," said Abrogastes. The shieldsman came to him. "My sword," said Abrogastes. The weapon was unsheathed, and placed in his hand. Abrogastes then threw the mighty weapon into the pan of life, and it bore the balance of the scale almost to the vertical. Pellets spilled from the pans. The pan of life, that of the collar, was borne as low as it might be, without breaking the small chains which held it to the balance. "And how will you, noble Farrix, cast your pellet?" asked Abrogastes. "For life, of course," he said. He cast his pellet into the pan of life, it now so much descended. "Hail to the Alemanni," he said. "Hail to the Alemanni," said Abrogastes.

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The keepers who held the leashes of Huta played out leather, lowering her to the ground. "Continue your gambling, my friends, my brothers," said Abrogastes, raising his hand. "Up, on your knees, slave!" said a fellow at the smaller circle, to the woman waiting to be won. Again there was shouting. "Forty!" "Forty-six!" Abrogastes looked down at the slave who, overcome, had lost consciousness. "Take the leashes off her neck," he said. "Leave her bound. Revive her." Then he said to another fellow, "Bring a common slave collar for her." Dice rattled upon the boards. Another slave was won. And another was put to the circle, and another summoned, bells jangling, from the ditched island to the place of readiness.

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Cold water was splashed upon the unconscious, fainted, overcome, bound Huta, who, coughing, gasping, frightened, comprehending that her hands were still bound, regained consciousness. She looked wildly at Abrogastes, the earth muddied about her. Abrogastes retrieved his sword from the pan in which it lay, withdrawing it from amongst the three tiny chains, and gave it to his shieldsman, who returned it to its sheath. He then returned his attention to Huta, while the gambling went on, in the background. Huta scrambled to her knees, and put her head to the ground before Abrogastes. "Collar her," said Abrogastes. One of his men crouched by the slave, her head still to the muddied dirt, and fastened a slave collar on her neck. It was a common slave collar. It fit closely. It locked in the back. "Now that she has been collared, throw her a piece of meat," said Abrogastes. "On your belly, slave," said a man. Huta went to her belly and the meat was thrown into the mud, before

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her. Eagerly, starving, her hands bound behind her, she seized the bit of meat in her small, fine teeth and, pulling it about, gnawing, trying to get it in her mouth, fed on it. The leader of the three display slaves, as well as her two companions, all chained to the ring on the dais, frightened, watched her. She, and her companions, commonly fed from pans, put on the floor, their heads down, on all fours. In such small ways, and others, a woman can be reminded she is a slave. Another woman was won, and another brought to the small circle. Much attention was on the gambling. Granicus had won a second slave. She was now tethered, like the first, beneath his table. Huta, ravenous, finished the bit of meat, but there was no more. She looked to the keeper, beggingly. "We must be concerned for your figure," he said. "Let us keep it trim." "May I have water, Master?" she begged.

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"You have water," he said. She put down her head and lapped at muddied water. It had not been thus when she was a consecrated virgin, and priestess. Ingeld regarded her. Her flanks, it was true, were not without interest. Another woman was won, and another put to the circle, and another readied. "My lord will retire now?" asked the clerk. "Yes," said Abrogastes. Two

men,

secondary

shieldsmen,

rose

from

their

places,

to

accompany Abrogastes, and his shieldsman, from the hall. Abrogastes indicated Huta to one of the keepers. "See that she is washed, and combed, and perfumed, and given a slave rag, and bring her to my hut tonight." Huta looked up, wildly, frightened, gratefully, to her master. "You may kneel," said a keeper, kindly. Huta scrambled up, and then, on her knees, unbidden, crawled to

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Abrogastes. She put her head down to his feet. He seemed not to notice. "That one,'' he said, indicating the chief of the display slaves to a keeper, "prepare her, and bring her to my hut tonight." "Master!" cried the blonde, joyfully, lifting her small, chained wrists, to the extent that her chains permitted. "Master!" cried Huta, raising her head, in disappointment, in protest. "Is it not I who am to be brought to your hut?" "No, I!" cried the blonde. "I!" said Huta. "I love you, my master!" said the blonde. "I love you, my master!" cried Huta. "Is it true?" asked Abrogastes of Huta, looking down upon her. "Yes, Master," she whispered, putting down her head. "With the hedged-in, qualified, partial, careful, incomplete love of a free woman?" he asked.

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"No, Master," she said. "With the profound wholeness of a slave's love?" asked Abrogastes. "Yes, Master," she said. "I juice when you but look upon me, Master!" said the blonde. Her companions gasped. How dare she admit such a thing! But then she was now only a slave. Then her companions blushed and put down their heads. They, too, were only slaves. They, too, had knelt before masters. Their bodies could be easily checked. And if they lied, they would be beaten. "And what of you, little slave?" asked Abrogastes of Huta. "Yes, Master," she whispered. "Many times, at your least glance, I have juiced." Abrogastes regarded her. "Though you have not deigned to touch me," she said, "you have conquered me, and I am yours." "Before I met men such as you, Master," said the blonde, "I knew men only of the empire. Before I met men such as you, I did not know

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that such men existed, men before whom a woman can be naught but an obedient and eager slave." "You will share my couch tonight," said Abrogastes, to the blonde, "and you," he said to Huta, "will be our serving slave." "But what of my needs, Master?" asked Huta. "You have not even begun to experience needs," said Abrogastes. "Yes, Master," said Huta. Abrogastes then turned to the assemblage. "Continue with your sport," he said. "And outside, there are more than four hundred more, and though they are not high ladies, yet they are delicate and refined, and of the empire, and will serve as well as any, I ween, in the furs, and at the ovens, and the laundry troughs, and in the pantries and butteries. They are to be distributed to any who did not win in the hall." Cheers met this announcement. Men were gambling, too, among themselves, for many of the other gifts which had been distributed. Only the rifles, it seems, were not put up as stakes. One man, leading two of the slaves on tethers, their wrists bound behind them, passed Abrogastes, eager, it seemed, to get to his quarters.

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"Hail, Abrogastes!" he said. "Lash them, that they may understand that they are slaves, and then enjoy them," said Abrogastes. "Yes, noble Abrogastes," said the man. "Hail, Abrogastes!" A keeper had freed the three display slaves, and their leader, her arm in the grasp of another keeper, was being hurried from the hall, doubtless to the heat shed, with its large wooden tubs. As Abrogastes left the hall, Farrix, the Borkon, standing by the side door, spoke to him. "Hail to the Alemanni," he said. "Hail to the Alemanni," said Abrogastes and, in the purple cloak, trimmed with the fur of the ice bear, took his leave, followed by the clerk, and three shieldsmen. "On your feet, slut," said a keeper to Huta. "Yes, Master," she said. "You are to be congratulated, on surviving the decision of the scales," he said. "Thank you, Master," she said. She shuddered as he touched her, with the freedom of a keeper.

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"It seems you will live," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "At least until morning," he said. "Yes, Master," she said, trembling. "Among the Drisriaks," he said, "we throw those who are not good slaves to the dogs." "I will try to be a good slave." "See that you do," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. She was about to be conducted from the hall by the keeper, when she found her way barred by Ingeld. Swiftly, confronted by a free man, she knelt. She kept her head down, that she not risk meeting the eyes of a free man. "If you are to be sent barefoot, in a slave rag, to the hut of a noble," said Ingeld, "you must be brushed and combed, and washed."

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"Yes, Master," she said. Ingeld frightened her, even more than Abrogastes. "Do you love your master?" inquired Ingeld. "Yes, Master!" said Huta. "You will love whomever the whip tells you to love," said Ingeld. "Yes, Master," she whispered. "Take the slave away," said Ingeld. "Yes, milord," said the keeper.

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CHAPTER 12 "Oh!" said the small, exquisite redhead, in the bright sunlight, amidst the stalls and carts of the Sephisa market in Lisle. "Do not turn around," said a man's voice. The redhead whimpered a little. "What you feel is a gun at your spine," said the voice. "One false move and this weapon will scoop a hole eight inches wide in you, and every gut in your pretty little belly will be pasted on that wall across the square." "There are people about," whispered the redhead. "I need only scream." "It would be your last," said the voice. "What do you want with me?" she asked. "Remain calm, smile," said the voice. The redhead tried to smile. "You do not want me," she said, frightened. "I do not know the art of writhing in chains, of serving a master. I'm only a woman's slave, a lady's maid." "That is a waste," said the voice. "Your legs are exquisite." "Master?" she asked.

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"If you are a lady's maid," he said, "do you not think she could dress you more richly, more amply?" The redhead wore only a brief, sleeveless brown tunic, ragged at the hem, of simple corton. "My mistress is not rich," she said. "Too, she enjoys dressing me in this fashion, to demean me, that my sexuality will be evident." On her neck was a slim, close-fitting steel collar, closed in front, with a small padlock. "You are shopping," he observed. "Yes, Master," she said, "Do not drop your net of produce," he said, "and advance easily, as if nothing were amiss, to the edge of the market, to the alley there, and do not turn around." "Please!" she said. "Now," he said. The point of the object, which was surely a muzzle or muzzlelike, pressed into her lower back, harshly. "Yes, Master!" she said.

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She moved toward the alley. "In here," he said. Moaning, she entered the indicated door, a shabby door, one of several, in a worn, defaced wall, covered with scrawls, and the remains of some yellowed, posted bills. "Kneel," he said, and she knelt, on some boards, before a shuttered window, through which light filtered, and a chair, on which a man sat. She could see, rimmed with light, little more than the outline of his body. She could tell, however, that he wore a mask. "Put aside the groceries," said the man in the chair, not unkindly. She put them to the side. "I know little of serving men, Master," she said. "I am a lady's maid." "Show her the picture," said the man in the chair. From behind her a drawing, in color, was produced, and held before her face. She turned white. The picture was then withdrawn.

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"You are the maid of the Lady Publennia Calasalia, of, or once of, the Larial Calasalii." "No, Master!" she said. "Do you lie to free men?" asked the figure in the chair. "Forgive me, Master," she said, frightened. "It is known you are her maid, and you have been identified as such, and that is why you have been brought here," said the man in the chair. The slave was silent. "Is she still of the Calasalii?" asked the man. "No, Master," she said, regarding the picture, fearfully. "She was disowned." "But she receives an allowance." "Yes, Master is well informed.'' The slave, who was a highly intelligent young woman, realized then that she stood in terrible jeopardy, for she did not know what her interrogators knew and what they did not know. Accordingly, great risks might be involved in attempting to conceal or obscure information. She had already been caught in one lie. It might mean her life to be found out in another.

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She began to weep. "Show her the picture again," said the seated man. It was put again before her. "Look at the picture," she was told. "Look carefully." She looked at it, trembling, through tears. "Is that your mistress?" asked the seated man. The slave wrung her hands in misery. "Put your hands behind you, wrists crossed," said the seated man, "as though bound." She complied. "Widen your knees," he said. "Master!" she said. "And now cross your ankles, as though they were bound," he said. "Yes, Master," she wept. "Is the picture that of your mistress?" asked the seated man.

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"It is a drawing, Master!" she wept. "It is not a mechanical pictorial. I do not know if it is my mistress or not!" "It has been identified, by several people, as a likeness of your mistress," said the seated man. "It appears to be she," said the slave. "But it is a drawing. It is only a drawing. One cannot know." The drawing, at a sign from the seated man, was withdrawn. "But you think it might be a drawing of your mistress?" "Yes, Master," she wept. "Where is your mistress?" asked the man. "She is not well-she is indisposed-" said the slave. "No, no! Forgive me, Master! She is not in the city!" "That seems clear," said the seated man. The slave trembled. It seemed obvious then that the quarters of the Lady Publennia must have been searched, that inquiries had been made. "Are you, Masters," begged the slave, "of those who questioned me earlier?"

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"Speak," said the seated figure, sternly. "Those who inquired of me information as to delicate matters," she whispered. "What?" asked the seated figure. The mind of the exquisite redheaded slave, kneeling, positioned according to the dictates of her captors, raced. She felt vulnerable, and helpless, kneeling, her knees spread, her wrists crossed behind her, her ankles crossed. If they knew the truth of these matters, and were testing her, and she lied, she did not know what would be done with her. It is not permitted to slaves to lie, and penalties, terrible penalties, may be inflicted on one who does. Simple truth, perfect truth, and a desperate hope for the mercy of masters, is the slave's best hope. "Information," said she, "as to the most intimate lineaments of my mistress's beauty." "As though she might even have been a slave?" "Yes, Master," whispered the slave. "Ah," said the man in the chair, an utterance of both triumph, and fury. The slave put her head down, frightened.

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"When were you so questioned?" asked the man in the chair. "Over twenty days ago," said the slave. "Where is your mistress now?" "I do not know, Master!" said the slave, looking up. "Men came for her, and she left, in a carriage, in the early morning." "When was this?" "Fifteen days ago," said the slave. "On the calends of Rissius?" "Yes, Master," said the slave, startled. "What is your name?" asked the seated man. "Nika, Master, if it pleases Master," she said. "It is a pretty name," he said. "Thank you, Master," she said. The seated man then made a gesture to the man behind the slave. The slave became aware of hands, at the side of her head, and of a band, or cloth, of sorts, between them.

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"Do not move," said the man in the chair. The slave was then gagged. She whimpered. Then she felt light cords of silk whipped about her crossed wrists, which were then, almost instantly, bound, and then her crossed ankles, too, were so served, and she knelt then as she had been, save that now she was gagged, and bound, hand and foot. Her eyes were wild over the gag. She was gently eased to her side on the boards. She felt a coldness on her upper left arm, and a dampness, where some fluid had been rubbed, and then, a moment or two later, as she winced, the entry into her body, at that point, of a needle. It took some seconds to inject a given quantity of fluid into her body. She looked up, wildly, at the man who had been in the chair, who now stood, looking down at her. She looked to the other side and saw a large leather sack being drawn toward her, over the boards. "You are going on a trip, pretty little Nika," said the first man, he masked, he looking down at her. She squirmed a little, but, in a moment or two, lost consciousness. "I fear the worst," said Julian, of the Aurelianii, pulling away his

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mask. "What can be done?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "The Narcona has a start of fifteen days. By now she will have crossed at least four thresholds. Radio contact, without adjustments at the thresholds, will not be possible." "We must do what we can," said Julian. "The next ship is specially scheduled, and, even so, does not leave for two weeks." "It will leave tomorrow," said Julian. "I will be ready," said Tuvo Ausonius. "We will be ready," said Julian. "You cannot leave, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The ceremonials, the insult to the emperor!" "I have men loyal to me," said Julian. "If necessary, I will seize a patrol ship." "An impostor slave seems an odd selection for a spy, or saboteur," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Who would be alone, with no thought given to it, unsuspected, with a man at night?" asked Julian.

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Tuvo Ausonius turned white. "It is not a spy or saboteur we need fear," said Julian. "It is an assassin." "You suspect Iaachus?" "Yes, but one does not know. It could be any enemy." "They do not know we are aware of an impostor slave," said Tuvo Ausonius. "True," said Julian. "That may give us time. Ottonius must await us at Venitzia. In that way, we may have time to warn him. I suspect they plan to do their deed in the wilderness, not within the pomerium of Venitzia." "The imperial family will not give you permission to be absent from the ceremonials," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Then I will seize a patrol ship," said Julian. "That is treason!" said Tuvo Ausonius. "Are you ready to join me in such treason?" asked Julian. "Treason in the service of the empire is no treason," said Tuvo Ausonius.

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"Good fellow!" said Julian. "What if we are successful?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Then we shall brazen things out," said Julian. "And if we are not successful?" "Then we are traitors," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius shuddered. Tuvo Ausonius looked down at the unconscious slave, bound and gagged, at their feet. "We need her," said Julian. "She can make an identification of her mistress, as the free woman, the Lady Publennia of Lisle, on Inez IV." "We have the drawing," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The drawing is only a drawing, and not a mechanical pictorial, and, as far as many would know, only the drawing of someone who closely resembles a supposed slave, or, indeed, it might even be a drawing of an actual slave, the one with the expedition. How could one prove that the drawing, done even by one who had never seen the woman in person, but only by means of the memory of another, is that of the Lady Publennia? Indeed, how could one prove that even a mechanical pictorial of the woman was a pictorial of the actual Lady Publennia?"

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"True," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The slave is important, too," said Julian, "if we are separated, as you have never seen the Lady Publennia personally." "It seems a pity to take such a pretty, innocent, delicious little creature into what might prove to be a situation of considerable danger, among perhaps even ruthless barbarians and such." "Not at all," said Julian. "She is only a slave." "True," said Tuvo Ausonius. The two men then, together, eased the body of the redheaded slave, feet first, into the sack, and tied it shut, over her head. "What if Ottonius does not wait for us at Venitzia?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "He must," said Julian, angrily, jerking tight, and tying, the cords of the sack over the head of the slave. She stirred a little in the sack, but did not regain consciousness. "But what if he does not?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Then all is lost," said Julian.

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CHAPTER 13 On the day following the great feast of Abrogastes, which is conjectured to have taken place on Ukuna III, a large assemblage of barbarians, and others, climbed to the height of a rude, natural feature known as the mountain of Kragon. There, on its stony summit, well above the tree line, on a great horizontal metal ring, hands laid upon it, a swearing took place, this done by rank after rank of individuals, approaching and withdrawing, which swearing, too, similarly and successively, was repeated, hands placed upon the shaft or blade of a great spear, it seeming to have some symbolic relevance among the Alemanni and certain other peoples, mostly allied or related. We do not know precisely what was sworn, or what occurred, on that day in that place. On the other hand, it seems clear that something of importance took place. It was shortly thereafter, in that world's spring, after the cessation of the astronomical anomaly of the "wind of stones" that the gates of better than a hundred thousand concealed hangars were slid upward and the great ships rolled forth. The lions, as it was said, were awakening. The name of the world, in the language of the Alemanni, seems to have been Ainesarixhaben, or a place where fires are kept. It may have been the home world of the Alemanni peoples.

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It was also known, in other barbaric tongues, as Eineskmirgenlandes, a world, or country, of the morning, and Oron-Achvolonarei, the place where stone birds fly. This was, in the reckoning of the empire, in the third year of the reign of the emperor, Aesilesius.

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CHAPTER 14 The horse put its head down, its long hair whipped by the wind. It drew against the traces, and stumbled to its knees in the snow. It turned in the traces, snorting, wildly, in pain, tilting the sled, and threw its head to the side, its round eyes rolling. Its body was already half covered with snow. The man, wrapped in the fur cloak, with the staff, who had been struggling at the side of the sledge, thrusting at it, lifting it, waded to the beast's side. The horse's mighty lungs heaved. It gasped. The freezing air seared its nostrils. The wind and air, too, tore at the side of the man's face, and stabbed his lungs. The breath of the horse whipped away from it, like a lace of fog, broken and splintered. There was ice caked about its jaws. The man looked down at the animal, bracing himself against the wind. He could see little, even in starlight reflected from the snow, for the blasting wind and ice. This was the third night of storms. Already the stirred, whirled snow was deep on the plains of Barrionuevo, or, as some have it, the flats of Tung. In places, by morning, it would drift to heights of fifty feet.

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Tangara is bitter in that place, in the month of Igon. Only once had the Heruls raided in that month, and that was years ago, when they had crossed the Lothar on the ice. It was then that they, fresh from their defeat of the Otungs, had carried war to the related folk, the Basungs. It was after this that the plains of Barrionuevo had become, for many, the flats of Tung. On them the Heruls, a hardy, merciless, slave-keeping folk, in the summer, grazed their herds. The man knelt in the snow beside the horse. He opened its eye, which had closed, with his mittened fist. It was still alive, gasping. He drove the staff into the snow, and removed from the sledge a great sword, one which must be wielded with two hands. He lifted it, with both hands, and then smote the horse's head away. He then, kneeling beside the beast, trembling with cold, cut it open, and cut himself bits of meat, thrusting them, fumbling, into his mouth, his beard crusted with ice. The blood from the horse froze as it entered the air, forming almost instantly rivulets, and breakages, of thick, dark ice. The man cut through the rib cage, and pulled away tissue. He tore with his mittens, and then, as they sopped, and crusted, and might have broken, he dug with his sword, holding it near the point, at the ventral cavity of the beast, emptying it, pushing its contents away, and he then crawled, freezing, huddling, within the body, which, for

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moments would be warm, but might provide, for days, shelter and food. It is a trick known to Heruls, and others, for example, to those of certain festung villages, such as that of Sim Giadini, nestled at the foot of the heights of Barrionuevo.

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CHAPTER 15 "He is gone! I heard it in the kitchen, from one of the barrack girls!" said the small brunette, rushing into the administration's cement slave shed in Venitzia, a small city on Tangara, surrounded by its electric defenses. It was the provincial capital. "Who is gone?" cried the blonde, rising from her simple, sturdy, anchored metal cot, to which she, like the other girls to theirs, was chained. The surprise, and bewilderment, was universal. The girls came to the ends of their chains, out, into the aisle, as they could. Their chains must reach far enough to make possible the cleaning of not only their area but of the adjacent portion of the aisle, as well. "The barbarian!" cried the girl. "He has gone!" The blonde cursed the chain on her left ankle that would permit her only a handful of feet from the cot. "I do not understand," said she who was first girl, even she, at the moment, chained to her cot. "They are startled, in consternation, furious!" said the brunette. "It seems he left Venitzia before dawn, without informing anyone, taking only a horse and supplies upon a sledge."

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"But why?" asked a girl. "I do not know," said the brunette. "He was to wait, for his excellency, Lord Julian. There was some diplomatic mission or other, it seems. But he has gone!" "What of all the hoverers, of the shuttle, of the Narcona?" asked another. "The Narcona remains in orbit," said the brunette. "The shuttle is within her. The hoverers are covered, in the yard, with the supplies." "Where did he go?" "Who knows," said the brunette. "Which direction did he go?" asked another girl. "We do not know," said the brunette. "Doubtless he has his own plans, or destination." "Surely a search was made!" said a girl. "There are no traces," said the brunette. "The storm! The hoverers were forced to return, unable to maneuver." "What is wrong, Cornhair?" asked the girl next to the, blonde.

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"Call me 'Filene'!" cried the blonde, in tears. "That is the name I have been given!" "That is the name the masters gave you!" said the girl next to her. "Say it! It is the name the masters gave you!" "Very well," said the blonde, in tears. "It is the name the masters have given me!" "That is better, Cornhair," said the girl. "I will buy and sell you all!" screamed the blonde. "I will see to it that you are all sold to beasts and reptiles!" "Secure your freedom first, slave slut!" said the girl near her. "Slut! Slut! Bitch! Bitch!" screamed the blonde. "Be silent, slave," said she whose cot was near the door, she who was first girl. "Yes, Mistress," said the blonde. "What is wrong, Cornhair?" asked the girl on the other side of her. "Nothing," said the blonde, and sat, frightened, on her cot, her legs drawn up, on the simple, striped mattress, the palms of her hands down upon it.

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"I do not know what is going on," said another girl. "Nor I," said another. The blonde felt sick, and it seemed she was reeling. She was chained to a cot in a slave shed in a small town far from the inner Telnarian worlds. Her only garment, as was the case with the other girls, as well, was a simple, scandalously brief slave tunic. Her lovely legs were well bared. She looked at the ring on her ankle, with its attached chain. She could not slip it, no more than could the other girls in the shed. For all they knew, and for all those in Venitzia might know, and for all those, or most of those, of the Narcona might know, she might even be a slave, an actual slave! It might be easy enough to believe she was a slave. Certainly she was beautiful enough to be a slave. What if, somehow or other, her actual identity was lost? What if her protestations as to her true identity, her true status, as a free woman, were ignored, or disbelieved? She was far from home. What if she were merely beaten, as a mad slave? Doubtless Iaachus had seen to it that there were slave papers on her. She had even been, in Lisle, photographed, and measured, in detail, and fingerprinted, and toeprinted, as might have been any slave. She had had a business to do, and it was to have been done on Tangara, presumably in some camp in the Tangaran wilderness,

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surely, in any event, not on the Narcona. The Narcona and its crew were not to be compromised. How could she manage it now? Where was the dagger? She did not even know, as yet, the identity of her mysterious confederate. She recalled a night, two nights ago, on the Narcona. "You summoned me?" she had asked. "Why are you standing?" he had asked. She had knelt before the young blond officer, Corelius. He had a small, light, folded, silken sheet on the arm of his chair. "Remove your tunic," he said. "Surely," he said, "a command need not be repeated." She drew the tiny tunic off, over her head, blushing. "Surely you understand, Filene," he said, "that modesty is not permitted to a slave.

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"The proper response," he said, "is 'Forgive me, Master. Yes, Master.' " "Forgive me, Master," she said. "Yes, Master." Can it be he, she wondered, is he my contact, the agent, he who will supply the dagger? He tossed her the small sheet and she put it hastily, quickly, gratefully, about her. It came about her thighs, as she knelt, but was not long enough to cover her knees. "What is the meaning of the removal of my clothing, and that I have been given this tiny sheet?" she asked. "Were you given permission to speak?" he asked. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "But you are curious?" "Yes, Master," she said. "You are all alike," he said. She stiffened. "You have been called for," he said.

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" 'Called for'?" "Yes," he said. "By whom?" she asked, frightened. "Perhaps by Qualius," he said. That was the name of the porcine stocksman, he with the fat face, with the tiny, closely set eyes, who had denied her even a rag in her cage. She turned white. She had not anticipated that she, in her adventure, in her pursuit of station, and wealth, might, if only to preserve the integrity of her guise as a slave, find herself put to slave use. Perhaps he was not the agent. Perhaps he did not know that she was truly free. How could she confess to him that she was not a slave? "I jest," he smiled. She shuddered, clutching the tiny sheet about her. "Normally," he said, "stock slaves, in common transport, as opposed to privately owned slaves, are available to the crew, and officers, generally."

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"Are we so available?" she asked. "Interestingly, not," he said. "We are special slaves," she said. "We are not even branded." "You are available to the higher officers, the captain, the first officer, the supply officer, and such," he said. "Oh," she said. "Like the others," he said. "You yourself, however," she said, lightly, but archly, boldly, "could not 'call for me.' " "It might be arranged," he said. She shrank back. He smiled. She sensed, uneasily, a slave's vulnerability. How could she make clear that she was not a slave? "Who has called for me," she asked, "the captain?" The captain, she speculated, might be the agent. He might want this opportunity to identify himself, to confirm her instructions, even to entrust her with the dagger.

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"No," he said. "Lysis, officer in charge of supply," she said. It must be he, for it was he who was in charge of the slave consignment! "Do not consider yourself meat of such interest," he said. She made an angry noise, and clutched the sheet more closely about herself. "To be sure," he said, "your body, though it requires some trimming, and is a bit stiff, is not without interest." She was silent. "It is more like the body of a free woman," he said. "I see," she said. "And your movements," he said, "lack the natural, seductive, vulnerable grace, the lovely, helpless, total femininity, of the female slave. They are too stiff, too awkward, too clumsy, too inhibited. They are like the movements of a free woman." "I see," she said.

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"To be sure," he said, "your body, and your movements, have improved considerably, even in the brief time you have been with us." "Oh?" she said. And then she was frightened, for she did not know what that might mean. Perhaps there was something about kneeling before men, and being subject to the mastery? She dared not speculate what it might be, to be actually a slave. Often, in the last few days, she had had to fight feelings which had begun to arise spontaneously, frighteningly, within her. "Doubtless you are interested in knowing who has called for you," he said. "Yes, Master!" she said. Then she was startled at how easily, how naturally, the word "Master" had escaped her lips. I am an excellent actress, she tried to reassure herself, but remained troubled, for the word had emerged as easily, as naturally, as a breath. "Our guest, our passenger, the barbarian," he said. She gasped. Was the deed to be done so soon, even on the Narcona?

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"It is your turn, of course, on the roster," he said, "in which the women are put up for slave use, but, interestingly, he has not, until now, availed himself of the offerings of the roster. It seems he does little but exercise, and practice with weapons, many of them primitive. Too, he spends much time on the observation deck, seemingly muchly given to thought. Perhaps he is intent upon conserving his strength, or maintaining a singleness of mind, of purpose." "But he has called for me," she said, "and not the others." "Yes," said Corelius. She clutched the sheet about her again. Within its flimsy fabric her body suddenly flamed. She tried not to analyze her feelings. Could this be, in her body, that of the Lady Publennia, of Lisle, receptivity, and a receptivity so uncontrollable, and helpless, that it might be almost that of a slave? "It seems you intrigue him," he said. "As a slave?" she asked. "I do not think so," he said. "I think it is something different. I think that he senses something different about you, and that he is curious about it." "Oh," she said. "It seems something puzzles him, or troubles him."

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"I have troubled many men," she smiled. "Remove the sheet!" he snapped. "Yes, Master!" she said. "As I have suggested," he said, "I do not think it is a mere matter of your embonded lineaments." And he then added, musingly, regarding her, "-as provocative as they might be." "What then?" she asked. "I am not even sure he thinks that you are a slave," he said. "You seem frightened," he said. "But he has called for me!" she said. "That is true," said Corelius. "And surely you have put yourself frequently enough, blatantly enough, before him." "Master!" she protested. "Do you think that we, and your sisters in bondage, cannot see?" She tossed her head, insolently. "You are a true slave," he said.

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She looked past him, toward the wall. "We, and your sisters in bondage, can tell that, even if the barbarian cannot." "I see," she said, acidly. How could he know her subtlety, her plans, the nature of her project? "When am I to be sent to him?" she said. "Now," he said. "Put the sheet about you," he said. "You may rise. "Bring the sheet higher on your thighs," he said. "Turn." She then again faced him. "Am I to be alone with the barbarian?" she asked. "Of course," he said. "Have you nothing to tell me?" she asked. "Have you nothing to give me, nothing, no artifact, no implement?" "I do not understand," he said.

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"It is nothing," she whispered. "I do have one thing to tell you," he said. "Yes, Master!" she said, eagerly. "Remember that you are a slave, being sent to a master," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "You may go," said Corelius. "Outside you will find a mariner, waiting. He will conduct you to the quarters of our passenger." "Yes, Master," she said. *** "Is it not conjectured where the barbarian has gone?" asked one of the slaves, come from her heavy, metal, anchored cot in the long, low, cement slave shed at Venitzia, to the length of her ankle chain. "There are a thousand conjectures," said the small brunette, the center of attention, who had come to the shed with the startling news of the barbarian's disappearance, "but no one knows which, if any, are sound." "What is its meaning for us?" asked one of the slaves. "Surely it has nothing to do with us," said one of the slaves.

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"It may," worried another. "Who knows?" said the small brunette. Several of the slaves exchanged apprehensive glances. "We should have been sold, all of us, long before now," said one of the slaves. "What are we doing here in the shed?" asked another. "Why are we being kept here?" The blonde sat, miserable, her entire body on the mattress of the cot, her knees raised, her legs together, now leaning forward, clasping her ankles with her hands, one hand, the left, on the shackle to which her chain was fastened. It was a fetching pose, and one not uncommon to slave girls. She had assumed it unconsciously. Suddenly aware, she drew her legs back, half under her, half sitting, half kneeling on the mattress, but that pose, too, she knew, would be arousing to men. Tears formed in her eyes. The slave garment, of course, if it were to be worn sensibly, almost dictated, like a short skirt, certain attitudes, certain postures, of the body. But, to her horror, in the last few days, she had found herself assuming, however clothed, or even if unclothed, naturally, unwittingly, unconsciously, bodily postures, and attitudes, which she had always associated, to her contempt, but to her envy, as well, with an inferior form of life, that of the female slave. "Are they searching for him any longer?" asked one of the girls.

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"I do not think so," said the brunette. "Perhaps when the storm abates," said a slave. "Perhaps," said the brunette. "They could go out with horses and dogs," said one of the slaves. "Outside the fence, on horseback, or afoot?" said one of the girls, skeptically. "It would be too dangerous," said one of the girls. "Why?" asked another. "Wild beasts, primitives, Heruls, and others," said one of the slaves. "Are they dangerous, truly?" asked a slave. "Why do you think they have the fence?" asked another, scornfully. "But this world belongs to the empire," said a slave. "Tell it to the vi-cats, and the primitives," said another. The girls shuddered. "Are Heruls human?" asked one of the girls.

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"I do not know," said another. "Do they keep slaves?" asked the girl. "Yes," she was told. "They could use the hoverers," said one of the girls. "Do you think you are on an inner world?" asked one of the girls. "Fuel is precious, and soon exhausted," said another. "A considerable quantity would be required to search even a square latimeasure, if one were to do so with care." On the cot, the blonde moaned. The barbarian had vanished. She was to do her work with the tiny dagger, as she understood it, when alone with the barbarian, in his tent, at one of the projected camps outside the fence, when the expedition was to have set forth, with mounts, and weapons, in force. She was then, presumably by hoverer, to be transported to safety, to a rendezvous with the shuttle, hence to be returned to the Narcona, and, eventually, to the inner worlds, to find herself one of the highest placed, richest and most envied women in the empire. But now the barbarian had vanished!

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Would he return, would he be found? What of the plans of Iaachus? And what of herself, she, if these plans should fail, she, now in a slave garment, and chained to a cot in a cement shed, in a remote provincial capital? I should have been permitted to do the deed on the Narcona, she wept, to herself. Why was I not given the dagger on the Narcona, she thought. I was alone with him then! What fools men are, she thought. But then who could have anticipated that the barbarian would slip away from Venitzia, that he would not wait for his excellency, Lord Julian, of the Aurelianii, that he would disappear, leaving the projected expedition, with all its men, and supplies, behind him, in Venitzia? How could he have done such a thing? What did it mean? She wanted the deed to be done, and the sooner the better. She was a highly intelligent young woman, and was not unaware of subtle changes which, in the past few weeks, on shipboard, and here, in

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Venitzia, in the shed, and when she worked in the kitchens and laundry, were taking place within her. She had begun to find herself growing eager for the entrance of men into the shed, or the kitchen or laundry, that she might, with the others, kneel and perform obeisance. When she had, on all fours, been scrubbing a floor with others, she had tried to put her head against the boot of a keeper. Men, suddenly, had begun to appear creatures of great interest and fascination to her. For the first time in her life she had begun to find them attractive, powerfully, almost irresistibly so. She was warmed, and delighted, and thrilled to be chained at night. She wondered what it would be, to be in the arms of a man. She wondered what it would be, to be owned by one, to feel his cuffs and ropes, his caress, brutal or gentle, rude or delicate, his whip, if he were not pleased with her. She had awakened at night, terrified, to find herself on the cot, chained. She had dug at the cot with her fingernails. I am not a slave, she would assure herself. Why did they not give me the dagger on the Narcona, she asked herself. She feared, you see, a thousand subtleties, the transformations being wrought within her consciousness, the changes taking place within her, the wonders, and beauties, the indications, the surprises, the promises, arising from within her depths.

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Let the barbarian return, she thought. Give me the dagger! Let me strike! Let me be done with matters! She feared, more and more, her slave feelings. For a long time she had denied that she had had such feelings, but such a denial was now useless. She set herself now, accordingly, to resist them. She feared herself, you see, what she had begun to sense she was becoming, and perhaps had always been. Mostly, perhaps, she feared her intellect, that it would reflect upon her, that it would consider her, carefully, and deeply and wholly, with sensitivity, and in great detail, what she was, and should be, and would then put her on her knees. Why was I not given the dagger on the Narcona, she moaned. But then she laughed bitterly to herself. She would have had little opportunity to use it. "Enter," had said the barbarian. "A slave," had said the mariner, presenting her. She had knelt, as she had supposed was expected of her.

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The barbarian had dismissed the mariner, and she had found herself kneeling before the barbarian, holding the sheet about her. "What is your name?" he asked. "Filene," she said. He regarded her. "-if it pleases Master," she said. He sat down, on a chair, near the cabin couch. He wore a half tunic. He was blond-haired and blue-eyed, which was not uncommon among many of the barbarian peoples. He was a large, muscular man. His mighty chest was bared, save for a dangling necklace of claws, lion claws. They were from a beast he had slain on a hunt, in the forests of Varna. She speculated that they might leave a print on her body, were he to take her into his arms, and crush her to him, in the embrace of a master. She saw that the cabin couch had posts, at the head and foot. About one of the posts, at the foot, wrapped there, was a cord. On the steel wall, on one of its panels, on a hook, there hung a whip. On the surface of a small dresser there was a roll of tape. "You are from Myron VII?" he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "A debtress sold to recover, in part, debts?"

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"Yes, Master," she said. "What were your debts?" "In excess of ten thousand darins," she said. "And what did you bring on the block?" he asked. "Doubtless Master has read on my papers," she said, angrily. "I cannot read," he said. "Oh," she said. This startled her, for he was one of the few individuals she had met, in her travels, in her circles, who could not read. To be sure, literacy was a precious commodity in the empire, taken as a whole. "Perhaps you remember," he said. "Well over ten thousand darins!" she said. "I should not think," he said, "that the sisters of an emperor would bring so much." He recalled blond-haired Viviana, and the younger, dark-haired Alacida, sisters of Aesilesius, met not long ago, on a summer world. Both were attractive. He had wondered what they might look like, as slaves. "Fifty darins, Master," she said, quickly.

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Perhaps he had lied about being unable to read, perhaps he had been told the price, perhaps it had been read to him. Iaachus, in his thoroughness, had included a forged bill of sale with the papers, as an insert. She had been furious at the supposed price of a mere fifty darins, but she had been informed, by an agent of Iaachus, that that was a remarkable price, and that a higher figure would not be likely to seem plausible, not for a debtress, from a remote world. Slaves were cheap, in many places in the empire. "You are vain," he said, "and a liar." He glanced to the whip, on its hook, on the steel panel. "Forgive me, Master," she said, frightened. He did not know she was free. He might actually beat her, as a slave. "Fifty darins," he said, "is a very high price." "Thank you, Master," she said. "Remove the sheet." "Yes, Master." "You are very beautiful," he said. "It is not inconceivable that you might bring fifty darins." "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master."

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Inwardly her feelings were tumultuous. As a free woman she knew herself to be priceless, but now, suddenly, she had some serious concept of what she might be worth, as a woman, as a female, if she were truly a slave. The supposed price, fifty darins, conceded by Iaachus, might even have been somewhat generous. This came to her as something of an abrupt shock, a most unsettling revelation. "I am pleased that I was not one of your creditors," he said. "They have had their vengeance, Master," she said, "as I am now a slave." "I have wondered, sometimes," he said, "why women, understanding the penalties of defaulting in such matters, permit themselves to accumulate such debts." "Doubtless we plan to pay them off," she said. "There would seem great risks involved," he said. She shrugged, uneasily. She herself had accumulated considerable debts, on several worlds, but Iaachus had satisfied them. Many were the times she had pretended to be unavailable for inquiries. Often she had dreaded a heavy knock on her door. Sometimes, at night, she, even though of the senatorial class, had awakened, apprehensive of being brought to the dock, and sentenced to the iron, and the collar.

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"Hold out your hands," he said, "where I can see them, clearly, spreading the fingers. Now, turn, fully about, on your knees, hands held over your head. Now bend over and shake out your hair, and run your hands through it, thoroughly, touching every part of your head. Now stand, hands over your head, and turn, slowly. Return to your knees. Spread your knees more widely. Now put yourself to your belly." She looked up at him, angrily. But, too, she was in consternation. Naked, brought to him, the sheet removed, earlier kneeling, unable to rise quickly, feet from him, exposed, turning, rising, hands lifted, subjected to such scrutiny, how could a dagger be concealed? To be sure, things might later be different, or the dagger might be planted in a tent, or smuggled to her later. "You may now crawl to me, on your belly." She then lay at his feet, her head turned to the left, her cheek on the rug. "This is the first time you have crawled to a man on your belly, is it not?" he asked. "Yes, Master," she said, angrily.

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"Go back, and do it better," he said. Three times he had her repeat this exercise. At last he seemed satisfied. "Kneel up," he said, "before me, back on your heels, knees spread, hands clasped behind the back of your head." "Tell me about yourself, specifically, and in detail," he said. She had been given an identity, and many specifics, in particular pertaining to her supposed debts, her arraignment, her sentencing, the name of the supposed court, and judge, and such, things concerning which it was anticipated she might be questioned. Where this putative biography fell short, and his direct questions exceeded her preparation, she hurried to supply further data, some of it from her own history, suitably disguised, the rest of it the product of her own invention. "You stammer and falter," he said. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "But still, on the whole," he said, "it is unusual to find a slave who can speak of herself so articulately, so volubly, so readily. It is almost as though you had been prepared." "Forgive me, Master," she said.

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"You seem more familiar with the details of your enslavement than with those of your life as a free woman," he said. "The details of one's embondment," she said, "are often vivid for a woman." "For a girl," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "For a slave girl," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He had, of course, she before him, been reading her body, and her expressions. "You are from Myron VII?" he said. "Yes, Master," she said. "What color is its sun?" he asked. "How long is its year, in Telnarian days?" She began to tremble. The questions were so obvious that they had not been anticipated.

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She dared not invent answers to such questions. What did the barbarian know? Were his questions innocent, matters of pure curiosity, or were they subtler, and dangerous? "I am not truly from Myron VII," she said. "I am from Lisle, on Inez IV! I fled to Myron VII to escape my creditors. I was apprehended in the port. I did not even see its sun. I know nothing of that world, other than the fact that it was there that I was taken into custody, and there tried and sentenced." "And you were then returned, a slave, to Inez IV?" "Yes, yes!" she said. "May I take my arms down?" she asked. "No," he said. "You have told many lies," he said. "No, Master!" she protested. "Do not compound your fault," he said. "No, Master," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I would not advise you to behave in that manner when you have a private master," he said.

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"No, Master," she said. "Lies are not permitted to a slave girl," he said. "No, Master," she said. "But you will probably not believe that until you are thoroughly beaten," he said. "Forgive me, Master," she said. "When we were shortly out of Lisle," he said, "you were clumsy." He referred, doubtless, to the incident of the spilled drink. "I was switched," she said. "Are you a clumsy slave?" he asked. Her eyes flashed. Then she put her head down. "I do not think so, Master," she said. "It is my hope that I am not clumsy." "In serving at the table," he said, "a slave is to be graceful, unobtrusive and deferent."

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"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "May I lower my arms?" she asked. "No," he said. She moved angrily, not having obtained her way. "Am I mistaken," he asked, "that you have, upon several occasions, placed yourself provocatively before me?" "Oh, Master," she said, quickly. "Forgive me, but I fear that it is true. You are a man, and I am naught but a slave girl. How else can a poor slave call herself to the attention of an attractive master?" "You find me attractive?" he asked. "Yes, Master." "You wanted to meet me?" "Yes, Master!" "You desire a man's touch?" he asked. "Oh, yes, yes, Master!" she said.

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Surely she must interest him, even drive him mad with desire for her, that she might be alone with him, when she had the dagger! But now, of course, she did not have the dagger. If she had been a free woman she might have teased, and drawn away, and teased, and drawn away, until the time and place were arranged, until she was ready, but such behaviors are not easy for a slave. He put out his hand and touched her, gently. "Ai!" she cried, frightened, and drew back. "Keep your hands behind your head," he cautioned her, gently. "I thought you said you desired a man's touch," he said. "Forgive

me,

Master,"

she

said.

She

came

forward

a

little,

deliberately, trembling. He put forth his hand again, gently. "Ah!" she said, softly, surprised. Then she flushed scarlet before him. Quickly, then, almost as though she had not consented to her own movement, she squirmed forward a little, closer to him, but was stopped, by his hand, and held in place. "Master?" she asked. "Interesting," he said.

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She regarded the necklace of claws on his chest. What would it be like, she wondered, to be swept into his arms, she helpless and will-less, to be swept uncompromisingly into his arms, as a slave. "Master has called for me," she said. "Yes," he said. "Surely master has called for me, to ravish me, as a slave," she said. "No," he said. " 'No'?" she asked. "No," he said. "I have called for you because it seems to me that there is something different about you, something different from other female slaves. I did not understand it. I was curious about it." "That is all?" she asked. "No," he said. "Ah!" she said. "You may polish my boots," he said, indicating a pair of boots, to one side. "The polish and rags are in the adjacent cabinet.

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"You may lower your arms, of course," he said. "Thank you, Master," she said, acidly. She fetched the boots, and the cleaning materials and, kneeling before him, where he had indicated, addressed herself to the assigned task. She worked slowly and carefully, meticulously, responding to his direction, applying a small quantity of paste to a small area, working it into the leather, with firm, circular movements, and then buffing it. This was done again and again, a tiny area at a time, until the entire area of each boot had been done twice. She was shaken, when she had performed this small, homely task. She was angry, but, too, seemingly unaccountably, she found herself much aroused. To her surprise she was drawn on her knees to the post at the foot of the bed, that about which the cord was wrapped. Her wrists were then crossed and bound with the cord, which was then fastened to the post. She was thus tied, wrists crossed and bound, on her knees, to the post at the foot of the bed. "Master?" she asked. "I think I know now," he said, "what is unusual about you." "Master?" she said, apprehensively. "Can you guess what it might be?" he asked.

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She was frightened. Her mind raced. "Perhaps Master suspects that I am not truly a slave," she said, lightly, tentatively, as though in jest. What else could it be? Certainly she could protest the authenticity of her bondage. There were the papers, in which she was clearly specified, even to toeprints. Indeed, obviously, there was her very presence on the ship, amongst women anyone could see were slaves. "No," he said. "Oh?" she said. "You are truly a slave," he said. "There is no doubt about that. You are truly a slave." "What then?" she asked. "It is only that you do not know you are a slave," he said. She looked up at him, but he had gone to the side, where, on the surface of a small dresser, there lay the roll of tape.

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"Lift your head, look at me, close your mouth," he said. He then, using the metal, saw-toothed extension, part of the roller, snapped off a few inches of tape, and put it across her lips and face. She felt it pressed down, firmly. "I have heard you enough," he said. "You will now be silent." She looked up at him, over the tape. He then applied an additional length of tape, longer than the first, firmly, over it. "It is a bit late to return you to the slave room," he said. He then applied a third length of tape, longer than the second, pressing it into place. This came well about the back of her neck. He then, moving her hair about, that as little of the tape might adhere to it as possible, encircled her mouth and head three times, the free end of the tape being pressed down, at last, behind the back of her neck. Then he looked down upon her. "You are tempting," he said. She looked quickly away, down. He then snapped off the light, and retired. After a time she tried to struggle, but found her struggles useless.

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She knelt there, for a long time, angrily. She could not sleep. She tried to speak, late in the night, but was unable to do so. She had been silenced, and bound, as might have been a slave. Later, at times, she whimpered, and moaned, a little, as she could, helpless, begging for attention. But there was no sign that she was heard. Toward morning, her head on the foot of the bed, inches from his feet, she slept. A mariner came for her later. The barbarian had already left the cabin. *** "It is clear that the barbarian has disappeared," the small brunette was saying, she scarcely within the entrance to the long, low cement slave shed at Venitzia, "and it is not known where!" The blonde, half sitting, half kneeling, in the tiny slave tunic, on the thin, hard, striped mattress of the metal cot, to which she was chained, gasped, her head reeling as she struggled to comprehend the import of the brunette's revelation. "What is wrong, Cornhair?" asked one of the other slaves.

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Few had noticed the agitation of the blonde. "Nothing," gasped the blonde. "Has this anything to do with us?" one of the slaves was asking the brunette. "I do not know!" said the brunette. "Who cares about the barbarian," said one of the girls. "What about us?" "Yes!" cried another. "We have been here for days," said one of the girls. "Why are we being kept here, in this shed, in the administration compound?" asked another. "Why have we not been sold?" asked another. "Irons should have been heated for us by now," said another. "We should have been put on the block!" Only the blonde, of all the women in the shed, had a clear idea of the putative purport of the slave consignment to Venitzia. Only she knew that the women were not, by intent, destined for a sale in Venitzia. If the barbarian is gone, thought the blonde, wildly, then perhaps I

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need not use the knife! But then, surely, the agent will identify himself to me, and assure my safe return to Lisle. But what if he does not? What if, for some reason, the agent had not even been on the ship? What then? She knew Iaachus was thorough. Her slave papers would doubtless appear in perfect order! "Perhaps we will be put up for sale tomorrow," said a girl. "Fools! Fools!" suddenly screamed the blonde, from her cot. "Are you not aware of the goods embarked with us at Lisle? Are you not aware of the stores in the warehouse within the compound, some even under canvas, under snow, in the yard! They have not been moved either! You are not intended for Venitzia, fools! You are trade goods, trade goods!" "No!" screamed one of the slaves. "Cornhair is a liar!" cried one of the girls. "Beat her!" cried another. There was a sudden rattling of chains. The blonde shrieked and knelt down on the cot, covering her head. To be sure, only two of the girls could reach her, given the shed's custodial arrangements. The blows of small fists rained upon her.

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The blonde shrank even smaller on the cot, whimpering. "No, no!" called the first girl, chained near the door. "Stop! Stop!" The blows stopped. The assailants were half hysterical, weeping, as well as furious. "I fear Cornhair is right," said she who was first girl. "Trade goods?" said one of the slaves, aghast. "Yes," said the first girl. "But to whom?" asked another slave, her voice quavering. "Barbarians, Heruls, primitives, who knows," said the first girl. "Whomever they like," said another slave, fearfully. "They cannot do that!" said one of the slaves. "They can do as they wish," said the first girl. "We are slaves." "We can be disposed of as masters wish," said one of the girls, frightened. "Yes," whispered another, "we are slaves." The blonde sank to her stomach on the cot, her head turned, her right cheek on the mattress,

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her fingers clutching its sides. She moved her left ankle a little, feeling the shackle, and its weight.

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CHAPTER 16 "Is he alive?" asked Varix. "I do not know," said Olar. "Is it a Herul?" asked Varix. "No," said Olar. "Then we need not kill him," said Varix. "I think he is dead already," said Olar. "See if he is Telnarian," said Varix. "He may have money." "I do not think he is Telnarian," said Olar. "What is he?" asked Varix. "He has the appearance of an Otung," said Olar. "Not here, not this far away," said Varix. Varix looked about, warily, apprehensively. "I do not like it," he said. Varix wore, over his eyes, tied at the edges with leather, a curved

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bone plate. It was cut with a horizontal slit, which eliminated most of the glare from the snow. Olar was similarly protected. It was bright and cold on the plains of Barrionuevo this afternoon. The sun blazed off the snow. It was in the month of Igon. One, unprotected, could go blind on such days. Both men wore fur, and deep fur boots. Each was armed, Varix with knife and ax, Olar with knife and spear. Both were hunting vi-cat. One had been seen yesterday, crossing the Lothar, on the ice, moving eastward. They had been following its trail all morning, but now the hunt, for the moment, was forgotten. "If he is dead, let us rob him, and be gone," said Varix. "If he is not dead, let us kill him, and see if he has anything of value." "We are not Heruls," said Olar. "We are poor men," said Varix. "He may be a Herul spy," said Olar. "The body," said Varix, wading through the snow, coming to the edge of the sledge, on which lay the remains of a horse, and, within the body of the horse, the shape of a man, or manlike creature, "does not appear malnourished."

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"Perhaps he died recently," said Olar. "He may not be dead," said Varix. "The cold can keep things for a long time," said Olar. Varix stepped back, wading backward, away from the sledge. "Come back," said Varix. Olar, turning, struggled back a few feet in the snow, to join Varix. Then both faced the sledge. "See the tracks," said Varix, pointing. "The man must have been in the traces, drawing the carcass of the horse." "Why?" asked Olar. "I do not know," said Varix. "He must have been strong," said Olar. "He could feed on the horse," said Varix. "He may not be dead," said Olar. "That is what I think," said Varix. "See, on the sledge," whispered Olar. "The rolled pelt of a vi-cat."

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"It is not the pelt of the one we seek," said Varix. "No," said Olar. "It is mottled." Both men then backed away, a little farther, in the bright snow. "It is the bait trap," said Varix. "Yes," said Olar. "He is Herul," said Varix. "He is not a Herul," insisted Olar. It is a mode of hunting occasionally practiced by Heruls. The hunter lies in wait, within the carcass, and when the vi-cat, or wolf, or arn bear or snow bear, come down from the north, in the time of Igon, prowls closely enough, the hunter, with spear, or long, thrusting blade, strikes. Commonly he is supported by others in the vicinity, lying covered in the snow, ready to spring, at a cry, to his aid. The animal, if not slain, is usually grievously wounded, and, slowed, may be trailed in the snow, the trail marked by blood. "Do you understand what I am saying?" called Olar to the form within the carcass. "Are you alive?" There was no response.

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"I am afraid," said Varix. "Why?" asked Olar. "That it is the bait trap," said Varix. "Why does that alarm you?" asked Olar. "I think it is not now set for the vi-cat," said Varix. "For what, then?" asked Olar. "For us, I fear," said Varix. At that time, suddenly, behind them, was heard the tiny jangle of harness, and the sound of a horse. Both men turned. "Heruls!" cried Olar. There were seven Heruls, all told, three now behind them, and, in a moment, four others, two now approaching from the front, from behind the sledge, as they stood, and now two more, one from each side, in their dark leather, their fur capes, the conical, fur-trimmed helmets, with the slender, long, wandlike lances. Small bucklers were at the left side of their saddles. They had not even freed the bucklers. The four who had come from the front and sides now, too, drew up, reining in.

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The circle was some ten yards in diameter. In its center were Olar and Varix, and the sledge, with its weights. There was a small sound of harness metal, as the beasts shifted in the snow, the sound of their breathing. Their breath hung about their snouts like fog. These were Herul mounts which, for simplicity, as is our wont with mounts of diverse species, we shall speak of as horses. "Can you understand us?" called the leader of the Heruls to Olar and Varix. "Yes," said Varix. Whereas countless modalities of communication, as well as countless languages, verbal and gestural, coexisted in the galaxies, Telnarian, in its imperial purity, and in its dialects, and its corruptions, was, by creatures capable of forming its sounds, or analogues to them, by far the most commonly spoken. Even fierce enemies of the empire, in order to make themselves understood to one another, often had no alternative to conversing in Telnarian. The influence, linguistic and cultural, if not the civil and military presence, of the empire was, for millions of rational creatures, a fact of life. There were various legends to the effect that Orak, the king of the gods, had invented Telnarian that men might be able to converse with one another. It was generally regarded as the mother tongue of rational creatures. That Telnarian bore within itself innumerable traces of earlier languages, from which it seems to have emerged, was a fact understood by, and appreciated

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by, few but scholars. But there was little doubt that Telnarian, or the language that bears that name, was an ancient one. It was present in a developed form, even in the dim beginnings of the empire, as the most ancient of the imperial carvings, inscriptions and plaques attested. The language was apparently spoken by several related peoples, one of these peoples being the Telnarians, which people founded the empire. And, of course, it is by the name of that people that the language came to be known. "Are you hunting?" asked the lead Herul, cheerfully enough, moving his horse a yard or two closer, in the snow. The snow came to the knees of the beast. It came rather to the thighs of the men. "Yes," said Olar. "Vi-cat," said Varix. "Are you hunting?" asked Olar, of the chief Herul. "Yes," he said. "Men?" inquired Varix. "Vi-cat," said the chief Herul. "Perhaps it is the same beast," suggested Olar. "Perhaps," said the Herul.

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"A giant white?" asked Olar. "Yes," said the chief Herul. "Doubtless it is the same," said Varix. "Yes," said the Herul. "But it seems we have caught men." "This is not your bait trap then?" asked Olar. "No, is it not yours?" asked the Herul. "No," said Olar. "Where would you like to die," asked the Herul, "here, or in the camp?" "They are scrawny, for soup," said one of the Heruls. "We are afoot, you on horseback!" said Olar, angrily. "We do not allow mounts to such as you," said one of the Heruls. "Let us take them back to camp, and run them naked, in the snow, for the dogs," said one of the Heruls. "Spare us!" said Olar. "You are not women," said one of the Heruls. "Sometimes we spare

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them." "We work them well," said another. "They are pleasant to whip," said one. "Their hairless skins mark delightfully," said another, "and they squirm well." "Too, with their small bodies and smooth skins," said another, "we find them interesting, and different, in the thongs and furs." "You are on horseback," said Olar. "There are seven of you." "You should not be on the flats of Tung," said another. "You should not have crossed the Lothar," laughed another. "Rope them," said the leader of the Heruls.

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CHAPTER 17 "You must forgive us," said Brother Gregory, leading the way, carrying a small, shielded lamp in one appendage, descending the long, spiraling damp stairs, down, down into one of the humid, heated, murky depths of the festung, "but it is restorative, and, upon occasion, imperative, for several of the brothers to keep their skins moist." "I understand," said Julian. He had removed his jacket, and his shirt was soaked with dampness and sweat. He could hear the chanting of the brothers. Here and there, in niches, were small votive tablets. *** "Is that a female?'' had cried the gatesman in horror, pointing to the small figure with Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, all three long disembarked below, in the valley, from the hoverer. The outer gate to the festung had creaked open, slowly, to admit the travelers. It was a long, winding, tortuous trail up from the level, up from the valley, one of several miles, to the outer gate of the festung.

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It was seldom traveled. Visitors were few at the festung of Sim Giadini. At the village below they had learned that it would not be wise to approach the festung, save in this fashion, on foot and not obviously armed. There were defenses, at various levels, which must be specifically, and consecutively, disarmed. This was done from within the festung, the deactivations consequent, at given levels, upon judgments, given the data of diverse surveillance devices. Too, a known man of the village had accompanied them, as a guide. "Yes," had said Julian. "Nothing female may enter here," said the gatesmen. "This is the hospitality of the festung of Sim Giadini?" had asked Julian, irritatedly. "She does not appear in desperate need of medical assistance, she is not bleeding, she is not dying," said the gatesmen. "No," admitted Julian. "She may not enter," said the gatesmen.

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He averted his eyes that he might not look upon, and perhaps be tempted by, what was now in the company of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius. "Surely she is sufficiently concealed," said Tuvo Ausonius. The object of their discussion, small, fur-booted, and heavily bundled in furs, was kneeling on the stones before the gate, which posture she had assumed, correctly, suitably, while waiting for the response to the great metal ring, lifted and dropped three times, as the guide had advised, against the plate. In her days with Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, thanks to their intensive training, she had made considerable progress in learning her slavery. Her arms were not in the sleeves of her jacket but within the jacket, the wrists cuffed together, behind her back. About her throat, over the furs there, there was a metal leash collar, from which, gracefully dangling, in loops, threaded through loops on the jacket, was a lovely, light, chain leash. Commonly, in the transport of slaves by primitive peoples over the snow, in sleds, the slaves are simply, in their chains, wrapped naked in heavy furs. In this fashion there is little danger that they will be tempted to flee the sleds, or, huddling, chained, by the fires, the camps.

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"It does not matter," said the gatesman. "She is only an animal, a slave," said Tuvo Ausonius. The woman looked up. Her head was muchly covered by the bundling of the fur hood, but it could be seen that her face was exquisite. Wisps of red hair peeked out from within the hood, framing her lovely features. "Not even female animals are permitted within the festung," said the gatesman. "Nothing female, no female bird, no hen, no ewe, no cow, no bitch, no mare, no sow, nothing female." "Put down your head," said Julian. The slave instantly lowered her head. "You may look on her now," said Julian. "You can see nothing." "No," said the gatesman, "I can see furs, and it is not difficult to detect, from their configuration, that within them there is a female." "I fear he is right, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. The small figure, the center of such attention, trembled a little, on her knees, her head down. "Take her away!" cried the gatesman.

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"Take her back to the valley, to the hoverer," said Julian. "Milord!" protested Tuvo Ausonius. "It is all right," said Julian. "I should have anticipated this." "I shall have to close the gate," said the gatesman. "She is leaving," said Julian. Julian gestured, with his head, to Tuvo Ausonius. "On your feet, girl," said Tuvo Ausonius. She rose up and followed Tuvo Ausonius, head down, with small steps, deferentially, who drew away from the vicinity of the gate, to where the guide stood. "May I now enter?" inquired Julian. "Certainly," said the gatesman. Standing near the guide, and Tuvo Ausonius, she looked back, toward the gate. The gatesman, with his weight, with two hands, was pressing the gate shut. He paused for a moment, Julian within, impatient, beyond him, to view the slave, even bundled as she was, angrily, and then shut the gate, firmly.

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She heard the two heavy bars being slid through their brackets behind the gate, first one, and then the other. She briefly met the eyes of the guide, a rude fellow, from below, and then looked away. She had seen desire in his eyes. He was a peasant, simple, brutal, rude, lustful. She had become aware of her desirability here again, as she had on the patrol ship, serving the crew's mess, barefoot, in a collar and slave rag, and in the appreciative glances of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, as they sought to improve her posture, her movements and skills, until they would be likely to meet the requirements of even an unusually exacting master. And now here, again, she had become aware of her desirability, twice, in quite different ways, once in the loathing, the anger and disgust of the gatesman, fighting a naturalness and might which he had mistakenly, ignorantly, forsworn, he the deluded, selftortured

victim

of

a

grotesque

conditioning

program,

one

promulgating, even celebrating, thwarted drives and suppressed desires, and that of the peasant, who had looked upon her with hardy approbation, much as he might have upon a fine pig. She was aware now, from many indications, of her desirability, and its effect on men, and the power which she might, in virtue of it, under different circumstances, have held over men.

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It is no wonder, she thought, that they strip us, and chain us, and cage us, and put us up for sale. We are too beautiful, and too dangerous, to be free. It is wrong that we should be free! It is absurd that we should be free. We belong to them by nature, and they will see to it that they own us. It is no surprise then, she thought, that they do with us as they please. We belong to them, she thought. I do not object. I love them. Let them be strong with us! I despise weak men. Oh, be strong with me, Masters! "Come, girl!" called Tuvo Ausonius. He and the guide were already several yards down the trail. "Yes, Master!" she called, and hurried after them. Tuvo Ausonius was a master of women. But he had not so much as put a hand on her. He cared, it seemed, for some other slave, a Sesella, back on Inez IV. But surely he could have two slaves. Some men had several! Lord Julian, too, whose identity she had learned, kneeling before him naked, in obeisance, on the patrol ship, she sensed was a natural master of women, but he had not touched her either, other than once to tie her, and whip her, for clumsiness. He had some barbarian slave, it seemed, of which he was fond. But she was sure she could compete, at least after more training, with a mere barbarian. Let him choose between us, she thought, or have both of us, and others! But she had not been given to the crew, either. She

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was a virgin, which was not unusual, as she had been purchased at an early age, fourteen, to be a woman's slave. That she was a virgin seemed to be of interest to some men. She was not certain why that was. To be sure, it was important to her. She would not have wanted to awaken in her cell, for example, and discover that her virginity was simply gone. She hurried down the trail, to catch up with the men. They were far ahead now, and were not looking back. She fell once, heavily, twisting in her fall to her left shoulder, unable to break her fall because of the back-cuffing, confining her wrists. Whimpering, she regained her feet, and, pulling a little at her small, encircled, chained wrists, the leash chain striking against the furs, continued on down the trail, hastening after the men. They were even farther ahead now. She called out, "Wait, Masters! Please, wait!" But they did not wait. She hurried on. She did not dare to call out again. She did not wish to risk being beaten.

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*** "Brother Benjamin!" called Brother Gregory, gently. Brother Gregory stood on damp stones, at the edge of a broad, dark, warm pool. He lifted up his tiny lamp. The chamber was itself lit, though dimly, with similar lamps, set here and there on a shallow, circular shelf, its structure following the perimeter of the chamber, which was round, and shallowly domed. These lamps were brought to the depths by the brothers, and taken with them, when they ascended to the higher levels. There was a gentle stirring in the dark waters, and several pairs of eyes surfaced, large, round eyes. The eyes seemed to stare at Julian. It was difficult to read any expression in such features, without clues from the body. "I trust," said Julian, "I am not disturbing their meditations, or devotions." "It is time for the seventh bell," said Brother Gregory. "I would not have brought you here so soon, otherwise."

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"Oh," said Julian. "Not all brothers are of this species, of course," said Brother Gregory. "I understand," said Julian. Brother Gregory himself, obviously, was not. "But our redemptor, our Lord Floon, blessed be his holy name, was of such a species." "A bipedalian salamandrine?" said Julian. "An ogg," said Brother Gregory. "It seems strange that your Karch would emanate, as I understand it, as an ogg," said Julian. "Why?" asked Brother Gregory. "You're right," said Julian, shrugging. "Why not?" "Perhaps you think he should have emanated as a man?" Julian shrugged. There had seemed a bit of testiness in Brother Gregory's speculation.

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Brother Gregory was an azure-pelted Vorite. "He can emanate in whatever form he pleases," said Julian. "True," said Brother Gregory. "I would speak with one who is called Brother Benjamin," said Julian, addressing himself to the occupants of the pool. There was, at that time, as though from far off, the sound of a bell, its sounds making their way oddly about the stairwells, and down, to the chamber, and doubtless to others, as well, here and there, in the depths and heights, and throughout the labyrinthine corridors and chambers of the festung. It could probably be heard far below, in the valley. "Turn about," said Brother Gregory, "for the brothers must robe themselves." Julian turned about. He heard sounds behind him, soft, of moving water, of bodies emerging from the pool, of dripping water, of the pat of feet on the stones. "I am Brother Benjamin," said a voice behind him. "I am Julian, of the Aurelianii, of the patricians, of the senatorial class, kin to the emperor, Aesilesius," said Julian, not turning about. "I

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have credentials to make that clear." "You are then Telnarian," said the voice. "Yes," said Julian. "He has come to inquire about 'Dog,' " said Brother Gregory. "I have waited years for one to come," said the voice behind Julian, "but I did not think it would be a Telnarian." "What then?" asked Julian. "I thought it would be an Otung, a Vandal," said the voice behind Julian. Brother Gregory shuddered. "Do you know the identity of the one you call 'Dog'?" asked Julian. "Yes," said the voice behind him. "Can you prove that identity?" asked Julian. "Yes," said the voice. "May I turn about?" asked Julian. "I would not," said Brother Gregory. "He is half-garbed, but the

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wounds are still fresh, of the penitential exercises." "It is a mark of vanity," added Brother Gregory, "to wear a stained habit." "Penitential exercises?" asked Julian. "The stone saws, beneath the surface of the pool," said Brother Gregory. "How can you prove his identity?" asked Julian. "I will show you," said the voice. "Proceed me, up the stairs." Brother Gregory, with his lamp, led the way, Julian following. Behind them came the brothers, each with his lamp, and, together, intoning a hymn to Floon. "Surely you will dine with us in the refectory, and stay the night," said Brother Gregory. "I would be soon gone," said Julian. "We get few visitors at the festung," said Brother Gregory. "You are the first stranger in two years." "I must decline," said Julian. "Some of the brothers, the weaker ones, I fear, amongst whom I

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number myself," said Brother Gregory, "will be eager to hear news of the outside world." "I am sorry," said Julian. "At night the trail is extremely dangerous, the activated defenses, set by automatic timers, at places, the dogs," said Brother Gregory. "It is unlikely you would reach the village alive." "Then," said Julian, "I am pleased to accept your gracious invitation." "Excellent," said Brother Gregory. Julian noted, as he climbed the stairs, and as he had earlier, in his descent, but had thought little of it, that they were darkly stained. Julian noted, on the climb, in a niche, illuminated by a votive light, a representation of Floon in the electric chair, or, perhaps better, fastened on the burning rack, the pain represented in the twistedbody, the expression of misery on the countenance. It made Julian sick. How different it was from the bright sunlight and blue skies of the pantheon of Orak. But it was here, in the festung of Sim Giadini, that there lay the secret to the identity of the peasant, or gladiator, or warrior, or chieftain, or captain, whom he knew as Otto, or Ottonius. "What is the proof?" he asked.

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"You will see," said the voice behind him.

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CHAPTER 18 The location of the beast was not a matter of coincidence, not after the first moments. It was incredibly alert, every sense sharp and alive, like needles, tense with excitement. In its belly burned the cold rage of hunger. Such creatures did not hibernate, even in the month of Igon. It had survived eight winters on the plains of Barrionuevo. Little more than its eyes and nostrils could now be detected, had one known where to look and what to look for, it lying still, in the snow. The wind was blowing, softly, doing little more than stirring the snow at the summit of drifts. The odor of horses, and of Heruls, and men, was brought to the broad, dilating nostrils of the beast. These odors were as discernible, and unmistakable, to the beast as a sighting would have been to a more visually oriented form of life. The direction of the wind, contrariwise, predictably, would not carry its own scent to the horses. It moved in the direction from which the odors were wafted, its body low, little more than a wrinkle, or a shifting crest, stirred by the wind, of snow.

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It moved a little and stopped, and moved a little, again, and stopped, again. While it stopped there was almost no movement, save for the infrequent opening and closing of the eyes, large, and green, with their black, narrow, vertical pupils, better than two inches in height, and an occasional, small, agitated movement of the tail, white, whiplike, in the snow, betraying its excitement. Then, more than two hundred yards away, as it lay eager, and trembling, and silken and white, almost flat in the snow, almost invisible, white on white, little more than its eyes and nostrils showing, it saw dark shapes moving about, shapes which stood out, clearly, even to its vision, at this distance, from the background, from the snow, which shapes, clearly, were the sources of the maddeningly exhilarating, irresistible odors, odors such that, in the month of Igon, they might drive such a beast mad. The smallest of contented, purring sounds escaped its great throat. It waited until none of the shapes was turned its way, and then it moved forward again, a little closer.

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CHAPTER 19 "They are trussed like the vardas they are," said one of the Heruls, stepping back. "How," asked Olar, "so tied, can we run at your stirrup, how, so tied, can we pull in the traces of the sledge?" "It would be difficult," said the leader of the Heruls, still mounted, as were four other Heruls. Two had dismounted to tie Olar and Varix. "I do not understand," said Varix. "Break up the sledge, for firewood," said the leader of the Heruls. "I do not understand," said Varix. "It is not your bait trap, nor is it ours," said the leader of the Heruls. "It will do for firewood." "You are cold?" asked Olar. "Do you think we are beasts, to eat raw meat?" asked the leader of the Heruls. "We have no kettles with us," said one of the Heruls who was dismounted. ''Do you think we would run such as you for the dogs?'' asked

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another, one who was mounted. "No!" cried Olar. "Why?" asked Varix. "You did not fight," said the leader of the Heruls. "I can remember when Vandals fought," said another. "You are mounted, we are on foot!" said Olar. "We are hungry," said one of the dismounted Heruls. "You will roast well," said the other. Olar and Varix, tied back to back, sitting in the snow, their ankles crossed and bound, struggled. "Break up the sledge," said the leader of the Heruls. He held his lance in his right hand, or, perhaps better, appendage. It was a multiply jointed, haired tentacle, now sheathed in a beaded, fringed, mittenlike fur sleeve. He had two such hands, or appendages, or tentacles, as did the others, an arrangement which tended to be common, given the selective advantages of paired, symmetrical structures. At the tip of each tentacle, recessed beneath a contractible callosity, there was a tiny anatomical feature, a small, caplike sensory organ. Its function has been likened to that of taste, and even to sight and smell, but these sensory modalities are available to the Heruls, and the Hageen,

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as, indeed, given their advantages, to millions of diverse species throughout the galaxies. To be sure, that two species have a sense of taste, or such, does not guarantee that their experiences are identical. Even in something as obvious as vision, it is not clear, for example, that the visual experiences of diverse species are identical, for example, with respect to what can be seen, and how it can be experienced. Similarly, it seems unlikely that the visual experiences of, say, insects and men are identical. And, too, the visual experiences of an organism which has eyes on the sides of its head may be rather different, in consciousness, than one which, say, has the eyes in the front of the head, permitting a binocular focus, and such. The visual experiences of a creature with eye stalks or seven eyes, placed at diverse places on the body, laterally, ventrally, dorsally, and such, may be different, as well. We shall not attempt to speculate on the specific nature of the sensory experience correlated with the small, protected, tentacular sensory organ of the Heruls. We ourselves have never had such an experience. To those who have had the experience, a verbal description would doubtless be superfluous. To those who have not had the experience a verbal description would doubtless be unilluminating, if not unintelligible. Figures of speech may or may not be helpful. There seems dispute on such a matter. For example, suppose that one lacked particular sensory modalities. Then, would it be helpful to say, really, for example, that the taste of an orange is like seeing the sun at midday, that the smell of wet grass is like the taste of wine, that the blare of a trumpet is like the heat of fire? But the function of the Herul organ, or one of its utilities, at least, is clearly recognition. It seems clear that, in some sense, it reads, or reacts to, on a cellular, or subcellular, level, with consequences in consciousness, the chemistry, if not the very hereditary coils, of an organism, in a

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very specific fashion. The organ, which is not vestigial, seems to antedate the development of other senses, such as sight and hearing, in the evolution of the Herul organism. It, or its predecessor, seems to have functioned in making determinations as to self-identity, and to what might be ingested and what not. It seems to have prevented, in the beginning, certain chemical macrocompounds from being selfdestructive, for example, from predating on their own bodies, and to make determinations as to what might be absorbed profitably into their own systems and what not. To be sure, putting it in this fashion suggests a teleology. The compounds which, for example, were uninhibited in self-predation tended to perish, and those who found poisonous substances acceptable, or even attractive, for ingestion would be expected, too, statistically, over time, to fail to replicate their genes. Presumably the organ, too, as parthenogenesis came to be supplanted by sexual reproduction, was useful in identifying members of its own species, or type. Later, it doubtless functioned in mate identification, and recognition, for Herul conception, proceeding in stages, requires a considerable period. And later, too, as life forms developed, and tribalities became of selective advantage, it doubtless proved its value for group integrity and consolidation, much as might have a nest odor among certain social insects or a pack odor among social rodents. It may, too, have some sort of bonding effect among individuals. In any event, it is an interesting, and rare, organ, particularly among rational species. The butt of the lance, grasped in the right hand of the Herul, was sheathed in the right stirrup holster. One of the two dismounted Heruls, in response to the leader's injunction to break up the sledge, picked up the ax of Varix, which was in the snow.

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In a moment he was before the sledge. "Ota!" he said, an exclamation of surprise. "What is it?" called the leader of the Heruls. "There is something here," he said. "What?" called the leader. "A body," he said. "It is dead?" said the leader. "I think so," said the Herul. He gingerly pushed at the shape, lying within the ribs of the headless, half-eaten horse on the sledge. "Yes," said the Herul. "It does not move. It is dead." "There is a pelt on the sledge," said the leader of the Heruls, referring to the folded, mottled pelt toward the back of the sledge. "Doubtless it is that fellow's bait trap," said one of the mounted Heruls. "What is he?" asked the leader of the Heruls.

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"An Otung, I think," said the Herul. "Here?" asked the leader. "It seems so," said the Herul. The leader of the Heruls and he closest to him exchanged glances. Basungs would have been expected, in this vicinity, if they dared to cross the Lothar. "Proceed with your work," said the leader of the Heruls. The Herul at the sledge, putting the ax into the snow beside him, head down, the handle upright in the snow, broke to the side two, then three, of the ribs of the horse. He then reached within the remains of the rib cage to draw the body out of the cavity. In a moment the leader of the Heruls looked back toward the sledge. "Utinn?" he asked. The Herul stood by the sled, upright, waist deep in the snow, as it had drifted there, not moving. "Hurry!" said the leader.

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There was something odd about the attitude of the figure, as it stood. "The head, the head is wrong!" said the Herul nearest the leader. "Atlar!" said the leader. The other dismounted Herul was reluctant to approach. "Atlar!" snapped the leader. The second Herul waded through the snow to his fellow. He put his hands on him, and lowered him, half to the snow. He moved the head, and looked back at the leader. "The neck is broken," he said. "He is dead." "How can it be?" asked one of the Heruls. "Utinn is a shaman," said the Herul nearest the leader. "He has died to go to the land of spirits, and will come back, with knowledge, and secrets and medicine." "Utinn was not a shaman," said the leader of the Heruls, looking about, uneasily. "He will come back," said one of the Heruls. "One does not come back from broken necks," said another. "It is not like the coming back from the magic death, the sleep death, the

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trance." "It is done by spirits, in the pay of the men of Ifeng," said another Herul. Venitzia was known among the Heruls as Ifeng. Among several of the other tribes of the area it was known as Scharnhorst. "It is the magic of the brothers of the festung of Sim Giadini," said one of the Heruls. The brothers had not discouraged such beliefs among the Heruls. To be sure, it was unlikely the Heruls posed any great threat to the festung itself. They did pose, of course, a possible threat to festung villages. "Utinn did it to himself," said one of the Heruls. "Then he is a shaman," said another. "He was not a shaman," said the leader. "How did it come about?" asked one of the Heruls. "I do not know," said another. "I am afraid," said the Herul nearest the leader. The leader of the Heruls looked about. The country was desolate. The snow was white, and calm.

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He then returned his attention to Atlar, the body of Utinn, and the sledge, half buried, half lost, half obscured, in the snow. "Atlar," called the leader of the Heruls, calmly, at the same time freeing the butt of his lance from the stirrup holster. "Yes?" rejoined the Herul addressed, releasing the head of Utinn, which, loosely, as though tied on with rope, dropped into the snow, near the body's left shoulder. "Step back," said the leader, quietly. The Herul moved back, wading backward in the snow. "Pick up the ax," said the leader, quietly. Atlar, uncertainly, not taking his eyes off the sledge, put out his right hand, as we shall have it, as is our practice, for the sake of ease, and simplicity, and grasped the ax. "Lift the ax," said the leader of the Heruls, patiently. Atlar lifted the ax, with two hands, the tentacles wrapped about the shaft, back, over his head, puzzled, and looked to the leader, astride his mount, a few yards away, in the snow. "Kill it! Kill it!" suddenly screamed the leader of the Heruls, gesturing toward the sledge, with its weights, with the point of the lance.

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But at that very moment with a cry of rage and power, a cry, perhaps, even of war, a mighty figure, more than half again the size of a common man, seemed to rise up from the surface of the sledge, unexpectedly, suddenly, like lightning, like a springing lion, seemed to rise up even from the body of the horse, stark, dried, cold ribs of the horse, brittle and dead in the cold, breaking, bones scattering in its emergence, like a striking snake, like a lion, springing through sticks and straw, seeming to rise up, like a hurricane, like a lion, snow flung to all sides, and Atlar, a yard of a great blade emergent from his back was lifted over the figure's head, impaled, the ax lost in the snow. The figure stood there, in rage, snarling, surely more animal than man, for just a moment it stood there, the body of Atlar held high, squirming, bleeding, over its head. But in that moment, in that brief instant, we may surmise, as would be expected of one trained in the school of Pulendius, it had located each of the Heruls. Of the mounts of the Heruls about, of which there were seven, five of which Heruls were astride, and two standing nearby, without riders, in the snow, hobbled, their two front feet tied together with the reins dangling from their bridled snouts, the five shifted, startled, one bucking, throwing his rider into the snow, while of the two hobbled, one sank to its knees, squealing, a leg broken, and the other, trying to run, fell to its side, rolling, struggling, in the snow. The war cry tends to inspirit and energize its utterer, but, perhaps

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more importantly, it can, if not anticipated, momentarily freeze the responses of the enemy or prey. The roar of the lion has a similar role, it would seem, at least in the latter particular. The moment of inactivity is often all the predator needs to effect his purpose, to strike a blow, to reach a critical point, to shorten a distance. With another cry the mighty figure, snow thrashing about its legs, they forcing that great body through the snow, had hurled Atlar from the blade and rushed upon the nearest Herul and mount. An upward sweep of the great blade smote away the head of the horse, and it spun away, and there was a burst of blood which drenched the snow for yards about. The rider slid off the back of the horse. The mighty figure turned about, again, and again the blade flashed forth cutting through a Herul's leg at the thigh, cutting even the girth strap holding the saddle and the horse, too, sank to its knees a lateral slash marking the blade's passage. Another horse reared over the figure and the blade slashed out opening the belly, disemboweling the animal, the rider pitching away, scrambling up, in the snow. The horse thrashed, squealing, rolling about, its legs caught in the loops of its own intestines, its frantic movements tearing them out of its own body. The leader of the Heruls wheeled his mount away, some yards in the snow, and then turned it, his lance descendant, at the ready. He called to his men. There had been six. Utinn and Atlar were dead. Another, Utak, had crawled away, dragging a bleeding stump, leaving a river of blood in the snow. He had collapsed ten yards from the sledge. The rider who had been thrown, his horse bolting at the sudden, unexpected appearance of the figure, had now recovered his seat. Another rider, whose horse had been decapitated in the figure's rush forward had hurried to Atlar's frightened, hobbled animal, slashed the hobble, beat

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the horse to its feet, and mounted. The rider who had lost his saddle when his rearing horse had been fended back, with the fierce stroke of the terrible blade, some five feet in length, hurried, afoot, away from the sledge, to join the leader of the Heruls. The figure with the hilt of that terrible weapon in his two-handed grasp, panting, stepped away from the horse, which, wide-eyed, rolled about amongst its own intestines, these gushed forth upon the snow, bright, steaming from body heat, glistening and tangled, enmeshed. Four Heruls there were then, three mounted. One lowered his lance and charged. "Wait!" cried the leader of the Heruls, but the fellow had already, with a cry of rage, kicked back with his spurs, and his mount, squealing in pain, was plunging forward through the snow. The horse was to the figure in the snow almost instantly. The figure, trying to evade the charge, lost its footing in the snow, staggering, stumbling. It struggled to keep its balance. The lance thrust down. The Herul cried out in frustration. The figure in the snow, lurching, had managed, but barely, to turn the thrust with the flat of the blade. The horse wheeled. The figure in the snow felt the heat of its body, fiercely, its oily pelt, the fur-clad boot of the rider. The figure, buffeted, was struck to the snow. The sword was gone. The figure rolled from beneath the descending, clawed feet, the claws tearing in the snow. The rider wheeled the horse away, and then, again, aligned it, bringing it back once more to the attack line. The figure was now, again, on its feet, wary, hands out, the snow to its thighs, the sword

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somewhere to the side, somewhere inches beneath a dark cleft in the snow, not within reach, not before the horse, and the lance, could reach it. The horse, sped forward by the spurs, its flanks bleeding, charged, frenziedly. The figure evaded the thrust, forcing it up with a movement of his right forearm. At the next wheeling, and thrust, the figure, again buffeted, caught the lance behind the blade. The rider, startled, thought briefly to contest the possession of the implement, to struggle for it, to cling to it, but the shaft might as well have been rooted in the ground as be in whose grasp it was, and the rider suddenly found himself, as his horse shied to the left, unbalanced to the right, and he released the weapon, and grasped for the pommel of the saddle, and, in a flurry of snow, kicked up by the mount, half slid from the horse. As the horse turned, again, confused, wheeling in the snow, a hand on the Herul's jacket tore him from the mount and flung him on his back in the snow. The Herul, down in the snow, perhaps a foot or more deep, doubtless half blinded by snow, may not have seen the lance lifted over him. Its point splintered away, stopped only by the icy ground. The startled mount, which had now veered away, its flanks bleeding from spur wounds, was gathered in by the formerly dismounted Herul. In an instant, he was in its saddle, bending over, seizing a lance from the snow where he had thrust it a moment before. The figure from the sledge stood for an instant near the downed Herul. The formerly dismounted Herul, now again mounted, was now back with the leader of the Heruls, and the other Herul. There were, then, three Heruls, all mounted. In the chest of the downed Herul, the lance shaft stood upright. It was like a marker, distinct against the snow. The figure hurried to the depression, or slit, or cleft in the snow and felt downward for the sword, and, in a moment, lifting it, cold, had it in his two hands.

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The three would charge, in a coordinated fashion. He could see the leader, some yards away, with gestures, and quick words, organizing the attack. He had, perhaps, three or four seconds in which to act. He had no realistic expectation, afoot, armed as he was, of successfully resisting the coordinated attack of three such horsemen. These creatures were Heruls. Many learned to ride, clinging to a neck strap or harness, before they learned to walk. Peoples such as Heruls had given rise, long ago, on diverse worlds to tales of centaurs, and such creatures, creatures which were at one time man and horse, so much one with the mount they were. Imperial cavalry, if similarly armed, would not meet them in the field. Four horses lay in the bloodied snow, one headless; one dying, disemboweled; one hobbled, with a broken leg, it snapped, broken against the hobble, in its earlier alarm; and one wounded, that whose body had been partially shielded by the leg of its rider, he dying in the snow to one side, the leg lost at the thigh, and the girth strap. The figure in the snow tore his way to the wounded horse, seized its bridle near the jaws, cried out, kicked the animal, jerked its head upward, twice, and the horse, squealing, got its legs under itself and staggered up to its feet, turning, unsteady, eyes rolling, its paws, wet, crusted with ice, trampling its own blood down into the snow. Almost at the same time the first Herul made his passage, but the horse was now between them. The same-line attack is often used against an enemy afoot. Two

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riders, or more, are required for its prosecution. It is supposed that the first passage may fail of its mark, and particularly against an agile, ready foe. But the first rider, if he is evaded, in effect sets the target for the second rider. For example, if the target, seeking to avoid the first lance, moves to, or is moved to, a given position then that, of course, determines the line of the second rider, following closely on the heels of the first. With three riders, of course, the probabilities of a hit are considerably increased. The second rider, too, plunged past, he, too, following as closely as he did, unable to move to the opposite side of the horse. The leader of the Heruls, pulled his horse up, and it reared, squealing, scratching at the air. The first two riders turned their mounts, the animals struggling in the snow. The figure who had been in the snow was then on the back of the wounded horse. At a call from the leader the two Heruls, urging their horses through the snow, rejoined him. There was no saddle on the newly mounted fellow's horse as it had been lost in the earlier stroke. The weight on its back, and the activity of movement, freshened the blood on the horse's right side.

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Its rider, the newly mounted fellow, unfamiliar, strange to the horse, surely not a Herul, had learned something of horsemanship on a distant world, Vellmer, an imperial world, at the villa, or holding, of a citizen of Telnaria, one Julian, of the Aurelianii, a patrician, even of the senatorial class. He had even practiced riding bareback, for one might not always have time to saddle one's horse, and had, in the saddle and bareback, familiarized himself with the lance, light and shock, and the scimitar and saber. But it is one thing to approach targets, and practice the address, the parry and thrust with the lance, the wielding of blades, of diverse weights, lengths, and curvatures, such things, from horseback, against wands and garlands, and quite another against men, and yet another, surely, against creatures such as Heruls. His lessons had not been, at that time, learned in the school of battle, the most pitiless of houses of instruction. He was not at that time a horsemen, not in the sense that worlds, and even Heruls, would know him, and fear him, later. He was at that time young, a very young man really, though with a terrible maturity for his age. He was, at that time, no more than a creature of dreadful, awesome promise. Too, the animal was unfamiliar, and wounded. Yet, even so, the Heruls drew back. "It is an Otung horseman," said one of the Heruls. He had met Otung horsemen long ago, in the spring and summer of 1103, in the chronology of the imperial claiming stone, set up in Venitzia, when Venitzia had been no more than a small military camp. The new rider retained the long sword. Its flat was across the back of the animal.

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The leader of the Heruls, too, remembered the Otung horsemen, those of the Otung Vandals. "Do you remember them?" asked the Herul who had first spoken. "Yes," said the leader of the Heruls. "They fought well," said the Herul who had first spoken. "Yes," said the leader of the Heruls. "They were very brave," said the Herul. "Yes," said the leader of the Heruls, holding in his mount. Then he drew a circle in the air. "Yes!" said the third Herul, elatedly. The Otung horsemen, though valiant, had been, with their massive horses, dense formations and shock tactics, no match for the illusive, swarming,

lighter-armed,

more

mobile

Heruls,

appearing,

disappearing, attacking, drawing back, striking from behind, shifting the point of attack, hanging on the flanks, choosing the time and place of war, engaging only when it was to their advantage. "Exercise care," said the leader. The attack of the circle is usually directed against an isolated

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horseman, whether isolated, oddly, in the tumult of battle or elsewhere more naturally, as in a meadow, a field, or a snowy plain. It means no more than a surrounding attack, and, for it, obviously, even two riders would suffice. One engages and defends, and the other, or others, attack. The engagement and defense, and the attack, of course, can be, and commonly is, transferred among riders, these modalities shifting as seems appropriate under the circumstances. The newly mounted rider kicked back into the flanks of his mount, instantly seizing the initiative, and it lunged forward toward the Heruls, that it might with its rider strike into their very midst, but the beast was slowed, from its wound, and the snow, and the Heruls, though taken aback, though startled for a moment, not having expected this audacity, recovered and parted, one to the left, two to the right, and the rider's horse, leaping and struggling, struck through the snow amongst them, the flash of the great blade better than a yard from the nearest foe. The rider turned swiftly toward one of the Heruls but he drew away from the charge. Each Herul now had freed the buckler from the side of his saddle. It could withstand the thrust of a lance, the slash of the saber, the deft flight of the scimitar, but the weight of the mightier blade must be turned, or slipped, else the buckler itself might be cut, or the hand within its single grip broken at the wrist, or the rider beaten down, perhaps out of the saddle. Too, the spinal cord of the mount, in a carelessly slipped thrust, might be severed. The Heruls were not eager to come within the thunder, the sweep, of that blade. The rider turned his bleeding mount in the snow. The Heruls were now about him.

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It was the circle. He plunged his horse between two of the riders. But in a moment they were with him, and then one was well ahead, and turned, waiting for him, lance ready, and the other two were behind him, one behind to his left, the other behind to his right. The rider reined in his mount. With a stronger, sounder mount, perhaps on a faster surface, he might have found open ground, and separated them in a line of pursuit, the swiftest closest to him, the second swiftest, in a minute or two, significantly behind, the slowest out of the fray, until it came back to him, in turn, but he had now reined in. The false flight, separating the pursuers, and the sudden turning back, to deal with them singly, was not practical. The rider was now surrounded. The four combatants stood still, mounted. The three Heruls formed the points of a triangle. Within this triangle was the newly mounted rider, alone. The distance of each of the Heruls to the target was some ten yards. The triangle, as a whole, was some forty or fifty yards out into the plain, out from the trampled snow about the sledge. It seemed quiet then on the snowy field. "It is over," called the leader of the Heruls to the young, blond rider. The young fellow turned to face him. The leader had been behind the young fellow, to his left. The young fellow grasped the hilt of the mighty sword in two hands.

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His mount sank a little down, into the snow, its back legs unsteady beneath it. Angrily, struggling to maintain his seat, the young man urged the horse up again. Then it was on its feet once more. The snow was red beneath it. A little wind blew some snow toward the rider farthest from the sledge, he at the point, or apex, so to speak, of the triangle. Very warily the three Heruls began to close in on the isolated horsemen amongst them. They stopped some four or five yards from him, on their attack lines. The leader of the Heruls looked from one of his men to the other. He was satisfied. "What is wrong?" suddenly called the leader of the Heruls to the Herul farthest out from the sledge, at the apex, so to speak, of the diminished triangle. "It is the horse," said the fellow. "It is the horse!" The horse, suddenly, had lifted its head. It threw its head back and

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forth. Its eyes were like round balls. It seemed to fear to put its paws down to the snow. It began to prance. It reared. It squealed. Its nostrils were wide, like cups, opening and closing. It showed its teeth. It tore at the bit. The newly mounted rider, he in the midst of the Heruls, spun about on his mount's back, pulling back on the reins, and in that instant there rose up from the snow, from that desolate, bleak landscape, snarling, almost at his side, like an explosion, like a blizzard of white fire, springing, shedding snow, like a torrent of teeth and claws, a vicat! It was a giant white. The vi-cat was upon the hindquarters of the wounded beast, its claws sunk inches into its loins, its teeth buried in its rump, and its weight and twisting threw the squealing horse to its side in the snow, trapping the rider, by one leg, beneath it. The

horses

of the Heruls bolted. For a moment they

were

unmanageable. The Heruls, struggling to retain their seats, dragged on reins, fighting for control. They screamed at the animals. The horses spun about, frantic, maddened, lost in the snow. The Heruls beat them with the butts of their lances. Back, again and again, jerked the bits. Blood gushed from the mouths of the terrified horses, washing about the jaws, drenching the lacerating metal. Ravenously the vi-cat tore at its prey, feeding, holding it down with its paws, digging in it, its mouth and jaws thick with hair and blood.

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The rider of the animal drew his leg loose from beneath the squealing horse, and stood unsteadily in the snow, half staggering, the leg almost buckling beneath him. The sword was to one side, half in the snow, half visible. The vi-cat fed, its ears back, its head half lost in the body of the horse, obliviously, deliriously, not more than two yards from where he stood. The young man saw the sword. The Heruls, the leader first, then the other two, brought their mounts under control. The young man looked back to the vi-cat. He must reach the sword. The vi-cat paused in its feeding, suddenly. It lifted its head from the body of the horse. The young man stood extremely still. The sword was feet away. He must not move, not perceptibly. The rolling eyes of the horse turned wildly, piteously, toward him.

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At the same time the vi-cat saw him. It snarled. The young man was not a stranger to the vi-cat, for he, and other villagers, long ago, had hunted them, though not such as this one, not the giant white. He had killed his first vi-cat at the age of fourteen, one which had unexpectedly doubled back on hunters. Even at that age he had been larger and stronger than most men. He had killed the beast with an ax. He had given the skin to his best friend, Gathron. Later, years later, he and Gathron had had a fight. In this fight he had killed Gathron. The fight had been over a woman. He had soon left the village. He would go to Venitzia, and from there, elsewhere, anywhere, seek his fortune. He had worked his passage on a freighter. He had disembarked on Terennia. It was on Terennia that was to be found the school of Pulendius, in which gladiators were trained, for diverse games on diverse worlds. The critical distance for the vi-cat tends to range from ten to twenty yards. Outside this range, if it is not hunting, and man, in any event, is not its common game, man and beast can usually pretend to ignore one another. The man turns aside, and the beast slinks away, into the high grass, as though it had not seen the man. Within this range, closer than ten to twenty yards, the particular distance tending to depend on the disposition, even the indolence, of the beast in question, this game of man and beast is not played. Within the critical distance the beast tends to approach, and investigate, and, from this point, things tend to rapidly and often unpleasantly escalate. It will also, often, without warning, charge within this distance. It might also be noted that even outside the critical distance it is important to avoid

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obvious eye contact with the beast. Once the beast knows it has been seen it is almost, oddly, as if a matter of honor had become involved, and that retreat would somehow result in a loss of face. This interpretation seems somewhat anthropomorphic, but the serious question is not whether or not it is anthropomorphic, but whether or not it is correct. It may be, you see, that a concept of honor is not unique to rational species, but that its rudiments, or such, lie much farther down the phylogenetic scales of different animal kingdoms. A sense of rightness, of fittingness, and such, may not be an invention of rational species but, in a sense, an inheritance of such species, later interpreted, naturally enough, in conceptual terms. It might be proposed, of course, that the animals which recognized themselves seen, or challenged, and responded aggressively, tended to replicate their genes, and that more casual organisms, indifferent to intruders, tolerant of strangers, and such, tended to be eliminated. But, if this is the case, this would seem to suggest merely that the rudiments of honor, or such, have been themselves selected for. This is not incomprehensible, of course. For example, it seems clear that the blind mechanisms

of

natural

selection

have

produced,

and

perhaps

inevitably, what is commonly taken to be their antithesis, thought, intentionality, consciousness, planning and reason. Civilization may be an inevitable precipitate of the jungle. Certainly within itself it bears the traces of dark origins. Indeed, there is some speculation that civilization is not a successor to, nor a replacement of, the jungle, but merely a transformation of the jungle, merely another of its many faces. And the jungle, too, you see, is not really a chaos, but, in its way, a highly articulated structure, with its habits and patterns, its history, its proven, tested, developed ways, its relationships, its ranks, its distances, its hierarchies.

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The eyes of the man and beast met. The man dove for the hilt of the blade, emergent from the snow, as the beast, snarling, scrambled over the trembling, shaking body of the expiring horse. The man threw himself to the snow, scratching within it, and the beast was on him, pawing away the snow, biting at the half-buried back. "Do not interfere," said the leader of the Heruls to his fellows. Their mounts, their sides heaving, blood frozen about the jaws, like threads of ice, their breath like fog bursting from their mouths and nostrils, were now under control. The vi-cat tore away the back of the man's coat, shaking it. It seemed puzzled. The figure rolled to the side in the snow and leapt upon the vi-cat from the side, his arms about its neck, and the cat, enraged, reared up, lifting the man a yard from the snow. The man clung to its neck, his head down, at the base of the animal's neck, down, away from the massive, turning head, and fangs. The beast sought futilely to reach him with its forepaws, the curved claws, four inches in length, extended, brandished, then flung itself down in the snow, rolling, and one could not see the man, and then one could, as, again and again, he was first submerged in the snow, and then again, body and hair a

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mass of snow, torn upward into view. The beast, roaring, tried to scrape him away, against the horse, now dead. The beast then stopped, and gasped, startled. It shook its head, and the man was flung to one side and the other. The man, as he could, tightened his grip. He could not slip his arms beneath the forelegs of the beast, and up then, behind the back of the neck, given the size of the beast. In such a way might a smaller animal's neck be broken. Such things were learned, though with an intended application to men, in the school of Pulendius, on Terennia. Then the beast threw itself to its side in the snow, squirming down, to the frozen soil. Then, slowly, pressing itself against the ice, it, with its mighty bulk, began to turn itself, inch by inch. The man, in his garments, with his own bulk, could not then turn with the animal. He was wedged between the body of the beast and the soil, like cement, and the beast, inch by inch, was turning, moving in the grip of the man, bringing its jaws about, inch by inch, closer to the man's head. The vi-cat, gasping in the snow, continued to turn, inch by inch. The man released the beast's throat and scrambled to his feet in the snow, and the beast, too, scrambled up. The beast stood there for a moment, sucking in air, blinking, snow about its eyes, looking for the man. The man reached to the great sword and had it in his hand, half lifting it as the beast charged, and the man was struck from his feet, the sword lost, and the beast had stopped. Then it backed away, puzzled. It eyed the man, and licked at its own blood.

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The man, bleeding, recovered the sword. He lifted it unsteadily, half to the ready, and the beast was upon him, again, charging and snarling. A yard of the blade disappeared into the chest of the beast. A blow from the right paw of the beast smote the man at the side of the head, and he was struck to the side, and the blade, to which he clung, slid sideways in the animal, and, as the man fell to the snow, the blade, still in his grasp, was mostly out of the body. The beast backed away, a foot or two, which movement slipped the blade further from its body, and, at the same time, drew it away from the hands of the fallen man. Then the beast shook itself, as though it might be shedding water. The blade was flung to the side. "The Otung is dead," said one of the Heruls. The beast returned to the still warm body of the horse, and its feeding. Its own blood mingled with that of the horse. There was little sound then except the breathing of the horses of the Heruls, and the feeding of the vi-cat. The figure struck down in the snow staggered to its feet. It felt about for the great sword. It had it again in its hands. Blood was now coming from within the lungs of the vi-cat, and it

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gushed forth from its mouth and nostrils, and, as it fed, it drank its own blood. The man staggered toward the vi-cat with the blade raised, but fell into the snow before he could reach it. The vi-cat died feeding. "The Otung is dead," said a Herul. "He would be worth running for the dogs," said another. "He is dead," said the Herul who had first spoken. "I do not think so," said the leader of the Heruls. "Tie him. Put him on the sledge." Olar and Varix, who were Basung Vandals, were put in the traces of the sledge, to draw it. The horse whose leg had been broken was killed, with a blow of the ax of Varix. In a few moments the three Heruls left the trampled, bloody snow. They did not bury their fellows, but left them, as was their common wont, for the beasts of the plains. They cut some meat from the dead horses, for provender on the trip

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back to the wagons and herds. They also skinned the vi-cat, for such a pelt was of great value. Indeed, from such a pelt might be fashioned the robe of a king.

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CHAPTER 20 "He is awakening," she said. "Do not hurt me," she said. The blond giant's hand had grasped her wrist. His brow was wet, from the cloth with which she had wiped it. He released her wrist. "Leave," said a voice, that of a Herul, who was sitting back, in the shadows. Not speaking, she gathered her pan of warm water, and, with the cloth and sponges, and a whisk of her long skirt, hurried away. It was a woman of his own species, or seemed so. Heruls kept such, he knew, for labor, and diversion. The giant did not object, as they were females. "She is the daughter of an Otung noble," said the Herul. The giant moved his legs a little. The clasp of the chains was then evident. "You have been unconscious for four days," said the Herul. "You are old-for a Herul," said the giant.

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"You are surprised?" asked the Herul. "Yes," said the giant. Heruls kill the old and the weak, the stupid, the lame, the deformed. "I am still hardy," said the Herul. "If I am to be killed, someone must do it. I have killed four. They will let me alone now, I think, for a time." "You are a warrior," said the giant. "I have ridden," admitted the Herul. "Would you like to have her, tonight?" he asked. "Yes," said the giant. "She is a slave," said the Herul. "Do not fail to use her as such." "I will not," said the giant. "You are in the wagon of my friend," said the Herul. "It was he who captured you, who brought you in. He was the leader of a party of seven, three only of which returned." "Who are you?" asked the giant. "It does not matter," said the Herul.

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"What is to be done with me?" "You must regain your strength," said the Herul. "I will have broth brought to you, and, in a day, curds, and then, later, meat." "Mujiin is proud of you," said the Herul. "Who is Mujiin?" asked the giant. "He who captured you," said the Herul. "What is your people?" asked the Herul. "I have no people," said the giant. "You are an Otung," said the Herul. "I am chieftain of the Wolfungs," said the giant. "I do not know that tribe," said the Herul. "It is a tribe of the Vandal nation," said the giant. "One knows the Vandals, of course," said the Herul, "-the Otung Vandals, the Basung Vandals, and such." "Its remnants were banished to a far world, Varna," said the giant.

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"How is it that you are on Tangara?" asked the Herul. "I am commissioned captain in the imperial auxilia," said the giant, "entitled to recruit comitates, comites, companions, a comitatus, a military company, for service under the imperial standard. I seek Otungs for this purpose." "Strange," said the Herul. "Why?" asked the giant. "Little love is lost between the empire and the Otungs," said the Herul. "Nor," said the giant, "between the empire and the Heruls." "True," said the Herul. "There were two men who were captured on the plains," said the giant. "What was done with them?" "They drew you here, on a sledge," said the Herul. "Then they were bound, and their throats were cut, and they were fed to the dogs." The giant regarded him. "They had not fought," said the Herul. The giant lay back on the rude, low couch.

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"To be sure," said the Herul, "they crossed the Lothar, and that must have taken courage. "I can remember when Basungs fought," said the Herul. "They were then Vandals, Basung Vandals," said the giant. "Yes," said the Herul. "What of the Otungs?" asked the giant. "We broke them, long ago, and have denied to their fugitive remnants horses, and the plains. They are not permitted to come forth from their forests, except at times to trade with us, honey, pelts, produce from their small plots, such things, for leather, hides, glue and horn, and excess trade goods, which we, by similar exchanges, have obtained from merchants of Ifeng." "Venitzia?" "That is the Telnarian name for the place," said the Herul. "There is a good spring there." "Why do you not go into the forests and kill them?" asked the giant. "We are horsemen," said the Herul. "In the forests it is very dangerous for us. We do raid in them, afoot, sometimes, for sport. It was in such a raid, two years ago, that we captured Yata, and others,

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while they were bathing." "Yata?" "The slave," said the Herul. "It was but a moment's work to bind and gag them, wrap them securely in camouflaged blankets and tie them on narrow frameworks of poles, which frameworks we then drew after us, reaching, two days later, the edge of the forest. Once there, where our horses were waiting, we untied their ankle cords, put them in coffle, and marched them, under the knout, to the wagons. They marched quickly, and well." "I do not doubt it," said the giant. "We take others," said the Herul, "as they fall to us; some are captured in raids, as were Yata and her maidens; some are caught outside the forests, herding pigs, gathering herbs, and such; some are given to us as tokens of good will; some are sold to us; some are received in trade, such things. But these are usually not high women, and many are only beautiful, unwanted daughters." "You take only the beautiful ones?" "Of course," said the Herul. "For we may have to dispose of them in Venitzia later. We reject the others. But we do not take all the beautiful ones, as we wish to leave them enough beauties to breed, that more beauties may be regularly produced." "You seem interested in me," said the giant.

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"I am curious about you," said the Herul. "Why?" "You remind me of someone," said the Herul, "someone I saw once, long ago, one to whom I once lifted my lance." "An Otung?" "Yes." "Who are you?" "It does not matter," said the Herul. The Herul rose up. He approached the couch. He looked down upon the blond giant. "May I touch you?" asked the Herul. The giant did not move. The right tentacle of the Herul uncoiled itself and its tip rested on the right forearm of the giant. The giant detected a movement within the tentacle. "Ah!" said the Herul.

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The tentacle withdrew. The giant looked up at the Herul. "It is as I thought," said the Herul. "What?" asked the giant. "Nothing," said the Herul. "What?" asked the giant. "We have met before," said the Herul. "No," said the giant. "You are from the festung village of Sim Giadini," said the Herul. "How could you know that?" asked the giant. "That is not important," said the Herul. "We have met?" "Yes." "I was very young?" said the giant. "Yes," said the Herul, "you were very young."

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"I do not think the Heruls keep male prisoners, or slaves," said the giant. "You are right," said the Herul. "What is to be done with me?" "You will see," said the Herul. He then turned away, and went to the door of the broad, roomlike wagon. "I will have broth brought to you," he said. "By Yata?" asked the giant. "Yes," said the Herul. "She is to remove her garments while serving me," said the giant. "Of course," said the Herul.

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CHAPTER 21 The giant plunged through the snow, naked, the baying of the dogs behind him. Five had been set upon him, the size of ponies. He had had the start of a full hour. That hour is best spent not in trying to cover as much distance as possible, for the difference of a few miles is immaterial in such matters, the dogs on the run, tireless, in the pack, but rather looking for a defensible place, an outcropping, a stand of trees, a hillock, such things. But the plain in this place, save for swirled drifts, seemed level and barren. But somewhere, somewhere in this snow, and desolation, concealed by gentle contours, perhaps those of some high drift, there must be stones, or irregularities, or faces of rock, or pools in which water might be trapped. In the summer animals were abundant here. There must be water for them, in pools, or streams now frozen, lost under the snow. But all seemed bleak. It was impossible not to leave tracks, and in the clear, cold, windless air his scent would follow him, almost as though it were a trail of heat, almost as though it were a wash of color, lingering, gentle in the disturbed snow, soft in the still air, marking, as though with paint and

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banners, his passage. He was breathing heavily. His feet were terribly cold. If he should stop moving he did not doubt but what they would be soon useless, and frozen. He could not double back to the wagons. Horsemen had followed him, with knouts, making that impossible. Then they had turned back. Then the dogs would have been released. It would not be dark for five hours, and the dogs were surely only minutes away. He scratched under the snow, searching for a stick, a rock, anything which might be used as a weapon. His fingernails were torn on the frozen soil. Drifts lay about. He moved on. He looked back. He could see five dots on the plain, in the snow, moving, hastening in his direction.

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He had been brave. Mujiin, his captor, had thought so. He had been given thus this chance for life. Too, the dogs needed exercise. Bets were being taken at the wagons, on which animal would first return, which animal then would presumably have been the first to have had its fill, which animal then would, presumably, have been the first to reach the quarry. The sky was a winter sky, dark and overcast. There was not enough sun to melt snow, to make possible the building of a shelter, the building of a wall, of some sort of fortress, through the entrance of which only one animal at a time might enter. The snow was useless, like powder. It came to the thighs of the giant. He had to force his way through it. Such snow, if virginal, particularly where it had drifted, must form an impediment to the movement of the dogs, even as it did to himself, but, as of now, of course, his own body had broken a passage behind him, which facilitated the pursuit of the dogs. He had, in effect, broken the trail to his own body. His feet slipped, climbing a drift. He could not climb it, and then, feet bleeding, he came to the top of it. The dots were closer now, larger, leaping, plunging in his traces. He cried out, in fury, as he stumbled down the other side of the drift, rolling in the snow. There was a depression there. He stood upright in it. Then, angrily, struggling, he

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fought his way back to the top of the drift. It was high, and seemed as good as any other likely place. It was there he would make his stand. Too, the snow was soft behind, almost like a trap, slipping down to the depression. He did not think that dogs would have much better footing in it than he had had. In the summer water might have gathered there. He looked back at the dogs. They were much closer now. He took snow in his mouth, to melt it. As he could, then, with his hands, and the water from his mouth, mixing that water with soft snow, packing it carefully, shaping it, he formed a tubular, tapering, pointed trench, some eighteen inches in length, some four inches in diameter at its thick end, and like a needle at its narrow end. The gentle reader may be advised to skip the following pages, as he may find them offensive. I cannot, in conscience, however, omit the accounts as they have come down to us. That would betray my task, which is not, when all is said and done, to protect the feelings of the delicate, however laudable that aim, but to give an account of the times of troubles. Accordingly, I crave the reader's indulgence, reminding him that we, herein, are dealing with times other than our own, times harsher and more primitive, darker times, ruder times, more savage times, times of transition, of change, the times of troubles. More water from his mouth, spread slick against the sides of that

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trench, froze almost instantly. Ice daggers may be formed variously. They may be formed, for example, from pieces of ice shaped, and sharpened, and edged by abrasion, chipping or warmth. They may also be formed, if there is time, from water, perhaps from snow melted in the mouth, and then poured into a snow mold to freeze. Too, of course, urine may be used. That is common with the Heruls. But much depends on the temperature. The riders with the knouts had followed him, driving him from the wagons, before turning back. Then there had been the search for the place to make a stand, for even a dagger is of little use against five hunters, which may tear at one from all sides. And then it takes time for water to freeze. To be sure, it was bitterly cold. At some temperatures water freezes almost instantaneously, for example, as when, in an arctic area, urine strikes the ground in brittle shafts. But at such temperatures an unprotected, warm-blooded animal would have already been incapacitated or dead. The urine in the trench would remain warm no more than a moment. He, in that moment, mixed in more snow, it melting but, almost instantly, cooling, it having, too, in that instant, further reduced the

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temperature of the bodily fluid, which was already crystallizing. He mixed in more snow, and spit into the trench, and took snow in his mouth, to heat it, and add it to the pale artifact. It did not seem likely that there would be time. He trampled down the snow at the height of the drift to give himself a better footing, certainly better than the dogs would have in their climb. He could now see the brown crests of the dogs clearly. The baying, the cries, of the animals were extremely clear, sharp in the icy air. He sensed their excitement. The dogs were some fifty yards away. He watched them coming, the leader first, the others plunging behind. He shuddered with cold, and crouched down in the snow. He touched the object before him. Two fingers slipped over its surface. He then put his two hands about it, prying up its thick end an inch from the mold, that the ice might melt away a little, from the warmth of his fingers, to leave impressions, to provide a grip. But then he pulled his hands away, and blew on his numbed, stiffened fingers.

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Could he even hold such an object? Could he even manage to retain it in his grasp, without dropping it in pain, without its slipping away from his half-frozen fingers? The dogs did not hesitate. They were ten yards away. If anything, his nearness, and his visible presence, energized them in their pursuit. He went to his knees. This was not in despair. It gave him greater stability in the drift. The leader was at the foot of the drift, rushing upward, furrowing snow, its scrambling hind legs, slipping, spattering it behind him, almost obscuring the second dog, so close behind. The giant reached down and wrenched the heavy weapon from the snow, and tore it upward, holding it over his head, mold and all. He saw the large head of the lead dog, the eyes, the hump, the manelike crest, the long tongue, livid and wet, the fangs, white, the curved, saberlike canines, some seven inches long, a foot away, and the beast slipped back in the loose snow, and pawed for its footing. And it was then that the giant lunged forward, bringing down, pointed, hammerlike, the stakelike, tapering cone of ice on the beast's skull, which, point snapping, it penetrated, and the second animal, impeded by the footing, and the blockage of the lead animal, slipped

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back, but only to be pursued by the giant, half sliding down the hill, who struck it with the blunted, sharpened stake of ice, crashing in its head. With one foot he thrust it down the drift, into the way of the third animal, itself fighting for footing. Then, scratching with the icy stake at the drift, scrambling, the giant regained its summit. The third animal sped its way about the second, slipped sideways on the drift, went to its belly, and then, feet under it, began to inch its way upward, slavering. The fourth and fifth animal stood at the foot of the drift, baying. The first animal had slid down, and lay before them. The giant struck at the third animal but the ice, blunted now, and slick from the heat of his grip, missed the skull and only tore the snout on the right side. The giant tried to strike again but the stake slipped from his hand. It struck into the drift beside the third animal and it snapped at it, angrily, getting its teeth on it, and then, snarling, in pain, drew back, puzzled. The giant reached down and seized the animal by the manelike crest, and drew it, it frenziedly scratching and bending about, to rend him, to him, and then hurled it behind him, down to the soft snow in the depression, behind the drift. It rolled down the slope, caught its footing at the bottom, and stood up, shaking snow from its pelt. The giant then crawled a few feet down and seized the second animal, whose skull had been crashed in by the stake of ice, and pulled it, by its right hind foot to the summit of the drift. The giant, shuddering, clasped the body to him, rejoicing in the heat of the still hot carcass. Then he broke away the right canine tooth, that saberlike canine, some seven inches in length, and ripped open the belly of the beast, drenching the snow with blood. The viscera exposed, the carcass hot with spilled blood, the giant held it over his head and flung it down to the foot of the drift. The fourth and fifth dogs, at that point, hesitated not at all, but began to tear the

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carcass to pieces, feeding. The remains of the first dog, the giant did not doubt, the hunger lust aroused, would soon follow. These animals were not far from wolves, whose packs will turn on a disabled member, even a leader, and utilize it for game. Breathing heavily the giant, picking up the canine tooth, torn from the animal's jaw, turned about, and looked down on the far side of the drift, where the third animal was turning about, putting its paws up, here and there, trying to find footing. It looked up at the giant, and growled. Then the beast turned about, gathered its hind legs under it, leapt up, and, slipping, tried to scratch its way up, out of the depression. It slipped back. In a moment or two, of course, it would find, or would have packed, firmer snow, and might scratch, or even, in effect, have swum its way to freedom. Its frustration, its discomfiture, the giant did not doubt, would be alarmingly temporary. The giant, whose blood was now, despite the bitter cold, racing in his great body, measured the distance from the summit of the drift to the pit below, and to the center of the backbone, fifteen feet below, of the restless, moving animal. He leapt down, legs flexed, he caught by gravity, plummeting,

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hurtling, and struck the animal in the back, which produced a sudden, snapping sound, and a startled squeal of pain. In moments, using the canine tooth as a knife, the giant had opened the belly of the wild-eyed animal, and then, rejoicing, thrust, in turn, his feet and hands into the throbbing, blood-filled, heat-rich cavity. Then he embraced the carcass, pressing himself to it. He bathed in its blood and fluids. Then, crouching beside it in the snow, he drank blood, cupping it in his hands, and fed on the liver and heart. Then he began to cut its skin away. He could hear, on the other side of the drift, the feeding of the fourth and fifth dog.

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CHAPTER 22 It was late at night on the plains. It was extremely dark. Neither the moon nor stars could be seen. The giant, crouching in the snow, clad in the skins of dogs, booted in their fur, cowled, helmeted even, in the head and neck of the leader, peering out through what had been its mouth, watched the tiny light of the lantern in the distance. It was carried by a rider. That could be told from its movement. The giant had known little of the location of the Otungs. He had been moving south in the plains of Barrionuevo when, caught in a new storm, freezing, starving, half-blinded in the snow, lost, he had had to slay the horse. It had been his intention to cross the Lothar, to seek the Basung Vandals, whom he recalled, from his days in the festung village of Sim Giadini, lived in the forests west of the Lothar. From them he had hoped to learn the whereabouts of the Otungs, if any survived. He now knew there were still Otungs, from the information he had obtained from the Herul in the wagon of Mujiin, who had been the leader of the men who had captured him. Indeed, he had even made rich and diverse use, in the same wagon, for several nights, of a lovely slave girl, a former Otung noblewoman, one who had been captured by Heruls only two years ago. At times it had seemed almost as though she had thought herself still free.

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Sometimes the older Herul, who had seemed to be his keeper, or warder, had removed one of his shackles, to put it more loosely, but unslippably, about her own ankle, that she would be chained with him, to the same couch, so that she could not run from him, but might be, when he wished, drawn to him. It seemed she might think of herself as free, but he had had her kick like a slave, the slave she was. "What is your name?" he would ask. "Hortense!" she said. "Do not stop, I beg you!" "What is your name?" he would inquire. "Yata!" she would cry. "Yata, the slave! Please do not stop, Master! Yata, only a slave, begs you not to stop! Please do not stop, Master!" But he did not know where he was, really, where the camp of the Heruls was, its relation to the Otungs, and such. He did not know how long the trip to the camp had taken. He did know he had been unconscious for four days in the camp. He had dim recollections of the trip itself, of being delirious, of being bound, of being in pain, of being forced awake, and fed, some sort of white clods, like watered cheese, and having snow jammed in his mouth for drink, and being beaten, and then again losing consciousness. Too, in the days he had been with the camp, the wagons, which were few in number, as is common with a winter camp of Heruls, had moved, apparently from one cache of fodder to another. When he had been unchained and brought forth

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from the wagon, to be stripped and run for the dogs, he had seen only some twenty wagons, perhaps some fifty or sixty horses, and a similar number of cattle. There had been a low, open-sided, snow-covered shed in the distance. Tracks led to it. He could see hay within it. There was straw about. There was a rich smell of manure. Such sheds are used for the storage of fodder, and the sheltering, at times, of beasts. The camp, this far north for the season, was presumably an outpost camp. Such commonly serve as bases for hunters, for scouts and outriders. In such a way, by such scattered camps, far from the winter pastures, which for the great herds are far to the south, and for many smaller ones nestled in sheltered mountain valleys, the Heruls keep themselves apprised of what occurs on the flats of Tung, on the plains of Barrionuevo. He had been chained. The wagon had been closed. He had been able to conjecture little, save, by the sunlight, bright in cracks about the door, and the single, shuttered window, that they had been moving north, and then northeast. He was probably much closer to Venitzia now than he had been when he had slain the horse. The giant watched the light coming closer. He knew it must be a Herul, for who else might be abroad at this time, in this place. The giant removed the stained canine tooth from its makeshift sheath at his skin belt. His bag of meat, which, in the cold might last for days, was in the snow, beside him.

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He had little doubt but what the rider was looking for him. The lantern cast an unsteady, flickering, moving pool of light, some four or five yards in diameter. The giant watched, patiently. He chewed a little meat from the bag. Something, too, the giant noted, might accompany the rider. It was hard to tell in the light. The giant finished the meat, and tied shut the bag. There seemed to be a small figure, heavily bundled, on the left side of the horse, trudging in the snow. The lantern was quite close now. Surely the rider must see him, as he crouched in the snow. The lantern lifted. The giant did not move. Suddenly there was a woman's scream. He did not move. "It is a dog!" screamed a woman. "It is a dog!" She spun away from

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the stirrup, turning, frightened, to run, but, choking, weeping, in a moment, was held up short, by the tether on her neck. "Greetings," said the rider. "Greetings," said the giant, rising up. He stood then, like some unusual creature, bipedalian, but canine, in the light of the lamp. The rider, with one hand, not taking his eyes from the giant, slowly unlooped the tether, which had been wound some four or five times about the pommel of the saddle. He dropped it into the snow. The woman's hands were not bound. She backed away, into the darkness, the tether on her neck. "Do not attack me," said the rider. It was the older Herul, who had been his keeper, or warden, in the wagon of Mujiin. The giant did not move. "Two of the dogs returned," said the Herul. "In the camp it is thought you are dead."

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"But you did not think so?" "I did not know," said the Herul. "It was clever of you," said the Herul, "to let the dogs return." The giant shrugged. It would have been possible, though dangerous, to kill them in their feeding frenzy. Too, he had been cold, and miserable. "How did you arm yourself?" asked the Herul. "With ice," said the giant, "a weapon formed thereof, frozen, from snow, heated in my mouth, and a fluid of my body." "It is an old Herul trick," said the Herul, approvingly. "It is known in the festung village of Sim Giadini," said the giant. "I had thought it might be," said the Herul. "You have sought me," said the giant. "Yes," said the Herul. "Why?" asked the giant.

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"I mean you no harm," said the Herul. "You have escaped the dogs." "Why have you sought me?" asked the giant. "I have brought you your sword, the great blade, and a Herul knife, some food, and the pelt of the giant white vi-cat, which I have had prepared for you." The Herul loosened from across his back the great blade, now in a fur sheath, and dropped it, with its belt, to the snow, to the right side of the horse. He put with it, one object after the other, a smaller object, doubtless the knife, a dark bag, which might contain food, and then, folded, what must be the pelt of the vi-cat. "Why are you doing this?" asked the giant. "The pelt," said the Herul, "is that of the giant white vi-cat. Among the Vandals it is understood as the robe of a king." "Perhaps that is why," said the giant, "that the two Basungs crossed the Lothar, to obtain such a robe." "Doubtless," said the Herul. The two Basungs, those who had drawn the sledge to the Herul camp, had been killed. "Why do you give it to me?" asked the giant.

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"It was you who killed the beast," said the Herul. "It is thus yours." "Why do you return to me the sword, why give me these things?" "It does not matter," said the Herul. "Why?" asked the giant. "The Heruls grow fat, and slack," said the Herul. "They need splendid enemies." "I do not understand." "It does not matter," said the Herul. "I thank you for these gifts," said the giant. "The woman whom I brought with me," said the Herul, "will have fled by now." "She was a slave?" "Yes." "She may be easily followed in the snow," said the giant, "thence to be recaptured, thence to be beaten, or to have her feet cut off, or be fed to dogs."

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"I shall leave such decisions to you," said the Herul. "I do not understand," said the giant. "She thought herself brought with me, late at night, in the cold, to perform the services of the slave female, to cook, to lie at my feet, to warm them, to give pleasure with her body, her lips and tongue, and such. It is common on journeys to bring slaves, for such things." "But you brought her here, to let her escape?" "Of course," said the Herul. "When you freed her of the pommel, she doubtless thought it merely to free the horse of its impediment, to prepare for combat with me, taken as your quarry." "That was my intention, that she should think so." "But she is now fled." "But should not be difficult to follow, in the snow." "No," said the giant. "Do you know where you are?" asked the Herul. "No," said the giant.

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"You are within two days journey of the forests of the Otungs," said the Herul. "It was at my request that Mujiin brought the wagons here." "Does the slave know where she is?" "Certainly," said the Herul. "I do not know the way to the Otungs," said the giant. "She will know the way," said the Herul. "Then I need only follow her," said the giant. "That was my intention," said the Herul. "Why have you shown me these kindnesses?'' asked the giant. "I am old now," said the Herul. "And I must be killed one day. I think I would like to be killed by you." "I have no quarrel with you," said the giant. "But we are enemies, the Heruls, and the Otungs." "I am a peasant, from the festung village of Sim Giadini," said the giant. "No," said the Herul. "You are an Otung."

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"I do not know that I am an Otung," said the giant. "You are Otung," said the Herul. "I do not know who I am," said the giant. "That is true," said the Herul. "You do not know who you are." "What is the name of the slave?" asked the giant. "It is she whom you know," said the Herul. "Yata?" "Yes." "The night is clear," said the giant. "I will follow her in the morning." "Do not let her know she is being followed." "No," said the giant. "By the way," said the Herul, "she is a camp slave. We thought that might be useful, she once the daughter of an Otung noble, to help her understand, particularly at the beginning, the nature of her new condition, that of slave." "What is the nature of the camp slave?" asked the giant.

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"She is the common property of the camp," said the Herul. "She must beg and give pleasure before she is fed. She may be disposed of, in any fashion, by anyone in the camp, such things.'' "I see," said the giant. "I give her to you," said the Herul. "A runaway slave?" "Yes." "My thanks," said the giant. "It is nothing," said the Herul. "And, in any case," said the giant, "she would be subject to claimancy." "I see that you have thought on the matter," said the Herul. "Yes," said the giant. "When you apprehend her," said the Herul, "do not forget that she is a runaway slave, that she has fled from her former masters." "I will not," said the giant. The Herul regarded him, from the high saddle.

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"It is a dangerous time to go among Otungs," said the Herul, "for it is the Killing Time." "I have heard that," said the giant. "Be careful." "I shall." "Do not think the white pelt will protect you," said the Herul. "There are men who will kill for such a pelt." "It is of great value, and yet you have given it to me." "It is yours," said the Herul. "I do not want to kill you," said the giant. "Do not the sons always kill the fathers?" asked the Herul. "You are not my father," said the giant. "You are the nearest thing I have ever had to a son," said the Herul. He then turned his mount, and began to move away. "Who are you?" called the giant, standing in the snow. "What is your name?"

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"Hunlaki," said the figure, moving away.

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CHAPTER 23 He heard the woman scream. He hastened forward, through the snow. The great blade was already unsheathed. He had unsheathed it several minutes ago, when he had first caught the smell of the animal. He had then followed her recent tracks, rather than paralleling them, from a distance, as was his wont, in case she might look back, or retrace her steps. He had seen, with her tracks, but fresher, those of the beast. Other than the scream and the sound of his hurried movements through the trees the forest was very quiet. The moon was out, and its light, and that of the stars, fell through the bare branches of the scattered trees, and thence, amidst the tracery of shadows, to the snow, brilliantly illuminating it, sparkling on its cold, bleak surface, silvery, and crystalline, like frozen fire, soft, cold fire. He came upon her in a small clearing. She was on her hands and knees in the snow, where she had, he supposed, been scratching for roots, or seeds, under the snow, even under the brittle layers of frozen leaves. The bear had risen up on its hind legs, its forepaws extended. It was

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some seven feet in height. We shall speak of the Tangaran forest wroth as a bear, first, in virtue of our common practice of using familiar expressions for resembling creatures tending to occupy and exploit similar ecological spheres in similar manners, and, second, because of its resemblance to the arn bear, originally indigenous to Kiros, but popular, because of its spirit and aggressiveness, in imperial arenas for generations. ''Ho!" called the giant, rushing forward. He did this not from any misplaced sense of fair play, and a man would unhesitantly have been cut down from the back, but to turn the animal, so that its two hearts, which are paired, and ventrally situated, like those of the arn bear, which he had learned to fight, would be turned toward him. The blade drove between the paws of the angered beast, driving through the right-side heart. The beast struck with its paw, to knock the blade away, and the paw, slashed, streamed blood in the moonlit snow. The woman screamed. She could not see clearly what was occurring, from the turned beast before her. She crawled backward in the snow.

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The giant withdrew the blade, jerking it free. The beast stood on its hind legs, regarding him, balefully, and put its paw in its mouth. The rearing to the hind legs increases the stature of the bear and tends to intimidate in intraspecific combat and to startle, overawe and immobilize many forms of prey in hunting. Too, of course, it considerably increases, as is common with an upright posture, the scanning range of the optical sensors. In the case of the bear there were two optical sensors, as is common in many species, given the advantages of binocular vision and paired organs. Such a posture, however, does expose the torso to hazards unlikely to be encountered in its natural habitat, blades of steel, cord-driven or gas-impelled projectiles, and such. Within its mighty frame valves were closing, and opening, sealing away the ruptured, spilling organ within its breast, rerouting pounding, rushing charges of blood, wreaking changes within its body, like the damming and rechanneling of rivers within some bulky, concealed domain. The bear went to all fours, protecting its other heart. It snarled and charged.

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The man braced himself, on one knee in the snow. The bear drove itself on the blade, six inches or more, and then, growling, backed off, snarling. It approached again but more cautiously. This time it was fended back. It struck at the blade, pushing its point to one side with the bleeding paw. The blade reached out, again, and blood sprang from the snout of the bear. The bear then backed away, a yard or two, in the snow. Then it turned, and began to move away. The arn bear can behave similarly. The woman had disappeared. But the giant was not now concerned for her, nor for her safety. It was not she who was now in danger. The giant, breathing heavily, rose up from one knee, from the snow. He took a step forward, considering that he might pursue the beast, but slipped. He caught his balance, bracing himself with the blade. Then the beast had seemed to slip away, amidst the trunks of the trees, the tracery of the wickedly dark shadows, so black against the cold, moonlit snow. The giant uttered an angry noise. But surely the bear had withdrawn from the fray, having had enough.

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Surely it had abandoned this territory, the infringement on which may have motivated its initial behavior. Surely it, surly, its fur matted, and stinking, perhaps aroused from its den, where it might have slept until late winter or early spring, would simply abandon its country. The giant kicked about in the snow, working his boots down to the frozen leaves, the thick, crackling matting carpeting the forest's icy floor. In this fashion he would have solid footing. But the beast was gone, and the danger past. It is few men who would pursue such a beast at such a time. One tends to be too grateful, simply that one is still alive. Too, it is difficult to administer a blow with lethal effect to a retreating four-legged animal. It is almost necessary to be at least abreast of it, or nearly so. Too, one does not know, really, what it is doing. Indeed even beasts within the same species differ in such matters. The beast was surely gone now. It is hard to know, sometimes, what it is doing. Indeed, perhaps the animal itself, so natural does its retreat seem, does not know what it is doing. Perhaps it only understands when suddenly, irresistibly, in its given time and order, the second mechanism, instantaneously, savagely, engages.

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The forest was extremely quiet. The beast must now, surely, be gone. Perhaps it had not abandoned its territory. After all, the man was not of its species. It was not as though another bear, or wroth, had driven it away. Perhaps the animal had, by now, simply returned to its lair, to nurse its wounds, to sleep. The giant stood for several minutes in the snow. It was hard to hold the great blade at the ready. Then he rested the blade on his shoulder. How much, he wondered, is this thing, the Tangaran forest wroth, like the arn bear. In the arena, of course, the footing is better, and there is good lighting, as there must be, for the spectators. The forest was extremely quiet. It is gone, thought the giant. It is gone. No, thought the giant. Remember the school of Pulendius, remember the arn bear. But this is not an arn bear, he told himself. It is something different.

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It may be like an arn bear, but it is not an arn bear. There must be many differences. Doubtless there must be many differences. That was doubtless correct, but, of course, the question in point had to do with a particular modality of behavior. Was it like, or unlike, the arn bear in that respect? The answer to this question, of course, he did not know. Too, animals, as men, differ among themselves. It is gone, he told himself. It is gone. At that moment there was a savage roar from behind him and a scuffling, rushing sound in the snow. In the school of Pulendius he, and the others, at any sudden, unexpected sound had been trained, even with blows, to react instantly, the same cry which might thus in one person induce startled, momentary immobility becoming the trigger in another, properly conditioned, to movement. But he could scarcely interpose the blade and he was struck from his feet. He scrambled up, throwing himself to the side, as the beast turned like a whip, and he flung the sword up between them The beast struck at it and bit at it. Then its jaws were full of blood. The giant leapt to his feet, and turned, and struck at the forelegs of the animal, it

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growling, air bursting through the bubbles of blood in its mouth, and it went down, legs cut away at the second joint, and the man raised the sword again, and, as the beast turned, head lifted, reaching for him, jaws gaping, he struck it across the skull, over the right eye, cutting away part of the skull, and then, as the beast stopped, as though puzzled, and lowered its head slowly, tissue and brains wet on the side of its face and in the snow, he raised the great blade again, and, slashing down, severed the vertebrae and half the neck. It then lay convulsing in the snow.

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CHAPTER 24 The fire was well blazing. It sizzled, and hissed, as grease, from roasting bear meat, fell into the flames. There was wood aplenty, cold, fallen and dry, from the trees about. It had not been so on the plains. It is not hard to make a firedrill, even without a cord, and tiny shavings, cut by the Herul knife, and crushed, crumbled leaves, the ice broken out of them, dried and heated, warmed, against the skin, had taken the heat of friction, and begun to smolder, with a tiny, curling thread of smoke, and then flicker, and then spring up, in an infancy of encouraged fire, in which, soon, twigs blazed, and then hand-broken kindling. She sat to one side, bound hand and foot. It had not been difficult to follow her in the snow, her prints clear. She had known he was about, of course, from the moment she had had a clear glimpse of him, earlier, he clad in the skins of the dogs, cowled in the head of the dog, in the moonlight, terrible, with the sword, engaged with the bear. She had fled. Surely he would be killed.

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In any event she must flee. But, in a time, knowing herself followed, he making no secret of the matter, she had turned, at bay, armed with a stick. "Does a slave," he had inquired, "raise a weapon against a free man?" Swiftly she had thrown the stick down, into the snow. "Remain standing," he had said, "turn about, place your hands, wrists crossed, behind your back." She faced away from him, trembling, in tears. He lashed her wrists together, behind her back, with a leather cord, part of the drawstring from the bag given him by the Herul, which had contained some food, meal, cheese and strips of meat, cut paper thin in the summer and dried on poles. In this way flies do not lay their eggs in it. He cut the drawstring in such a way that there was enough left over for her ankles. She squirmed a little, inching a bit closer to the fire. "Where did you get the pelt of the white vi-cat?" she asked. "It seems," he said, "that on the prairie I killed the animal, that it died from blows I inflicted. Others skinned it. It was given to me by a Herul, one named Hunlaki. You know Hunlaki."

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"Yes," she said. "I know Hunlaki." She shuddered. She was a human female, and a slave. "I had killed another vi-cat earlier," he said, "a smaller animal, one with a mottled coat. That pelt they kept." "I do not believe that you, alone, could kill the white vi-cat," she said. He shrugged. "I killed the bear," he said. "You were fortunate," she said. "Perhaps," he said. After he had captured her he had returned to the carcass of the bear which he had then, she kneeling nearby, bound, in the snow, had skinned. He also took a quantity of meat from it. He had put the meat in the skin and tied it all, with sinew, into a long roll. This roll he put about her neck, and tied its ends together, before her. He had then gathered up his other things and left the place, she following. An hour later, a good distance from the remains of the bear, which might attract scavengers, or wolves, he had found a place which had seemed suitable for a camp. He had there relieved her of her burden and freed her hands, that

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she might, under his watchful eye, gather wood for the fire. When she had returned several times, with suitable fuel, which she placed to the side, he had rebound her, this time crossing her ankles, and serving her feet as well. He had then set about making the fire. "Thank you for not stripping me in the snow," she said. "You are not going anywhere," he said. She squirmed a little, angrily. "There are few furs for you," he added. This sort of thing has been mentioned, the common practice, in the winter, and in cold areas, of transporting, and housing, slaves naked, in furs, as a way of increasing their vulnerability and rendering escape impractical. It might be mentioned that in areas of blazing heat, and burning soils, as on various worlds, a similar practice obtains, only there the slaves have only a sheet of reflective material to gather about themselves, and are denied insulated boots, and such protective gear. "You did not think," said he, "that I would permit you, a mere slave, to be wrapped in the pelt of the vi-cat, did you, as though you might be a queen, in the arms of a king?" "I am Hortense," she said, "daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs." He did not respond.

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"Build up the fire," she suggested. "This is the forest of the Otungs," he said. "Oh?" she said. "Yes," he said. "They are far away," she said. "There is no danger. Build up the fire." He threw some extra wood on the blaze. "I am hungry," she said. They were some two days into the forest. "There is some meat of dog, raw," he said, "some cheese, some dried meat, some meal." "There is roast bear meat," she said. "True," he said, watching the meat sizzle on the spit, propped over the blaze. He turned it a little, twisting the spit, and more grease dropped, hissing, into the fire. "I have had only some nuts, some roots, some seeds," she said. "It is hard to find anything, under the snow."

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"When did you eat last?" he asked. "Yesterday," she said. "You must be very hungry," he said. "Yes!" she said. "The meat is almost done," he said. "Excellent," she said. "Do you think you will be given any?" he asked. "Beast!" she cried, and struggled to free herself, but could not do so. He observed her, dispassionately. "I am Hortense," she said, "daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!" He did not respond to her. "Why have you followed me?" she asked. "You have a Herul knife. Did you take it from Hunlaki? Did you kill him?" "No," said the giant. "No." "Have you come to spy for Heruls on Otungs, as it is said the Hageen

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did?" "No," said the giant. "Why did you come?" she asked. "Perhaps I found your flanks of interest, as those of slave," he said. She stiffened angrily, but he sensed that something in her was flattered, perhaps the woman, the slave, in her. "Perhaps," he said, "I come on the business of Telnaria." "Telnaria?" she said. "Are you disappointed?" he asked. "No!" she cried. "That is the last thing I would be," she assured him. "Oh," he said. "To spy?" "No," he said. "You are a Telnarian dog?" she said. "I am from the festung village of Sim Giadini," he said, "It is near the heights of Barrionuevo, some miles from the festung of Sim Giadini.

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Some of the Otungs may know it, from the days when they rode free on the plains of Barrionuevo." "On the flats of Tung?" "As you wish," he said. "A peasant?" she asked. "Perhaps," said the giant. "I do not know." "Build up the fire more," she suggested. "You are sure it is safe," he said. "Certainly," she said. He put more wood on the fire. She smiled. "The meat is done," he said. He drew the spit from the forked sticks on which it had been supported. He put the meat down on the bearskin. He drew out his knife. "Feed me!" she said. "On your knees, and crawl to the fire," he said.

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She struggled to her knees, and then, with small movements, inch by inch, made her way to the fire. "Feed me!" she demanded. "Why?" he asked. "I am Hortense," she said, "daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs." "It is late at night," he said, "and one supposes that Otungs would now, in this winter, in this cold, in their halls, and huts, and such, be deep in their furs, would be well abed." "I do not understand," she said. "It is nothing," he said. "I do not understand," she said, uncertainly. "So there would be little point, really, in my building up the fire." "I only wished to be warmer," she said. "It seems unlikely that there would be Otungs about," he said. "Do you not agree?" "Yes," she said, uncertainly. "If they were about, surely," said he, "they would have intruded by

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now." She nodded, weakly. "Thus," said he, "it seems, clearly, that we must be quite alone. Do you not agree?" "Yes!" she said, angrily. "And in the morning," said he, "when discovery might be more likely, though still a remote possibility, in the morning, when Otungs might possibly be about, though the chances of encountering them would be surely extremely slight, we will not be here." She looked at him, fearfully. "Where will you take me?" she asked. "What will you do with me?" "You are a slave," he said. "I will take you where I wish, and do with you what I please." "Free me!" she said. "One does not free slaves," he said, "particularly ones who are well curved." She made an angry noise, and tore at her bonds, futilely, but, too, he could see that something within her was not displeased at all, something perhaps the woman, the slave.

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"Do you wish to be fed?" "Yes," she said. "Were you not a camp slave?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "And you were such for some two years?" "Yes," she said. "You must then," he said, "be in the habit of begging and giving pleasure, before you are fed." "I am a free woman!" she said. "I am Hortense, daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!" "Slaves are given names by their masters," he said. "What is your name?" She looked at him, angrily. He cut a small piece of meat, hot and juicy. She eyed it, covetously. "What name were you given?" he asked. "Yata," she said.

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"What is your name?" he asked. "Yata!" she said. "Yata, what?" he asked. "Yata, Master!" she said. "There is one reason for my following you, which does not seem to have occurred to you," he said. "What is that?" she asked. "You are a runaway slave," he said. "No!" she said. "Surely you are," he said. "And you have now been caught.'' She looked up at him, trembling. "Perhaps," he said, "I have been sent to apprehend you, and return you to the camp, to your masters." "Do not!" she wept. "They would cut off my feet! They would kill me!" "But I have not followed you to return you to your master," he said.

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"Thank you, Master!" she cried. "For you have been given to me," he said, "and it is I who am now your master." "No!" she said. "Yes," he said. "You were given to me. You are my slave." "No!" she wept. "And were it not such," said he, "I would make you mine now, by claimancy." "No, no, no!" she wept. Then she looked up at him. "Does Yata beg?" he asked. "Am I still Yata?" she asked. "That name will do," he said, "unless I see fit to change it." "It is a Herul name!" she wept. "It seems fitting," he said, "for one who was a Herul slave." He rose to his feet.

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He looked down at her. "Does Yata beg?" he asked. He held the piece of meat, lifted, in his right hand. "Yata begs!" she wept. "Now Yata may give pleasure," he said. "Yes, Master," she whispered. A bit later she had fed, still kneeling, her hands tied behind her, her head down, reaching down to the snow, retrieving pieces of meat thrown there, before her. He enjoyed seeing her take meat thusly, before him. "That is enough," he finally said. She looked up at him. "You may come forth," he called out, among the trees. "You have been seen. I know you have been there for some time." She looked about, startled, and struggled to rise to her feet, but, her ankles crossed and bound, she could not do so. Several fur-clad figures emerged from the trees, from all sides.

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"Greetings," said the giant. He motioned that they might join him about the fire, and partake of the meat, but they remained standing. "You are Otungs?" asked the giant. "Yes," said one of the visitors. "Good," said the giant. "Perhaps not," said one of the newcomers. "I am Otung!" cried the girl, from her knees. "She has no tribe," said the giant. "She is a slave girl." "I am Hortense," she said, "daughter of Thuron! Free my ankles of the thong that binds them! Let me stand! Cut the thong that binds my wrists!" He who seemed to be the leader of the fur-clad fellows come from the forest, a large man, bearded, with blond, braided hair falling over his shoulders, looked down upon her. "You looked well, giving pleasure," he said. "Perhaps you can give pleasure to all of us," said another of the fur-

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clad men. "That is what women are good for," said another. "Is she yours?" asked the leader of the fur-clad men of the giant. "Yes," he said. "What is her name?" asked the leader of the fur-clad men. "Yata," said the giant. "A Herul name." "Yes." "I am Hortense!" cried the girl. "I am the daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!" "Thuron is dead," said one of the men. The girl drew back. "She was a Herul slave?" asked the leader of the Otungs. "Yes," said the giant. "No!" suddenly cried the girl.

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"As a Herul slave, you are useless to us," said one of the Otungs to the girl. "You were taken with your maidens, while bathing," said one of the Otungs. "No!" said the girl. "Your garments were found upon the banks, and in the mud, though soon vanished, the marks of transport poles," said one of the Otungs. "No, no!" said the girl. "Where are your maidens?" asked an Otung. "I do not know," she said. "They fell to Heruls, and were made slaves," said an Otung. "I escaped, and fled, and have been hiding, and wandering," said the girl. "I was not made a slave. I can prove that! You see I have no collar, no anklet, no bracelet! Let me be examined by women. You will not find a mark on my body!" "Why were you not with your maidens?" asked an Otung. "I went into the woods, to gather flowers," she said, hastily. "Why did you leave them?" asked an Otung.

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"Why did you not look out for them?" asked another. "Surely you heard the sounds of their capture," said another. "No, no," she said. "Your own garments were found with theirs, on the bank," said another. "But I was not there!" she said. "Why did you not return to the villages, to rouse the men?" asked an Otung. "I was trying to elude capture," she said. "Where did you obtain the garments you are wearing?" asked one of the Otungs. "I stole them, in my wanderings, from Heruls," she said. "You were long in your wanderings," said one of the Otungs. "I should have returned sooner," she said, "but I was captured by this Telnarian dog! I am his prisoner, as you see, but not his slave! I am now rescued!" "The maidens were comely," said an Otung. "We have learned that

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they were sold in Scharnhorst, and thence transported to other worlds, where they were to be vended in slave markets.'' "That proves my story!" she said. "Had I been enslaved, I would have shared their fate!" "Perhaps you were insufficiently comely," said an Otung. She reacted, as if struck. "She is comely enough to be vended in a market," said the giant. "Indeed, I think her beauty was such that it was adjudged worthy of being retained among the wagons. Too, I think it amused the Heruls to keep in their lowest bondage, at least for a time, one who had been the daughter of an Otung noble." "She was a camp slave?" said the Otung leader. "Yes," said the giant. "No!" cried the girl. "You were not a camp slave?" asked the Otung leader. "No!" said the girl. "I-I was not even a slave!" "Cut the thongs on her ankles,'' said the leader of the Otungs. "Thank you, noble lord!" said the girl.

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"Remain on your knees," he cautioned her, as she made as though to rise. "Milord!" she protested. "In the village," he said, "we shall look into the truth of these matters." "We have ways, as you know," said one of the Otungs. "And woe to you," said one of the Otungs, "if you have lied." "Doubtless Citherix will be pleased to see you returned to the village, and as a slave," said one of the Otungs. The girl turned white. "You refused his suits often enough," said one of the Otungs. The girl, her ankles freed, but her hands still bound behind her, on her knees, trembled. To these matters the giant was attentive. "Where did you steal the pelt of a white vi-cat?" asked the leader of the Otungs of the giant. "It is mine. I did not steal it," said the giant.

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"Why are you in the forest?" asked the leader of the Otungs. "I have come to find Otungs," said the giant. "But it seems that it is you who have been found by them," said a man. "It is my way of finding them," said the giant. "Else, why would I build the fire so high?" "You will now come with us," said the leader of the Otungs. "Of course," said the giant. "You know this is the Killing Time?'' asked the leader of the Otungs. "Yes," said the giant. "And yet you came?" "Yes." "He has with him the pelt of the giant white vi-cat,'' said one of the Otungs. "That is the pelt of a king," said another of the Otungs. "I have heard so," said the giant.

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"It is all very strange," said one of the Otungs. "Put out the fire," said the leader of the Otungs. "Destroy all traces of the camp. Gather up the meat. Tie it about the neck of the woman. Gag her. Bring the bearskin, and his goods, and the pelt of the white vi-cat." "Bring, too, the weapon," said the leader of the Otungs. "I will bring that," said the giant. One of the men looked to the leader. "Very well," said the leader of the Otungs. "He has a knife," said one of the men. "A Herul knife," said another. "I keep that, too," said the giant. The leader of the Otungs nodded. The group then left the scene of the small encampment and made its ways through the trees, and the black shadows, trudging through the pale, moonlit snow. The leader of the Otungs went first and, behind him, flanked by two Otungs, came the giant, the great blade upon his shoulder. Then came the rest of the Otungs, some dozen or so. Lastly

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came the woman, her hands tied behind her, the balance of the roast bear meat tied, rolled and thonged, about her neck. She was gagged. The men did not now wish to hear her speak. Accordingly, she was silenced. Her case, such as it might be, would be considered in the village. Too, in the event she should prove to be a slave, the gag, in its bands, which was a heavy and broad one, denied the meat to her, even that she might somehow touch it with her tongue. The feeding of a slave, as is commonly understood, is subject to the supervision of the master, subject, for example, to his generosity, his convenience, and even his discretion.

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CHAPTER 25 "There are the men of Rolof," said one of the Otungs. Other figures, booted, similarly fur-clad, in jackets and cloaks, armed, were seen among the trees. This had been after a trek of some two hours through the forest, from the giant's small encampment, the fire from which had attracted the attention of the men of Ulrich, for that was the name of the leader of the Otungs, those with whom the giant was now in company. Some quarter of an hour later another such group, consisting of some nineteen men, was detected, it, too, moving through the forest. "Those are the men owing faith to the house of Valdemar," said one of the Otungs with the giant. As time passed, more and more of these groups were observed. Interestingly, to the giant, these groups, though apparently all Otungs, neither hailed one another, nor marched together. There were now several such groups, some almost side by side, several within at least yards of one another, who made their way through the snow. Similar groups, though this was at that time not known to the giant, were converging on a given point from other directions.

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At last, through the trees, better than a hundred yards ahead, a long, low feature could be seen. It would have been quite natural, initially, at the distance, and particularly in the light, to have mistaken it for a natural feature, an eccentricity of terrain. It seemed, on the whole, like an extended hillock, or mound. "We will stop here," said Ulrich. "Why?" asked the giant, drawing up to him. "We must wait for admittance," said Ulrich. "Admittance?" "To the hall," said Ulrich. "Ah," said the giant. Such halls, or, perhaps better, lest a misleading conception be conveyed, common shelters, are encountered more frequently farther to the north. About the structure of wood, formed of stout timbers, or of great logs, if they may be found, dirt is heaped, and then packed. The hall, or shelter, is oriented north to south, that neither of its main surfaces will be exposed to the northern winds. The entrance, or back of the hall, in a sense, surely that area away from the high seats, faces north, and the front of the hall, where are found the high seats, backs against the southern wall. This particular hall was a large one, for its type, being some seventy-five yards on its long axis; twenty-

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five yards in width, the roof supported by the walls and two rows of timber columns, in the manner of a three-aisle house; and some four or five yards raised above the surrounding level of the forest. Within the hall itself, of course, whose floor was cut down into the forest floor, it was better than eight or ten yards from the floor, of dirt, to the rafters of the roof. The hall then is half sunken into, or half dug into, the floor of the forest. One descends to the interior floor by means of stone steps. The dirt is heaped some two thirds, or better, of the way up the walls. It does not cover the full height of the exterior walls, or the roof. In the roof, and high on the walls, there are smoke holes. Given the width of the structural timbers it is difficult, unless the holes were to be considerably enlarged, to fire arrows into the hall from the roof, or from ladders, in any martially efficient manner. The dirt packing provides some protection against fire, but, on the whole, given that the gate cannot be forced, the common weapon for reducing such a hall is indeed fire. If one wishes to keep the hall, then one must make do with forcing the gate, or cutting through the walls, at some point or another. Such structures, it might be noted, in passing, are not designed for defense, but for housing and warmth. They do provide some security, in the sense that they are isolated, in remote areas, and that it is dangerous to approach them. Otungs, and many of the forest peoples, withdraw to, and fight from the stealth, the silence and darkness of the forest itself. Indeed, long ago, imperial cohorts perished, pursuing them in such environments. Hill forts, on the other hand, are known west of the Lothar, among the Basungs. Indeed, it was such forts that hugely stopped the advance of the Heruls into the western forests, long ago, in the winter of 1103, in the chronology of the imperial

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claiming stone, from the placing of which time, or, at least, history, from the viewpoint of the imperial records, began on Tangara. The giant could see smoke, in pale wisps, emerging from smoke holes. And through some of these, and chinks in the logs, high in the walls, he could detect some flickering, as of a lighting within. "So you have come to the hall," said the giant, "and there is no rejoicing?" One would suppose, of course, that the coming to the hall, from the outside, at such a time, from the dark night and the winter, when one is hungry and cold, would constitute a joyous occasion, one that would be eagerly looked forward to, and retained long afterward in the warmth of memory. "Among the Otungs, for many years," said Ulrich, "there has been little rejoicing." "I shall change that," said the giant. "Let us kill the stranger," said one of the men, angrily. "Let us clear a space in the snow," said the giant. "We will then consider the matter." The fellow looked at the mighty stature of the giant, and the great blade upon his shoulder, like a flat, sheathed bolt of sleeping lightning, and looked away.

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"These are important times for the Otungs," said the leader of the Otungs. "Strangers are seldom welcome in the forests, but, at this time, in particular, we do not welcome them." "At this time," said another, "it is common to kill them." "Perhaps I am not a stranger," said the giant. "This is the time of the claiming of the hero's portion," said an Otung. "And the naming of the king," said another. "I know," said the giant. "At such a time, you come amongst us?" "Yes," said the giant. "Why?" asked a man. "I would speak with he who is first amongst you," said the giant. "I do not understand what you are doing here," said one of the men. "Perhaps I am coming home," said the giant.

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CHAPTER 26 "Give her," called out Urta, the King Namer, "the drink of truth!" "No, milord!" cried out the girl. "It is as I have said! I swear it!" Two men seized the girl by the arms, holding her before the high seats. In the midst of the high seats on the dais was a throne, highbacked, with huge arms, of heavy, ornately carved wood. This throne was empty. To its right there was a small stool. It was from that stool that Urta, the King Namer, had arisen. "There is the torch," had said Ulrich, waiting outside the hall, several yards away, in the snow. "We may now enter." He, and his party, including the giant, had then approached the portal of the hall. "Who is he?" challenged the gatesman, lifting his torch. "A stranger," had said Ulrich. "Kill him!" said the guard. "Do so yourself," said Ulrich. "You may not enter!" said the gatesman. "I will," said the giant. "I do. I am."

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"Stop him!" cried the gatesman, thrust to the side, staggering against the jamb of the gate. The giant turned. He surveyed, slowly, evenly, those about the portal. "Who will do so?" he asked. Then he had turned about, and descended the stone steps to the interior of the hall. "Who is he, Ulrich?" inquired the gatesman. "I do not know," said Ulrich. "What is that you have with you?" asked the gatesman. "It is the pelt of the white vi-cat," said Ulrich. "You dare bring such a thing to the hall?" inquired the gatesman. "It is not mine," said Ulrich. "It belongs to the stranger." "You do not know him?" "No." "How dare he bring such a thing here?" "I do not know," said Ulrich.

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"Surely he does not understand its meaning," said the gatesman. "I do not know," had said Ulrich. "Enter," had said the gatesman. *** "Administer the drink of truth!" commanded Urta, the King Namer. The girl was dressed now in the beads and robes, and sleeves, of the daughter of an Otung noble. Her hair had been brushed, and braided, and was inwrought with strings of pearls, brought in trade, via Heruls, from Venitzia, or Scharnhorst, as the Otungs have it. Her vesture had been provided by free women in the hall, and she had been so arrayed in a pantry, a storage room. There had been gasps of admiration as she had been brought forth, and conducted to the front of the hall. One of the men had come forth, from the side, and looked upon her closely, as she had awaited the recognition of Urta, the King Namer. The giant had stood toward the rear of the hall, the blade now sheathed, his arms folded on his broad chest, with Ulrich, and his men. The two men who held the girl's arms tightened their grip. Another man pulled her head back, by the hair, and, as she was held, her body was drawn back, as well, this bending her backward, hair held. Her mouth was then held upward, facing the rafters. A soft, thrilled gasp of pleasure coursed through the free women present. The men were

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intent. Another man then forced a block of wood, in which a funnel had been inserted, between her teeth. A fourth man then poured liquid into the funnel, while pinching shut her nostrils. Her eyes were wild. Some liquid spilled at the sides of her mouth. The man then desisted for a moment. In a few moments, in misery, she gasped for breath, and drank. This was repeated, again, and then again, in greater pain and misery, and then, after that, realizing resistance was useless, she, tears in her eyes, swallowed the fluid. "It is more than enough," said Urta, waving away the fellow with the bottle. The man holding her bent backward released her. She stood, unsteadily. The two men holding her arms now supported her, rather than restrained her. "Bring a chair for her," said Urta. The girl sat in the chair, but, soon, began to move her head back and forth, in misery, as though fighting sleep, as though struggling to retain consciousness, and then she slumped in the chair, and half turned in it, grasping one arm. "No, no," she wept. She tried, suddenly, to thrust a finger in her mouth, to free herself of

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the liquid, but, instantly, a man pulled her hand away, and then her arms were held, each wrist by a man, but it was not necessary to hold her thusly for more than a few moments as she half sank down in the chair, and her head went back, over the back of the chair. "What is that?" asked the giant of Ulrich, at the back of the hall. "It is the drink of truth," said Ulrich, simply. "What does it do?" asked the giant. "You will see," said Ulrich. *** "Who is that?" had cried Urta, startled, at the appearance of the giant in the hall. His presence was not easy to conceal, as he had the breadth of a man and a half, and stood easily better than a head above the others in the hall, many of whom were large men, tall men, men of unusual stature. This was not unusual among the barbarian peoples, the Alemanni, the Vandals, and many others. It was one reason they tended to inspire fear in the men of the empire. Another reason was because they, the barbarians, were the sort of men they were.

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The giant stood in a space which had seemed mysteriously to clear away about him, in the back of the hall, away from high seats, at the foot of the stone stairs which led down into hall. "It is a stranger," said Ulrich. "How have you dared to bring him here?" asked Urta. "It was, I think, his wish," said Ulrich. "You are a fool!" cried Urta. "He has with him the pelt of the white vi-cat," said Ulrich. "Ai!" cried men in the hall. Women, too, cried out. Exchanged were glances of startled surmise. "Then he is a fool!" cried Urta. "Or a king," said a man. "Who are you?" asked Urta of the giant. "I am Otto," said the giant, "chieftain of the Wolfungs." There was a cry of amazement, of skepticism, in the hall. "The Wolfungs no longer exist," said Urta.

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"Some survive, some hundreds," said the giant, "in the forests of Varna, to which they were banished, generations ago." The relationship between the Wolfungs, the smallest of the Vandal tribes, and the Otungs, the largest of the Vandal tribes, and, indeed, the other three tribes of the Vandal nation, the Basungs, Darisi and Haakons, had tended to be lost. "You are Wolfung?" asked Urta. "I do not think so," said the giant. "How is it then that you are chieftain?" "I was lifted upon the shields," said the giant. "Are you Otung?" asked Urta, the King Namer. "I do not know," said the giant. "He has a Herul knife!" said a man. "He is a Herul spy!" said another. "No," said the giant. "How is it that you have a Herul knife?" asked a man.

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"It was given to me." "By a Herul?" "Yes." "He is a Herul spy!" "No," said the giant. "He brings with him one who was once Hortense, daughter of Thuron," said Ulrich. This announcement was greeted with interest. "Bring her forward," said Urta. The girl, in her furs, gagged, bound, the meat about her neck, shook away the men near her and pressed herself forward, until she stood boldly before the dais, before the high seats, before Urta. "It is long since we have looked upon you," said Urta. She uttered muffled sounds, through the gag. "Are you Hortense, daughter of Thuron?" asked Urta, his question not suggesting that he failed to recognize the girl, but rather that he was inquiring into her condition.

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She nodded, vigorously, affirmatively. "She was a Herul slave," said the giant, "who was given to me. Her name is Yata." The girl shook her head, desperately, negatively. "If you are a slave," said Urta, "you should not be standing before a free man. You should be kneeling, your head down, even to the dirt." The girl straightened her body, boldly. "Free her," said Urta. "Take her aside. Garb her as a noble's daughter. Then return her before us, that we may inquire into these matters." Free women rushed to the girl, and one, with the scissors attached to her belt, together with various keys, accessing chests, and such, common signs of the mistress of a great house, cut the bonds on her wrists. Another, carefully, with her hands, undid the gag. Another removed the meat from about her neck, where she had carried it, collarlike, as might have a slave. They then, gathering about her, as though sheltering her, hurried her from the main room of the hall, to an auxiliary chamber, one of several, this one serving as a storage chamber. In their midst she cast a look of triumph and scorn upon the giant. "Telnarian dog!" she sneered.

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"Are you Telnarian?" asked Urta. "No," said the giant. "You bring the pelt of the white vi-cat," said Urta. "I have it with me," acknowledged the giant. "Do you bring it as a gift for he who will be chosen this year's king?" "No, it is mine," said the giant. "Do you think that you are king, that you have such a pelt?" asked Urta. "No," said the giant. "The pelt of an animal does not make a king." "What makes a king?" asked Urta. The giant removed the sling and sheath from his shoulder, and drew from the fur sheath the great blade. This caught the reddish light in the half-darkened hall, from the coals in the fire pit, from the torches, thick with pitch and resin, in their racks, jutting out from the columns and walls. "This," said the giant, "is what makes a king." "The sword makes the king," agreed a man.

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"That was the view of Genserix," said a man. Many then looked to the empty throne. "Who will kill this stranger?" inquired Urta, angrily. "I have seen him before," said a man. "Or someone much like him." "But it was long ago," said a man. "Yes," said another. "Call Fuldan, the Old," said a man. "I will fetch him," said a man, turning about, drawing his cloak about him, hurrying from the hall. "No!" cried Urta. "Who will kill this stranger?" The giant moved the great blade about. With his strength he handled it easily. He took a stroke with it, about himself, to loosen his muscles. He set his feet apart. Then, both hands on the long hilt, at the ready, he looked about himself. "What if he is the king?" asked a man. "I would not lift a blade against the king," said another. "There are only year kings," said Urta. "That is the wish of the Heruls!

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There is no king as before." Men looked to the empty throne. "I have not come amongst you to be king," said Otto. "I come amongst you to recruit a company." Men regarded one another. "I do not come for your high men," said Otto. "I come for your younger sons, for landless men, for heroes, for those to whom adventure and battle are a lure and a life, I come for the Otungs of old, for Otungs as men." "Kill him!" cried Urta. Two or three men edged forward, but stayed well beyond the compass of the great blade. "I am a trained killer," said Otto. "I have been trained in the school of Pulendius, though you know not that place nor what is done there. I have fought in arenas, for the amusement of populaces. I know things about blades, and war, of which you are ignorant. I tell you these things not to boast nor to cause you apprehension, but only that you may understand what it is against which you would stand." "I fear you not!" cried a young man. "Nor is it my wish that you should," said Otto.

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Otto looked about himself. "I have no wish to kill Otungs," he said. "Accordingly I shall, of any who now challenge me, cut from them one arm only, and they may choose the arm. If they are right-handed, doubtless they would prefer that it be the left arm which is lost. If they are left-handed, doubtless they would prefer that it be the right arm which is lost." "Who will challenge him?" called Urta. None stepped forward, though many looked about, from one to the other. "We welcome Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, to our hall," said Urta. *** Half sitting, half lying in the chair, seemingly asleep, or half asleep, her head back, her eyes closed, the girl, restless, disturbed, twisted and turned. "Were you Hortense, daughter of Thuron, of the Otungs?" asked Urta. "Yes," said the girl. "Were you, some two years ago, surprised with your maidens, while bathing naked in the pool of White Stones, west of the holdings of Partinax?"

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"Yes," she said. "Did you take them there?" "Yes." "Surely you were aware of the danger." "I dismissed such danger," she said. "Surely your maidens were reluctant to follow you." "Yes," she said. "Why did they follow you?" asked Urta. "Because I teased them and shamed them, if they would not, because I called them cowards, if they would not, because I was a noble, because I was the daughter of Thuron." "Go on," said Urta. "In the end," she said, "we were all merry, and eager to go, indeed, it seemed that each of us was vying to outdo the other." "It was all very naughty, and amusing?" "Yes," she said.

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"It was pleasant in the water, bathing, playing, splashing about?" "Yes," she said. "Then you and your maidens were surprised by Heruls." "Yes." "You were captured by them?" "Yes." "And carried away, to be made slaves?" "Yes." "Every one of you?" "Yes." "With no exceptions?" "No." "You were not then alone in the forest, away from the scene, gathering flowers or such?" "No."

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"You were captured with your maidens?" "Yes." "And were you all, without exceptions, including yourself, made slaves?" "Yes." There was much response to this in the hall. "The slave!" cried a woman, angrily. The girl in the chair squirmed. "But there was no sign of bondage on you when you were found by Ulrich and his men in the forest, no collar, or anklet, or such." "No." "And the women tell us that you do not bear a slave brand." "No," she said, "I am not marked." "Why are these things as they are?" asked Urta. "Among Heruls," she said, "what could a woman of our species be but a slave?"

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"What was the fate of your maidens?" asked Urta. "They were sold in Scharnhorst, to Telnarian agents," she said. "Thence they were sold later to wholesalers, of diverse species, and thence sent to various far worlds, there to be sold a third time, there to learn their fate in slave markets." "How did you learn these things?" "It pleased the Heruls to inform me, while I knelt abjectly, head to the dirt, before them," she said. "But you were kept among the wagons?" "Yes," she said. "Why?" he asked. "I was perhaps found desirable," she said. "As a slave is desirable?" "Yes." "In that way?" "Yes." One of the women in the hall gasped.

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"Be silent!'' said another woman to the one who had permitted the small sound to escape from her lips. "Too," said the girl, "I was the daughter of a noble. Thus I think they enjoyed keeping me with the wagons, being pleased to be served by one who had once been a noblewoman. Too, in the beginning they found me arrogant, and it pleased them that I should be well taught my slavery." "And did you learn it well?" "Yes." There was a soft, half-suppressed, thrilled cry from several of the free women in the hall. "No! No!" cried one woman, angrily. "Slave! Slave!" she cried. "I do not understand," said Urta, "why you, and your maidens, surely aware of the risks run, went to such an isolated, lonely place." "We were courting the collar," said the girl. "I think it was only later that I fully realized that, and the others, too, when we were bound together, later, helpless in our cords. We had wanted to become slaves. That is why we did what we did. We wanted to have no choice but to love and serve, to be owned by masters.'' "No, no!" cried an angry free woman in the hall.

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"What are you?" inquired Urta. "I am a female slave," she said. "I have always known it, but I have not dared to speak it." "How is it that you dare to speak it now?" asked Urta. "I am now wholly, and secretly, within myself," she said. "I can now speak as I wish, and no one can possibly hear." "You were a slave of Heruls?" "Yes." "But you were found in the forest." "I fled the Heruls," she said. "Then you are a runaway slave." "Yes." "Perhaps you should be returned to Heruls," said Urta. She squirmed in the chair, miserably. "No, please, no, Master!" she said. "She calls him 'Master'!" said a free woman, angrily.

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"He is a free man. That is how a slave girl must address him," said a woman. "Yes," averred another. "How terrible to be a slave girl!" said a woman. "Yes," said another, thrilled. "Why did you run away?" asked Urta. "I feared the Heruls," she said. "They held me in contempt not only as a slave, which was suitable, but as a human. My beauty, if beauty it is, gave me little protection from them. They did not even give me to a single master, to whom I might then be devoted, whom I might then have endeavored with my whole helplessness and being to please, but to the camp, as a whole. Anyone there might have injured, or killed, me, even a woman or child, on a caprice, or in a fit of impatience. They are not human. They are a different species. Too, everything that I had been taught had told me to be not like a woman, but like a man, that I should be like a man! I thought, thusly, that it was expected of me to run away, and seek freedom. And, too, I need a human master, not a Herul master. I am a human female, and need a human master, someone who can understand me, and will master me as I require. Somewhere I know masters have been prepared for me by nature, just as I, in my heart, know that I have been prepared for them." "Do you like being a slave?" asked Urta.

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"Yes." "Do you love being a slave?" "Yes." "Do you want to be a slave?" "Yes, yes, yes!" she said. "I want to be a slave! I want to be a slave, totally, helplessly, to be overwhelmed, to be choice-less, to love and serve, to be at the will of my master, to kneel before him, to strive to do his bidding, to attempt to please him in all ways, to the best of my ability, to lie soft in his arms, grateful and timid, obedient and fearful, to be mastered, ruthlessly, uncompromisingly, to be owned!" "Heat an iron," said Urta to a man at the side. The fellow then turned away, and went back to the fire pit, and stirred the coals. "You do not mind if your slave is marked?" asked Urta of the giant. "Not if it is well, and cleanly, done," said the giant. "It will be so," said Urta. "Take the slave from the chair," said Urta. "Put her in the dirt. Remove the chair. Strip her. Bind her hands before her body, with a strand free. When she awakens, let her find herself naked and bound, as the slave she is."

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"I will give you five sheep for her," said a man. "Who are you?" asked the giant. "Citherix," said the man. "It seems he will have her after all," said a man. "But in the best possible way, as a slave," said another. There was general laughter. "But she is mine," said the giant. "I will make it seven sheep," said Citherix. "I will consider the offer," said the giant. "Let the fire be built up," said Urta. "Let the gutted boar be brought in, that it may be cooked, and the hero's portion decided." There was assent to this in the hall. Two large, four-legged iron supports were put in place, two legs of each on opposite sides of the fire pit, on which an iron spit could be laid, lengthwise, over the fire. Tables were set up, about the edges of the hall, and, to each side of

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the throne, upon the dais. These were planked tables, set on trestles. Such arrangements, or settings up, of eating boards is common in many

halls,

the

trestles,

and

planked

surfaces,

being

stored,

sometimes the trestles folded, between meals. These materials are sometimes kept in ancillary chambers, but, quite commonly, are simply placed, or leaned, lengthwise against the walls. In this fashion space within a hall, or great room, may be adjusted, conveniently, to meet the requirements of diverse occasions. Benches are usually kept, too, to the side. Four men brought in, on its spit, the carcass of a giant, gutted boar. In a few moments, the carcass turning, the smell of roast boar began to permeate the hall. The giant had resheathed the sword. He sat at one of the tables, with Ulrich, whom he had met in the forest, earlier, at his own encampment. One table, one of heavy planks, and resting on stout trestles, four of them, with no benches about it, was set up before the dais, lengthwise, one end facing the dais, the other pointing to the fire pit. "What table is that?" asked the giant. "The table upon which will be placed the roast boar," said Ulrich. "From which the hero's portion is to be cut?"

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"Yes." "Whose throne is that on the dais, on which no king sits?" asked the giant. "That is the throne of the Otungs," said Ulrich. "The last king to sit upon it was Genserix." "Who was he?" "He was the last true king of the Otungs," said Ulrich. "He died in battle. It was long ago. The Heruls respected him, though he was human. They built a pyre and burned his body upon it. To Genserix even the Heruls lifted their lances." "No one sits now upon the throne?" "No," said Ulrich. "And the medallion and chain of the king, the medallion and chain of the lordship of the Otungs, was lost, long ago," said a man. "I do not understand," said the giant. "It does not matter, not now," said Ulrich. "There are no longer true kings among the Otungs?"

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"They have been forbidden to us by the Heruls," said Ulrich. "We may have only year kings, kings who rule for a single year.'' "That seems unwise," said the giant. "It is wise from the point of view of the Heruls," said Ulrich, "for the absence of a true king divides us, and spreads dissension among the lineages." "Who is the leader, he of the dais?" "That is Urta, the King Namer," said Ulrich. "He then is king, or the year king?" "No, he is the King Namer." "I do not understand." "This is not called the Killing Time because we would have the forests closed to strangers during this, our time of shame," said Ulrich, "but it is called the Killing Time because in this time it is common for the families, the lineages, sometimes the clans, to fight one another, to kill, for the possession of, for the prestige of, the kingship." "It is foolish to fight for an empty throne," said the giant. "One supposes so," he said.

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"What has the hero's portion to do with this?" "It is divisive," said Ulrich. "There is no king to bestow it, either to the satisfaction or dissatisfaction of the nobles, the lords. It is, in effect, thrown amongst us, that the strongest, the fiercest, may claim it for himself." "The strongest, the fiercest, of the lineages, of the clans?" said the giant. "That is much the way it is," said Ulrich. "What Otung lineage would grant itself less than any other?" "You are denied then not only a king, not only continuity of leadership, of policy and action," said the giant, "but must war with one another." "There has always been conflict among the Otungs, among the families," said Ulrich. "You need a king," said the giant. "Yes," said Ulrich. "That is true." "Where will you find one?" "Perhaps one day," said Ulrich, "someone will bring into the forest the pelt of the giant white vi-cat."

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The giant looked at him. "Why else do you think I brought you to the hall?" asked Ulrich.

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CHAPTER 27 "Your slave is awakening," called Urta, from the dais. Otto rose from the bench where he had been sitting with Ulrich, and walked behind the tables, toward the front of the hall. It was his habit to sit with his back to the wall. The high seats on the dais are similarly arranged. Some other men, and some women, too, hearing Urta's words, went to gather about the uneasily stirring slave. Among the men was Citherix. Ulrich accompanied Otto. "She is well curved, indeed," said a man to Citherix. "She is a beauty," said a man. "I had not expected so much," said Citherix. The girl lay in the dirt before the dais, between the long table on which the hero's portion was to be cut and the dais. She rolled about, a little. She was as naked as any item of livestock. She seemed puzzled, a little, that she could not separate her wrists. They were bound before her body, tightly, with leather thongs, with a strand, a yard or so in length, free. She made a tiny puzzled,

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protestive noise. At the fire pit, behind one of the iron supports, more toward the stairs leading down into the hall, a man, with heavy gloves, lifted an iron from the coals. It was a slaving iron, and its termination, with its small, delicate design, perpendicular to the shaft, and the shaft itself, for some six inches upward from the design, glowed fiercely, whitely. He thrust it back into the coals. "She will awaken momentarily," said a man. "Bring a whip," said Urta. A man brought the implement, and he stood near the girl. "Oh, oh," moaned the slave, twisting in the dirt. She was then on her right side, her head rather toward the dais. She opened her eyes. "Where am I?" she said. "In the hall of the Otungs," said a man. "They tend to be disoriented, at first," said a man. "It is the lingering effects of the drink." "It passes almost immediately," said another.

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The girl, from her side, looked about, as she could, but could see little but the floor, the boots of men, the shoes, the hems of some of the skirts, of free women. It seemed she was trying to interpret what she saw, to make sense of what was about her. She then gently touched her thigh, and her left breast, with her bound hands. She tried, a little, to separate her hands. She then went to her stomach, and extended her arms, her head between them, her eyes again closed, and put the right side of her head, turned, on her upper right arm. The man with the whip lifted it, but, at a small gesture from Otto, he lowered it. "What has happened?" she said. "What has come about? It is all so strange. I do not understand. I do not understand." A man laughed. "I am dreaming," she said. "That is it," she said. "I am dreaming. I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound." Several of the men laughed.

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She rolled to her right side, again, her hands lowered. She seemed unwilling to awaken. "That is it," she said. "I am dreaming that I am a slave girl, and am naked and bound." There was more laughter, from several of the men about. She opened her eyes, suddenly, startled. "Where am I?" she asked, again. "You are in the hall of the Otungs," said the man, again. Her eyes were now opened widely, disbelievingly. She squirmed, suddenly, wildly, in the dirt. "Why am I naked and bound!" she cried. She tried to scramble to her feet but a man's hand would permit her to rise no farther than to her knees. She lifted her bound wrists to Urta. "Why am I naked and bound!" she demanded. Urta regarded her, but did not reply, his face revealing no emotion.

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"I am Hortense, daughter of Thuron, noble of the Otungs!" she cried. "I am of noble birth. Release me, instantly! I am a noblewoman, a noblewoman!" "Did you not dream you were a slave girl, naked and bound?" asked a man. "Perhaps," she said, frightened. "Perhaps the dream has come true," said the man. "No!" she cried. "Surely you have had such dreams before," said another man. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps, now," said a man, "they have all come true." "No," she cried. "No! No!" She looked about, wildly. "Surely it is now that I am dreaming!" "No," said a man. "It is now that you are fully awake. It is now that you find yourself to be precisely what you are, and all you are, a slave." "I do not understand," she said. "How can it be?" "In any event it is your reality," said a man.

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"And its appropriateness has been revealed by the drink of truth," said another. She looked about, wildly, and then, unable to control herself, sank down, to the floor of the hall. The giant softly kicked her, with the side of his boot. "Kneel," said he gently, "Yata, slave girl." She struggled to her knees and knelt, trembling, amongst the men and women. "Put your head down," said the giant. The slave lowered her head. "She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave," said Urta. "True," said the giant. Urta took the whip from the fellow with the whip, and handed it to the giant. "She is to be lashed well," said Citherix. "Look up," said the giant. The slave looked up, quickly.

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The giant held the whip, coiled, before the slave, and she hastily pressed her lips to it, kissing it. "Slave!" snarled one woman. Soft cries of pleasure escaped several of the others. "I will give you ten sheep for her," said Citherix. "Do not sell me to him, Master!" cried the slave. "His birth is below mine!" There was laughter amongst the free persons. "Or was once below mine!" she said. "That is better," said the giant. "He has wanted me for years!" she said. "But I am, or was, Master, too good for him. I stood off his suits for years. I treated him with much condescension. I treated him with haughtiness. I demeaned him. I ridiculed him publicly. I loathe him! I cannot stand him! He makes my flesh crawl! I beg you, Master, do not let him aspire to me!" "Aspire, to a slave girl?" said the giant. "Forgive me, Master!" she said. "But do not sell me to him, beg you!" "I will give you eleven sheep for her," said Citherix.

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"Surely you would not want a lying, runaway slave," said the giant. "Lash her well," said Citherix, "and she will soon be brought into line." "Do not sell me to him, Master!" wept the girl. "Twelve sheep," said Citherix. "You must admit," said the giant to the slave, "that that is a fine price for a slave girl." "But she is well curved," said a man. "Please do not sell me to him, Master!" begged the girl. "Fifteen sheep," said Citherix. "I think she is not now for sale," said the giant. The girl gasped with relief. "You hold the whip," said Citherix to the giant, angrily. "She is at your feet. She is your slave. She is a lying slave, and a runaway slave. Punish her!" The giant looked at Citherix.

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"Or are you weak?" asked Citherix. Men drew back a little, from about them. The giant then held out the whip to Citherix. "Perhaps," he said, "you would care to whip her yourself?" Citherix drew back, angrily. "I am not a whip thrall," he said. "Bend down, Yata," said the giant. Trembling, she bent forward, putting her head to the dirt. "Do not think, in virtue of what I now do," said the giant to the slave, "that I am either a gentle or an indulgent master. You will find, if I keep you, that my standards are high and that I am not a patient man." "Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened. "Behold," said the giant to Citherix, "one blow is for her thousand lies, and her thousand faults, as yet uncorrected, and the second is for having run away." Men gasped. For he had barely touched, twice, not even tapping it, the back of the frightened, kneeling, bent slave, having merely, in effect, rested the whip, gently, twice, upon her back.

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Citherix seemed too puzzled to comment, too puzzled to express even contempt, or derision. In such a way did the giant prove to the hall that the slave was his, his to do with as he might wish, according to his own will, as his own will would have it, not as others might wish, or will, the matter. Also the

slave

understood, and at

the

moment

to her relief

and

gratification, and only later to her chagrin and terror, that her master was not subject to the pressures of society or convention with respect to her treatment, but would decide such matters in his own way and according to his own views, and inclinations. In this sense she would soon come to understand that her fate was fully in his hands, and that she belonged to him completely, and in every way. This was a lesson, of course, which each of his slaves, each in her own time, and in her own way, learned. From her knees the girl lifted her head, and looked up, slyly, at Citherix, her lovely face suffused with triumph, and smiled. She had little to fear. And well, thought she, her beauty had conquered her master. "Leave, Citherix," she said. With a cry of rage the giant seized her hair in his left hand and pulled her upright, straightened on her knees, and then bent her head back, that she must look up at him, and she did, her eyes wide, in pain and

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terror. "Contemptible, displeasing slave!" he cried. "No, Master!" she begged. He then hurled her on her belly before him, her bound hands stretched outright, the stand of free leather flung before them, and lashed her, twice, with the whip, and then, angrily, he put the whip in his teeth and dragged her to one of the wooden columns, to the base of which he fastened her, head down, on her knees, by her long blond tresses, they encircling the column, and knotted behind it. He then lashed her, as befitted her crime, her impudence and foolishness. "Strike well," said a man. "Let her learn what she is," said another. The slave cried out in misery, her tears dampening the dirt and rushes at the base of the post. "She is a sexual creature, a slave!" said a woman, angrily. "Let her be punished!" "Punish the slave, the shameless hussy!" cried a woman. "Hit her harder!" cried a woman. "Yes!" cried a young woman, her voice trembling with excitement. "Yes!" cried another, thrilled.

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"The boldness of the liar, pretending to be a free woman!" said another woman. "She is an insult to all free women!" said another. "Punish her!" cried a free woman. "Yes!" cried another. "She is sexual," cried another. "Let her be a slave!" "She is a slave! Treat her as a slave!" said another. "You will learn your place, slut!" cried another woman. "Oh!" cried the slave. "You are a slave, being whipped by your master!" hissed a free woman. "Yes, Mistress!" sobbed the slave. "Oh!" "Say it!" demanded the free woman. "Oh!" "Say it!" demanded the free woman.

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"I am a slave being whipped by my master!" cried the slave. "You are hopelessly sexual," said a free woman. "That was seen under the drink of truth." "Yes, Mistress!" cried the slave. "Thus you should be a slave!" "Yes, Mistress!" said the slave. "Thus you belong to men!" said a free woman, angrily. "Yes, Mistress!" cried the slave. "Say it!" cried the free woman. "It is true!" wept the slave. "I am a slave. I belong to men!" "She belongs to men!" cried a young woman, in awe. "Yes!" said another, thrilled. "And see!" said a young woman, turning to another. "She is being whipped by her master!" "And so, too, might you be, were you a slave," said the woman addressed.

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"And you, too!" responded the first. "Yes, yes!" agreed the second. "What are you?" inquired a free woman, bending down to the slave. "A slave!" gasped Yata. "Oh! A slave, a slave!" "What else?" demanded the woman. "Oh!" cried Yata. "A slave! Only that! Oh! Nothing more, only a slave, only that!" The barbarian lowered the whip. "Have you learned your lesson?" inquired a free woman of the slave. "Yes, yes, Mistress!" sobbed the slave. The barbarian threw aside the whip, and, with the Herul knife, cut the tresses of the slave, freeing her from the column. "To him!" ordered the barbarian, indicating Citherix. The slave, sobbing, and beaten, her face stained with tears, her blond hair jagged about her head and face, where it had been cut, releasing her from the column, on her knees, crawled quickly, clumsily, unsteadily, lurching, supporting herself partly on her left palm, her right wrist bound to, and over, her left wrist, to the feet of Citherix,

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where she bellied before him, and pressed her lips fervently to his boots, kissing them, again and again. "Forgive me, Master!" she begged. "A contrite, errant slave, one now well apprised of her faults, begs forgiveness of a master!" "See how she is before him!" whispered a young woman. "She is so sexual!" said another. "She is a slave," said another. Citherix looked up from the abject, penitent slave at his feet. "A thousand sheep," said he to the barbarian giant. "Shall I sell you?" the giant inquired of the beaten, prostrate slave. "It will be done with me as my master wishes," she whispered. "The answer is fitting," said Otto. He then lifted her with great gentleness in his arms and carried her to the side of the fire pit, where he placed her on her right side, her legs drawn up, near the waiting iron, it plunged a foot into the fire. The smith, or worker with iron, at a sign from Otto, relinquished the heavy gloves. Otto then himself removed the iron from the fire. Yata looked up at him, he who owned her, who was her master. "Hold her," said the giant.

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The slave was seized by three strong men. She could not move. The iron was white-hot. It met with the barbarian's approval. Its mark would be that of the tiny, tasteful, stylized slave rose, a mark which would be recognized throughout galaxies. Yata was then branded.

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CHAPTER 28 "On your back, on the table, Filene," said Ronisius, the severe officer. Corelius, the young, blond officer, stood to one side. The blonde rose quickly to her feet, from where she had been kneeling in her place in line, with the other girls, and took her place on the table, as ordered. She glanced once at Corelius. She wondered if he would be jealous at how swiftly she obeyed Ronisius. It pleased her, of late, she had discovered, to obey, and promptly, at least men such as Ronisius. Too, stricter masters tend to be better obeyed. Too, she did not wish to feel his quirt. Her form of livestock, after all, assuming that he might regard her in that fashion, was not that of the horse, but of the woman. To be sure, in her case, as in that of others, assuming he viewed her as a domestic animal, as the others, he would permit no doubt, nor had she any, in his case, as to who was master. It pleased her to sense that Corelius envied Ronisius her obedience. She knew vaguely, deeply within her, despite what she would have preferred to tell herself, that she despised Corelius for his weakness. "Put your head back," said Ronisius, "over the back of the table."

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She obeyed. Corelius, standing to one side, seemed angry. Perhaps, she thought to herself, he is polite, he is gentle, he is kindly, he is tender, he is understanding, he is sensitive, because he knows that I am free, and he is my contact, the agent who must supply me with the dagger? Else, if he thinks me a slave, why does he not treat me as a slave? Is he so weak, she wondered. She felt a light chain, in a leather sleeve, jerked about her neck, rudely, closely, and then snapped shut, locked. She shuddered. It was the first time she had worn a collar, one not a portion of a chain, serving to fix her in place. To the collar a metal disk was attached, which, in three languages, including a Herul pictograph, identified her as the property of the Telnarian empire, to be returned, if found, to the office of the provincial governor in Venitzia. "You look pretty in a collar, Filene," said Lysis, the supply officer. "Thank you, Master," she said. How easily, how naturally, it now seemed to her that she used the

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word "Master" to men, and how appropriate, this frightening her, it had now begun to seem to her! She could see, as her head was back, the ceiling of the preparation room, a vestibule of the slave shed. She sensed that she could not slip the collar. It was on her well. She was naked. She felt two of the governor's men pulling the fur sack up, beginning at the feet, about her body. It had a hood, and would be tied shut, about her neck. She knew that she, and the other girls, were to be taken from Venitzia, out, somewhere, on sleds, into the winter, into the wilderness, and thus that the collars were a judicious mercantile precaution, not that one could count on their import being respected, no, not on the other side of the fence. The heavy fur sack was pulled up, tightly, about her, and its drawstrings were tied about her neck. Then the hood was pulled up and adjusted, and it, too, was tied beneath her chin. There was a tiny clink from the metal disk on a bit of the chain, it exposed outside the leather, in the front, near the lock. The porcine stockman, whose name was Qualius, from the bottom, pulled the sack down a little. He pressed down on her knees. Her legs straightened. Her feet were still several inches from the bottom of the

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sack. Such sacks come normally in but one size. She was not a large woman but one who was well turned, one with a body of the sort that could drive men mad with desire, one which would sell well in slave markets. She closed her eyes as Qualius moved his hands about, over her. Did he think she was a slave? She restrained herself, that she not lift her body within the furs to his touch. She opened her eyes when he was checking the knots, that at her throat, and that beneath her chin. There seemed about his lips the slightest trace of amusement. Had he detected her incipient movement within the sack? She desperately trusted not! She quickly turned her head in the hood, to the side, looking away from him. Once she had found herself yearning to press her cheek against the knee of Ronisius! And once, in the early morning hours, when she had been helpless at the foot of the barbarian's bed on the Narcona, kneeling, tied to the bedpost, her mouth taped shut, she had squirmed, with strange sensations, and whimpered, and moaned, begging him to awaken, and yet fearing that he might. She did not know what was becoming of her. Parts of her were stirring, and becoming so alive and meaningful that she dared not even think of them. And yet they forced themselves upon her terrified consciousness. What if I should yield to these feelings, she asked herself. What would I then be? What could I then be? I would be so different, and yet my true self! No, no, she wept to herself, I must not think such things! Oh, I must

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be given the dagger soon, I must do my work soon! Unknown colleague, make yourself known to me! Qualius turned her about and lifted her, lightly, to his shoulder, her head to the rear, and carried her outside. She felt the cold, pure air of the Tangaran winter. A light snow was falling. She was placed on a broad sled, her back against the backrest, in the single row, the last of five girls for that sled. The horse was already hitched to the sled. The sledsman, from Venitzia, once she was placed, drew the broad leather straps, two of them, fastened on the right as one would face the sled from the front, across the goods, and buckled them on the left. This arrangement was intended less as a custodial precaution than as one designed with the safety of the cargo, and the convenience of the drivers, in mind. In this fashion it was less likely that the goods, in the event of a rough trail, would be dislodged, or pitched, from the sled. Custodial arrangements, which might have been handled differently in benign weather, were now considered well satisfied by the goods' lack of garmenture and the severity of the season. The wilderness, and the dangers of animals and others, too, added, so to speak, bars to their cages. Too, on the neck of each there was a collar and disk. "I am afraid," whispered one of the girls on the sled, when the sledsman had left. "They are going to take us into the wilderness." "They will use us as trade goods!" wept the girl the farthest to the blonde's left.

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"I do not understand. I do not understand," said the girl closest to the one who had spoken. "They will do with us as they want. We are slaves," said the second girl to the blonde's left. "But I do not understand," repeated the one closest to the girl on the left. "I do not either," she was told. Phidias, captain of the Narcona, to the blonde's surprise, was in the muddy, snowy yard. There were better than twenty sleds in the yard, several which bore slaves, readied for transport, just as the blonde and her companions were. Most of the sleds, however, bore boxes, and tenting. There were also several horses to one side, pawing in the mud, fastened to a rope. Two treaded, armored vehicles were near the gate. And the canvas had been thrown back from two hoverers. "The shuttle is ready to blast off," a mariner informed Phidias. Phidias nodded. The Narcona was doubtless somewhere above, invisible in the morning sky, in orbit. "When will the Narcona return to Inez IV?" one of the governor's men

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inquired of the captain. "Shortly," said the captain. The blonde looked wildly to the captain, and almost cried out to him. They could not, truly, be thinking of leaving without her! The last of the slaves were now loaded, and secured. The blonde had been near the end of the line. Some men were mounting. The motor of the first treaded vehicle turned over, and then that of the second. Several soldiers from Venitzia, in line, with rifles, emerged from a barracks at one end of the yard. Sledsmen finished hitching up several of the horses. One of the hoverers began to hum, and then the other. Snow fell on her eyelashes. She blinked. Lysis, the supply officer, emerged from the slave shed. He wore furs and boots. The yard was muddy where men and horses trod, and white with snow about the edges. "It is some mission to barbarians," said one of the sledsmen to one of his fellows, some three gathered near the sled.

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"I don't like it," said another. "We are taking enough armament and force equipment to protect us from the Herul nation," said another. Lysis entered the first of the two treaded vehicles; the second, eventually, would bring up the rear. The hoverers, open to the air, would be used largely as scout craft. There were also two broad sleds, these drawn by four horses apiece, on which they could be transported, if needed, as fuel was inordinately precious. "Mistress," whispered the blonde to the girl at her left. The girl was not first girl, but it had been decided, after the blonde's outburst in the slave shed, in which she had threatened, incomprehensibly to them, to buy and sell them all, that she must henceforth be as a slave to them all, as though they might be free persons, serving them with deference, and addressing them all as "Mistress." At first she had, of course, haughtily refused to do so, but, in a day or two, she had begun to do so, desiring to be clothed and fed. "Have you requested permission to speak?" inquired the girl to the left. "May I speak, Mistress?" asked the blonde. How she hated to address a slave as "Mistress"! "Perhaps."

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"Please!" The other girl looked about. It might not do for them to be caught speaking to one another. They did not know. Speech had not been expressly forbidden to them, but, on the other hand, that privilege, that of conversing with one another, had not been explicitly accorded to them at the moment either. "Very well," she said. "You were serving in the officer's mess yesterday?" "Yes." "The barbarian, the brute, he called Ottonius, has not returned, has he?" "I do not think so." "Why are we leaving?" "They are seeking him in the wild, it seems as part of an original mission. It is surmised he may have made contact with certain barbarians, Otungs. Thus, those, with perhaps the help of natives, Heruls or others, are to be sought, it being hoped to thusly make contact through them with the barbarian." The blonde lay back against the backrest.

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"You may thank me for deigning to speak with you," said the girl. "Thank you, Mistress," said the blonde. She said this deferentially, as it was cold, and she knew that later she would be terribly hungry, and would wish to be fed. Once she had used the appropriate words, but had spoken with the least tincture of some slight irony in her voice. She had then been seized and beaten. She had not made that mistake again. Her lesson had been well learned. "You are welcome," said the girl, dismissing her. The giant metal gate of the yard was swung open, and the first treaded, armored vehicle, with Lysis now in its cab, rumbled out the gate. The two hoverers now rose into the softly falling snow, some twenty or thirty feet in the air, and then, some two hundred yards apart, soared away to the south. The first of the horse drawn sleds then, harness bells jangling, followed the treaded vehicle. Other sleds followed, several flanked by horsemen, with rifles. Sledsmen, with their vehicles, were generally on foot, often beside the horses, with rope quirts, but some were on runners, and some on what were, in effect, wagon boxes, some of these at the front of the vehicle, and others at the rear. Sledsmen mounted on the runners, or the wagon boxes, utilized whips, of various lengths, some coil whips, and others little more than light, supple rods. The blonde's sled was about a third of the way back in the line of vehicles. There was a jerk and her sled moved. It slipped through the mud,

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which bubbled and squeaked beneath the runners; then, with a sudden scratching, startling her, it rode over some gravel; then, in a few moments, it was outside the gate, and running smoothly on snow. In some fifteen minutes they were through the charged wires, which served as the walls of Venitzia. Corelius was captain of one of the hoverers, and Ronisius of the other. Neither hoverer could now be seen. As visibility was decreasing they would doubtless soon rejoin the column, setting the hoverers down on the sleds designed to carry them. Qualius, the porcine stockman, was in the second armored vehicle, which would bring up the rear of the column. Snow was falling more heavily now. The blonde moved a little inside the fur sack. It was soft, and warm, and, within it, she was quite comfortable. Outside it, of course, she would be naked, and helpless, in the Tangaran winter. Who is my confederate, wondered the blonde. Why has he not made himself known to me? Is he even on this world, and, if not, what might that mean for me? What if some terrible mistake might be made? I have no way to prove that I am a free woman, an aristocrat, even a patrician, of the senatorial class! I could be taken for a slave girl. I could be given away, as a gift, on a provincial world. I might have to

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remain here, forever, as a chattel of barbarians. But the blonde knew that the ideal place for her work to be accomplished was the wilderness, that, surely, into which she was now being taken. This must be part of a plan, but what if it was not? Surely the deed should not take place in Venitzia, under the jurisdiction of the provincial governor, where she might be simply taken as a murderess, and executed, or returned to Inez IV, under secure guard, with affidavits, to be tried there, and then doubtless to suffer the same fate. No, the wilderness was the place, she thence, after the deed, to be whisked away to safety, perhaps in some hoverer, or armored vehicle, to some secret rendezvous with the shuttle, and thence to a second rendezvous, that with the Narcona, in orbit, and thence to return to civilization, and new-found wealth, position and power. She heard a jangle of spurs to her right and a soldier, riding there for a moment, looked down upon her. She looked up. How men looked at women they thought to be slaves, she thought. Her face, startled, exquisite, was almost hidden, framed in the furred hood.

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He seemed a handsome fellow. In the last few weeks she had become acutely conscious of such things. She squirmed a little, in the sack, under the two broad leather belts, one above her knees, the other about her waist. He spurred away. "You learn quickly, Cornhair, slave slut," said the girl next to her. The blonde was startled. Then she said, deferentially, "Yes, Mistress." "Beware, slave girl," said the other. "You are a slave, and men may call your tease, and have exactly what, and anything, they want of you." "Yes, Mistress," whispered the blonde, deferentially. The blonde then squirmed down in the warm sack. She turned her head, brushing away the snow on her eyelashes, against the edge of the hood. Within the sack she was conscious of her nudity, which she gathered could set men afire, and she reluctantly sensed, as though from afar, how she herself might be set similarly afire, how she might be swept up, like a sheet of begging flame, helplessly, in passions so fierce, so intense, so irresistible, that she had always denied, hitherto, that they could exist. She thought she sensed then how it might be that a slave could crawl to a man, begging. I will buy and sell all of them, she told herself.

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Within the fur, she clutched the disk on its chain, on her throat. She jerked at it. It was on her, like the chain. She could not remove it. I wonder what it would be like, she thought, to be truly a slave girl. The column continued on its way. The sky was darker now. Snow continued to fall.

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CHAPTER 29 "The meat will soon be cooked," said Ulrich. "Then it will begin, the claiming." The giant nodded. There was a tiny stirring beneath the table, to the giant's left. There, beneath the table, head down, bent over, small, deliciously curved, her body oriented toward the center of the hall, her wrists bound together before her body, the right wrist bound over the left, the strand which had run from her bound wrists now taken back and used to fasten her crossed ankles together, knelt his slave, Yata. He put one hand gently upon her. She seemed afraid. She whimpered. "Be silent," he said. "Yes, Master," she said. He withdrew his hand. He wondered why she was so afraid. She understands, perhaps better than I, he thought, the nature of this feast.

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The fire in the fire pit, that long pit, was now sturdily ablaze. The boar turned slowly, succulently, on the spit. Its odor hung tantalizingly in the air. But the men seemed dark, and tense. Had it been another time and place, the giant thought, there might have been much fellowship in the hall, among such men. But it was not so here, in this place, this Otung hall. Perhaps he should dance the slave for them. Might that not please them? She did not know the subtleties of slave dance, but she was beautiful, and, being female, could doubtless move well, and provocatively, before them. Even in her ignorance she might impress upon them, these lost, confused, defeated, isolated, forlorn, spiritless warriors, what

might,

on

far

worlds,

as

a

consequence

of

successful

adventuring, could they but recall the songs of their blood, and the lure of the stars, fall to their lot in the way of diverse booties, in the way of various riches, including such as she, such tender, delicious, exquisite loot. Too, of course, she would obey instantaneously and unquestioningly. He had seen to that but recently. But somehow he did not think the men in the hall were now in the mood to consider such matters, pleasant as they might be in prospect.

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"Which is the hero's portion?" asked the giant. "The right, back thigh," said Ulrich. "He whom you call Urta names the king?" asked the giant. "Yes," said Ulrich. "How is it done?" "He judges the dispute, the contest, the slaughter, if there is one," said Ulrich. "He adjudicates it. Usually there is little to be judged, for commonly only one of the nobles, or the noble's champions, remains on his feet." "But someone must name the winner?" "Yes," said Ulrich. "If it is a noble, then he is the year king. If it is a noble's champion, then it is his lord who is the year king." "Who named Urta the King Namer?" asked the giant. "Heruls," said Ulrich. "Is Urta loyal to the Otungs?" "He is Otung," said Ulrich. "He does what he must."

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"Who is the current year king?" asked the giant. "Fuldan, the Old," said Ulrich. "He who was sent for?" asked Otto. "Yes," said Ulrich. "I do not understand," said Otto. "The bloodshed and slaughter at the last king naming was so plenteous, the champions wounded, or slain, so numerous,'' said Ulrich, "that, in the end, few were willing, or fit, to claim the kingship. Fuldan, the Old, seeing at last the madness of it, hobbled to the boar and thrust his knife into the right, rear thigh. 'Who will kill me, who will kill one who rode with Genserix, who will kill one who has shed his blood a hundred times in the cause of Otungs, who will kill an old man?' he asked. By that time the stomach for killing one another had been muchly abated. 'Let him be king,' said men. 'You are king,' said Urta, the King Namer, and thus came Fuldan, the Old, to the kingship of the Otungs." "But Fuldan is not here," said Otto. " 'I am king, but there is no king,' had said Fuldan," said Ulrich. "He avoids the hall. He avoids the folk." "Then there is no king, truly," said Otto.

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"There is one who was named king," said Ulrich. "If you would have no king, then name Fuldan king again," said Otto. "No," said Ulrich. "A year king can be a king but for one year only, and now, after the year, the nobles are ready, once more, none willing to yield place to another, to fly at one another's throats." "This must please the Heruls," said Otto. "They will have it no other way," said Ulrich. "I would have it otherwise," said Otto. "It is a long time since the pelt of a white vi-cat has been in the hall of the Otungs," said Ulrich. "It is here now," said Otto. "The meat will soon be done," said Ulrich. "I am hungry," said Otto. "One does not eat the meat, of course," said Ulrich. "Why not?" "Its cost tends to dampen hunger," said Ulrich. "Its price is high, and paid in blood. One tends to lose one's appetite."

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"One should have a stronger appetite," said Otto. "Perhaps," said Ulrich. "There is no drink, no bread," said Otto. "We do not eat nor drink at the feast of the king naming," said Ulrich. "It is a poor feast," said Otto. "It is not a feast," said Ulrich. "It is the Killing Time."

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CHAPTER 30 Julian, codes exchanged, brought the hoverer down in the muddy yard outside the administration building. There was, with the change in inertia, as the craft decelerated, a small, soft, startled cry from the object lying on its side in its net behind Julian and to his right. ''Inform the governor of the arrival of Julian, of the Aurelianii, kin to the emperor!" called Julian. "Yes, your excellency!" said a guard. Guards, shielding their faces from the spattering mud and water, whirled by the lifters, had hurried to the gunwales of the small craft, even as it had landed. Julian cut the motors, and the craft eased into the mud. The object in its net, lying behind Julian and to his right, whimpered. It could move but little, its legs drawn up, in the net. The trip from the festung of Sim Giadini had been a bitterly cold one, and the small hoverer had been often buffeted with winds. Sometimes it had been impossible to see more than a few feet before the windscreen. They had been forced to land several times. More than once the tiny craft had been dug out of the snow by mittened hands, or, lifters roaring, had torn itself free, in its urgency, even at the cost

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of precious fuel. "The yard is muchly empty," said Tuvo Ausonius. There were only two vehicles in the yard, both covered with canvas. There were few lights in the barracks, at one side of the yard. The slave shed was dark, and no smoke emerged from its two chimneys. Too, there were few supplies in view, though these might be housed in the dark warehouses to the north. "The stables seem empty," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Hold!" called Julian to the guard, who turned about. "Summon, too," said Julian, "Phidias, captain of the Narcona, and Lysis, officer of supply, with the Narcona!" "The shuttle has departed," called the guard. "Phidias is gone. Lysis, and other officers, and several men, with equipment and trade goods, have gone." "The trade expedition has departed?" "Yes, your excellency," said the guard. "It is being led by the blond-haired captain, Ottonius?" "The barbarian?"

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"He." "No, it seeks him." "He is not with the expedition?" "No, your excellency." "It is imperative," said Julian, "that I follow them and make contact with the expedition immediately. I will need their route, seven hoverers, fuel for a month, a hundred men, draft animals, two dozen sleds, perimeter defenses, weapons and supplies!" "The garrison is muchly gone," said the guard. "There is little left, even fuel, until the next supply ship." "Go!" said Julian. The guard turned about, again, and hurried toward the administration building. "Surely all is not lost?" said Tuvo Ausonius to Julian. "We shall leave Venitzia within the hour," said Julian. The two men looked down at the object at their feet. It was lying on its side, in its heavy furs, on the metal decking of the hoverer, its legs drawn up. The net was of closely linked chain, a slave security net,

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though it may be used also for the securing of cargo, that usually done, however, with a rope net. The chain net cannot be chewed through, nor cut with a knife. The slave is inserted into the net, usually sideways, and then the opening is closed and padlocked, with a single lock, a massive one, about one of the deck rings. This makes it impossible for the slave to rise to her feet, to interfere in any way with the operation of the craft, even to extrude a hand from the net. Too, perhaps most importantly, it assures her safety, or, perhaps more realistically, the safety of the master's cargo, that she, or it, will be kept within the craft should it, say, engage in unusual maneuvers, as in evading predators, giant insects, or insectoidals, on some worlds, winged lizards on others, magnetic air mines, other ships, or such, or encounter turbulence. A strong wind can occasionally invert such light, disklike craft. But even in fine weather such confinements, or others, are often resorted to, as their imposition pleases the masters, and is experienced as informative by the slaves. This is not unusual as that which pleases the masters is often found instructive by the slaves, even extremely so. A wisp of Nika's red hair emerged from within the heavy fur hood. She looked up, her eyes wide and frightened, over her shoulder, at Julian. "We expect to soon encounter the Lady Publennia," said Julian, looking down at the confined, lovely slave. "When you see her you are to identify her for us, immediately and clearly." "But she is my mistress, Master!" said the slave.

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"She is an outlaw and traitress, and no longer possesses property," said Julian. "And you are a slave and we are free men. You will obey us instantly and unquestioningly." "Yes, Master," moaned the girl. "As soon as you see her, thusly, you will identify her for us, immediately and clearly." "I will try, Master," whispered the girl. Julian kicked her, with the side of his foot, through the chain net, with a sound of chain. "And you will succeed," he said. "Yes, Master!" she said. "Or die," said Julian. "Yes, Master!" she said. "Sir," said the guard, returning. "The governor inquires as to your rank." "Ensign," said Julian, angrily. "Your requests are to be conveyed through channels," said the guard, "your excellency."

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"I am Julian, of the Aurelianii," said Julian, "kin to the emperor, on a mission of importance and delicacy." "Such a mission is already in progress, and under the imperial seals of secrecy," said the guard. "I would know its route, and consult its maps," said Julian. "The seals are imperial," said the guard. "The governor suggests you avail yourself of the hospitality of the junior officers' quarters. He is prepared to see you tomorrow." "I want the hoverer refueled, now," said Julian. "There is no authorization for that," said the guard. "What of sleds, and men?" asked Julian. "Resources are limited," said the guard. "It is our hope that the fence holds, and the expedition soon returns." "What of those vehicles?" asked Julian, indicating the two vehicles under canvas in the yard. "They are in need of repair, and are not fueled," said the guard. Julian smote down on the gunwales of the hoverer with his mittened fists.

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"The governor," said Tuvo Ausonius, "seems unduly rigid, and severe." "No," said Julian, straightening, angrily. "That is the fury of it! We must

admire

him!

His

behavior,

under

the

circumstances,

is

impeccably correct. He cannot be faulted. His behavior is in strict accord not only with protocol and regulation, but, I fear, good judgment. He is not, upon the petition of any nobleman, short of the emperor or his representative, to break imperial seals. Too, he is acting in accordance with his primary charge, the security of Venitzia. If he would not rush to grant an audience to any junior officer, why should he grant me one, as that is, precisely, my rank. We must admire him for putting duty before an attempt to curry favoritism with a patrician. Would there were more like him!" "At this point," said Tuvo Ausonius, "we could use a sycophant. The last thing we need now is an incorruptible official, an honest man and a good officer." "Sir," said the guard, "the governor would be honored, unofficially, of course, if you, and your companion, were to have dinner with him this evening." "Thank him," said Julian, "on behalf of my friend and myself, for the honor would be ours, but inquire if we may not, instead, have snowshoes, and a single sled, a small one, with supplies, such as may be drawn even by a slave." "Yes, your excellency," said the guard, turning about.

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"Surely you have no intention of leaving tonight?" said Tuvo Ausonius. "That is my intention," said Julian. "You do not know where to find the expedition, or where, even, to look," said Tuvo Ausonius. "We must do what we can," said Julian. He looked down at Nika in the closely linked, stout meshes of her confinement. "I had thought, my dear," said he to the exquisite slave, "that we might be in time, and that, tonight, we might have spent pleasant hours in a pleasant, cozy tavern, well-appointed and well-stocked, and well-lit with roaring fires, with you and your former mistress." "With us, Master?" asked the girl. "Yes, to let you both, a free woman and a woman's slave, see what true women are like, women in an exquisite, enhanced, refined order of nature." Nika regarded him, wide-eyed and trembling. "It would do you both good," said Julian, "to let you see true women, slaves, in wisps of slave silk, in collars, aroused and begging." "Yes, Master," she whispered.

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"To let you, too, both of you, a free woman, and one once a mere woman's slave, feel silk, and metal, upon your own bodies, and firelight, and sense what it would be, what it will be, to be at the command of, and in the power of, men." "Yes, Master," she whispered. "But," said Julian, "it seems that it is not to be, and that rather it is the winter night of Tangara, and a dangerous, doubtless fruitless, journey, which lies before us." "It is madness, milord, to so enter the night," said Tuvo Ausonius. "The life of Ottonius is at stake," said Julian. "It is madness nonetheless," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Do not accompany me, friend Ausonius," said Julian. "No, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "I would rather share a glorious madness,

a

noble

madness,

than

linger indefinitely,

wormlike,

counting days, until the end, in a dusty, terminal sanity." "We may not return," said Julian. "That is true of any journey, milord." Shortly thereafter, a sled and supplies provided, the sled drawn by a small, trudging figure, Julian and Tuvo Ausonius left Venitzia.

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They trekked north by northeast, following speculations afforded earlier by Brother Benjamin, of the festung of Sim Giadini, which speculations, in broad outline, tended to be confirmed by various officers in the garrison. On the sled, among other supplies, was, wrapped in silk, and then coarse cloth, a small object, weighing about a pound and a half. It had been given to them by Brother Benjamin, while they were in the festung of Sim Giadini. When they were beyond the fence something like a hour's trek through the frozen, crackling, moonlit snow, Tuvo Ausonius, looking about, said, "We are being followed." "I know," said Julian. What they did not know, nor had Brother Benjamin, nor the garrison officers, was that the location of the territories of the Otungs, little more now than their pastures and fields, had changed several times over the years, due largely to the demands and pressures of Heruls. The trading expedition, under Lysis, supply officer of the Narcona, had had somewhat better information, information obtained by the governor of Venitzia through secret agents, posing as trappers, traders and such. The locations of Herul groupings and those of other barbarians, such as Otungs and Basungs, were, as on many worlds, seldom publicly disclosed, and tended to be known only in a very general way. Even the trade expedition, as we have noted, was counting on obtaining a refinement of information in the wilds

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themselves, presumably from natives. "How are our friends doing?" asked Julian of Tuvo Ausonius, after another hour's march. Tuvo Ausonius looked back. "They are much closer now," he said. "Then they are not simply following us," said Julian. "No," said Tuvo Ausonius. "What do you think their intention is?" asked Julian. "I do not know, milord," said Tuvo Ausonius. "And they have made no attempt to contact us, either by light, or by shouting, or such." "No, milord." "They are closing in for the kill," said Julian. "What shall we do?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "We shall accustom them to seeing only two pairs of snow-shoe tracks," said Julian. "I shall ride on the sled for a time. You draw it, if you would. Nika will walk where I have been walking. Later, in a wood, by clinging to branches, or over rocks, where there is no snow, I will leave the sled and circle about, coming up behind them."

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"What will you do then?" asked Tuvo Ausonius. "Kill them," said Julian.

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CHAPTER 31 "Draw again the sled, slave girl," said Tuvo Ausonius, after a time. She swiftly crossed before the sled, and, in a moment, with the help of Tuvo Ausonius, was fitted into the harness. "Master?" she asked, for the harness was not simply slipped into, as it had been with Tuvo Ausonius, when he had drawn the sled, but it was tightened and buckled on her, even to a ring and band about her throat, through which, by means of a rein running back to the sled, pressure might be exerted upon her. A bridle, too, was put upon her, with its bit, headstall and reins. Her small hands, too, were buckled behind her in the leather cuffs, between the fur sleeves and the fur mittens. No more then could she speak for the bit was back, between her teeth, fastened there, she helpless. She looked wildly, questioningly, at Tuvo Ausonius, but he paid her no attention. The bit would keep her quiet. She whimpered. Tuvo Ausonius raised his hand angrily, menacingly, and she was instantly, totally silent.

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Things had not been thus with her when she had been a lady's maid, with little to worry her but her mistress's hair, clothes and switch, but she was now in the power of men. Nika secured, at least to that moment, to that extent, though not at that moment in ankle hobbles, Tuvo Ausonius freed his rifle from the sled. Fifteen minutes earlier, as Tuvo Ausonius had counted, as Julian had prescribed, Julian had stepped from the sled to rocks, between which the sled was conducted. Julian had then, snowshoes on his back, rifle in his mittened hand, left them. They waited there for some five minutes when, suddenly, on the backtrail, perhaps a half mile or more behind them, there were three flashes, sudden and bright, one after the other, brilliant in the cold, pure air. He saw them reflected even from the lowering clouds, and flashed back, a lighter, sudden, momentarily flickering gray, on the snow. After a minute or two there were more flashes. "There were flankers!" said Tuvo Ausonius, angrily. In a moment there was another flash, and then only the stillness of the winter night. Tuvo Ausonius, stopping only for a moment, began to parallel the backtrail, hurrying beside it, a few yards from it, rifle in hand. In a few minutes he came on a burned body in the snow. He could

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see flesh inside the blackened, opened fur. He turned the body over with the rifle muzzle. It was not Julian. "Do not fire!" called a voice from the side. "Milord!" cried Tuvo Ausonius. "There were five," said Julian. "And how many are accounted for, milord?" "Five," said Julian. "One fled, wounded, returning to Venitzia. I followed the blood for a few yards. It was plenteous. I finished him by firing into the snow in which he had sought to hide himself." "There," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius' glance followed the muzzle of Julian's rifle. A body lay there, its lower portions frozen in ice. In the flash of heat from the rifle, the snow had spumed upward, yards into the air, then rained down in droplets and crystals. About the body itself, it and its vicinity momentarily torrid with heat, the snow had melted, forming a small lake in a hollow, which fluid had then, in moments, frozen. The lower body lay then locked in ice, as in a congealing pond, its image distorted. The furs had been muchly burned away, and the skeleton, the upper right quadrant, was partly exposed. Julian had fired from

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short range with a wide setting on the muzzle. He had not been certain where in the mound of snow the target had been hidden. With that setting, effective only within a few feet, it did not much matter. "We are safe now," said Tuvo Ausonius. "No,"

said

Julian.

"These

fellows

may

have

inadvertently

accomplished their purpose." "How so, milord?" "The light, the flashes, the concussions in the air, the burned flesh, the scent of blood," said Julian, "may attract animals, vi-cats, wolves, such things. In the winter they might sense such things, for miles about." "We have ammunition," said Tuvo Ausonius. "It is limited," said Julian. In a few minutes they had returned to the sled. Nika, of course, was waiting for them, in the harness. She was a highly intelligent young woman, and would have remained where she was, of course, knowing herself a captive of the sled, and well fastened to it, even had Tuvo Ausonius not, in that brief moment before he had addressed himself to the backtrail, assured himself of it, locking her in slave hobbles.

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"Let us be on our way," said Julian. Tuvo Ausonius removed the slave hobbles from the girl, the flat, fixed ankle bands, joined by the short, stout, inflexible metal bar, four inches in length, and put them on the sled. "Move," said Tuvo Ausonius. "Yes, Master," she said, struggling, thrusting her small body against the straps of the harness. There was a grating on the crusted snow and the sled moved. There was little sound then save that marked by the sliding passage of the two runners, and the pressing of the snowshoes into the snow, other than, after a time, in the far distance, the baying of wolves.

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CHAPTER 32 "Who will stand for king?" called Urta, the King Namer. The carcass of the roast boar, hot, basted, steaming, glistening, now lay, lengthwise, on the heavy, stained planks, laid over four trestles, before the dais on which stood, alone, the simple, wooden empty throne, the dais at the end of the hall, away from the entrance, down its flat, stone steps. "Rolof, of the lineage of Ondax," said a man, rising from behind one of the long tables, to the side of the hall. "The Gri!" said a man. There were cries of anger, murmurs of discontent. Rolof looked about himself, with contempt. Men near him, retainers, rose, their hands on the hilts of blades. "Yes," said Rolof, "Rolof, of the lineage of Ondax, of clan Gri." "Valdemar!" cried a stout fellow from the opposite side of the room, rising to his feet, he, too, flanked by armed men. "Valdemar, of the lineage of Alberich, of the clan Tiri!" This entry, too, was met with a menacing roll of anger, like thunder, far off. "Better Gundar!" cried a man.

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"Yes!" cried another. "Clan Oni!" "No!" cried other voices. Eyes turned toward a blond fellow, with braided hair. He rose to his feet. "Gundar," said he, "of the lineage of Asa, of the Oni." "No!" said another man, rising. "I, Hartnar, son of Tasach, son of Sala, scion of clan Reni!" "Gelerich," said another man, rising, a lean man, "of the line of Pertinax, clan Orti." "Astarax," said another, rising, "of the line of Fendash, clan Eni." "Each of you," asked Urta, "have champions?" Assent was nodded to this. At the right hand of each was a sullen, stalwart fellow, a helmet cradled in his arm. Some were of the clans in question, others mercenaries. "Six clans are contestants, and claimants," said Urta. "What of the other clans?"

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None others spoke, or rose from behind the tables. "They are coward clans," said a man. "No!" cried men. "Be silent!" commanded Urta. "Is there no champion on behalf of Lord Ulrich, son of Emmerich?" "None," said Ulrich. "Clan Elbi, Lord Ulrich, first of the clans of the Otungs, first tribe of the Vandal peoples, proposes no champion?" asked Urta. "The Elbi propose no champion," said Ulrich. There was a murmur of disappointment about the tables. "What has become of the Elbi?" asked a man. "What has become of the clan of Genserix?" asked another. "Propose a champion," pressed a man. "No," said Ulrich. "They are cowards," said a man.

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"Say no words which may be washed away only with blood," said Ulrich. "Forgive me, milord," said the man who had spoken. "I do not think I heard such words," said Ulrich. "They were not spoken," said the man. "It is only his concern for the Elbi, and the Otungs, that prompted his speech, milord," said a scarred man. "What speech?" asked Ulrich. "That which was not spoken," said the scarred man. "The matter is done," said Ulrich. "There are six claimant clans," said Urta. He then looked about. "Will no clan yield place to another?" "No," said each of those who had spoken, in turn. "I implore you to yield place, or to let the lots decide the matter, letting chance choose from amongst you," said Urta. "No," said Rolof, looking about. "None yields to any," snarled Gelerich.

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"If there is to be gambling, let it be that of blades," said Valdemar. "Yes!" said men. "We shall laugh with steel," said a man. "Yes," agreed the others. A woman wept. "Let it be understood that none but claimants or their champions may participate," said Urta. Men looked angrily about. "It is understood," said Valdemar. The others, the claimants, murmured assent to this. Grumbling came from retainers, and dark, suspicious looks were cast about. "I shall prepare the lots, to determine the composition and order of the matches," said Urta. "Proceed," said Rolof. "Proceed," said Valdemar.

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"There is yet time to withdraw," said Urta. "Proceed!" said Gundar. "Each of you claims the hero's portion?" said Urta. He looked from one to the other, in turn. "Yes," said Rolof. "Yes," said Valdemar. "Yes," said Gundar. "Yes," said Hartnar. "Yes," said Gelerich. "Yes," said Astarax. "Behold," cried Ulrich, suddenly, elatedly, rising, pointing, "you are too late! It is already claimed!" There were cries of rage, and of astonishment, throughout the hall. On the table itself, towering there, legs spread, stood the blond giant. The great blade, five feet in length, was thrust into the body of the boar. He had held with two hands the hilt of the great blade, above his head, the point downward, and then plunged it downward. The point of

Page 546

the blade could be seen beneath the table where it had emerged, splintering the plank. "Kill him!" cried men. "Sacrilege!" cried others. "Blasphemy!" cried others. "How dare you do what you have done?'' cried Urta, aghast. "I am hungry," said the giant. "Kill him!" screamed men. The giant loosened the blade, and, lifting it, with three blows, hacked away the right, rear thigh of the massive boar. He then, with the blade, sliced away a slab of hot meat, running with blood and juice. He bit into this, deliberately, looking about himself, the blood and juice running at the side of his mouth. "Kill him!" cried men. "Surely others are hungry as well," he said. He cut another piece of meat, and held it out to Urta, who drew back.

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The giant then turned about. "Untie the slave," he called. One of the men at Ulrich's table crouched down behind the table and freed Yata's wrists and ankles. He wrapped the leather several times about her left ankle, and knotted it there, rather in the nature of a slave anklet. The slave may not undo such a knot without permission. It can be death to do so. Too, in this fashion, carrying the leather with her, she may be conveniently, instantly, bound, leashed or tethered, that at one's discretion. The giant motioned that she should approach, and she did so, hesitantly, self-consciously, the eyes of all upon her. She knelt below the table on which he stood, waiting, and he threw her the piece of meat which Urta had refused, and pointed back, toward Ulrich. She rose and carried the meat to Ulrich, placed it before him, on the bare table, and then knelt near the table, facing the giant, her master. "What is wrong?" asked the giant, calling to the tables. "Have you never seen a naked slave serve at a feast before?" Ulrich did not touch the meat, but, eyes glistening, kept his eyes on the giant.

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"Women of the empire," said the giant, "serve such feasts well." He recalled perhaps a small feast at which, on Vellmer, three women of the empire had so served, and well, Flora, Renata and Sesella. Another had served, too, and well, Gerune, but she had not been of the empire. She had been once a Drisriak, and then an Ortung, and then but livestock, a slave. "On behalf of whom do you claim this meat?" asked Urta. "On my own behalf," said the giant. "By what right?" "By the right of my hunger," said the giant. "That is not enough," said Urta. "By the right of my pleasure then," said the giant. "That is not enough," said Urta. "By the right of my will then," said the giant. "That is not enough," said Urta. "Then by the right of my sword," said the giant. "Whose champion are you?" asked Urta.

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"I am my own champion," said the giant. "You cannot claim this meat," protested Urta. "Dispute it with me who will," said the giant, cutting another piece of meat. He then, piece by piece, cut meat, throwing the meat to the slave, who carried it to one warrior or another, as indicated by the giant. He read the warriors, and in reading them, seeing who seemed young, and virile, and dangerous, and perhaps fit to be a companion, accordingly made his selections. None touched the meat put before them, but the eyes of many shone, and the hands of more than one inched toward the steaming, juicy provender. "He gives meat!" cried a retainer of Rolof. "He is a giver of meat," said a man, in awe. "You are not a lord, to provide for companions, for a retinue!" said Urta. "I have seen one who looked much like him, once before, long ago!" said a man. "Where is Fuldan, the Old?" asked another. "He has been sent for," said another.

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"He is a stranger," said Hartnar, angrily. "He has brought to the hall the pelt of a white vi-cat," said Ulrich. "It is the first time in a generation such a pelt has been in this place, not since Genserix." "It means nothing!" cried a man. "Such was the mantle of Genserix," said Ulrich. The man was silent. "Who are you, stranger?" demanded a man. "A peasant, a fighter, one who was lifted upon the shields of Wolfungs, a Vandal people, as are the Otungs, a captain in the auxilia of Telnaria, come simply to recruit a company," said the giant. "What is your people?" asked a man. "I do not know," said the giant. "I think you are Otung," said a man, in awe. "Then," said the giant, "I am come home, and would be welcomed." "Think, think!" cried Ulrich. "The Heruls put upon us year kings, insult kings, kings to divide us, kings to be replaced, kings who are to us as

Page 551

prisons and fetters, kings we despise and ignore, kings who are nothing, a kind of kings created by our enemies, kings who have but a compromised, meretricious, bestowed prestige, and one bought dearly with our own blood. The Heruls defeated us once, in battle, now they defeat us each year, by guile. Why do you think the Elbi propose no king, no champion? We will not play the game of the Heruls. I say, make no king, or make a true king!" "The Heruls will not permit a true king," said Urta. "Then make no king!" said Ulrich. "The Heruls will be displeased," said Urta. "Let them be displeased," said Ulrich. "Yes," said men, softly. "We cannot meet them, unmounted, on the plains," said Urta. "And I do not think they will much care to seek us out in the darkness of the forest, in the shadows, in the growth and underbrush," said Ulrich. "Long ago, Telnaria lost armies in such endeavors." "No more false kings," said a man. "No king unless it be a true king!" said a man. There were cries of approval from about the tables.

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"It will mean war," said Urta. "Lift me upon the shields," said Rolof. "I will be true king." "No!" cried Valdemar. "No!" cried other claimants. "There would then be but one slaughter," said Rolof. "We will not risk a king of clan Gri," said Astarax. "Then year kings again it must be," said Valdemar. "It is madness!" cried Ulrich. "Why must the clans and houses, the families, the lineages, war with one another? Are we not all Otung?" "I yield to no one," said Gelerich. "Nor I!" said Astarax. "I would not hide all my days in the forest," said Ulrich. "I would one day come forth from the forest, bravely, with oxen and wagons, with songs, and arms, marching. We have hidden here long enough, imprisoned not by Heruls but by our own vanities and rivalries.'' "We are not yet strong enough," said Urta.

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"Let us take the first step, the first step on our march," said Ulrich. "If we must have a king, and cannot have a true king, then let us make a year king, but one who has no party, one who is not of the table of a given house, one who has taken rings from no man, one by means of whom to satisfy, and yet reprove and mystify, Heruls." "Only a stranger could be such," said a man. "Yes," said Ulrich. Eyes turned toward the giant. "No!" cried Rolof. "He has brought to the hall the pelt of the white vi-cat," said Ulrich. "Such was the mantle of Genserix," said a man. "It is the medallion and chain which are important," said a man. "The medallion and chain were lost," said a man. "It fell to the lot of Heruls," said a man. "There can be no true king without the medallion and chain," said a man. "It was that, allegiance to it, sworn by the fathers of the clans, that united the people," said a man.

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"Yes," said another. "So there can be no true king," said a man. "I do not come amongst you to be king," said the giant. "I come amongst you to recruit comitates, comites, fellows, companions, swordsmen, fighters." "He is a spy for Telnaria!" said a man. "He is a Herul spy. See the Herul knife!" said another. The giant cut more meat, indeed, with the Herul knife, which, by means of Yata, he distributed, indicating likely recipients. Then he rose up, from where he had crouched, cutting meat, and stood again on the table. "Begone, stranger," said Rolof. The giant freed the great blade of the meat, into which he had thrust it. "Make the stranger year king," said Ulrich. "In that way no clan, and no house, takes precedence over another. Why should you, Rolof, or you, Valdemar, or Gundar, or Hartnar, or Gelerich or Astarax, or any other Otung of noble blood, stain his honor by accepting the post of year king? It is dishonor to accept it, not honor. To accept such a

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kingship is not glory, but shame. It is to serve not Otungs, but Heruls." "In yielding to the stranger," said a man, "you lose nothing in honor, for no rival takes precedence over you." "And you show contempt for Heruls," said another. "No!" said Rolof. "I would be king, even if for a year!" "I!" said Valdemar. "No!" cried the others. "I! I!" "Alas," said Ulrich. "All is lost." "No," said the giant. "How so?" asked Ulrich. "For the hero's portion has been claimed," said the giant. "That is true, milords," said Urta. "One stands between you and the kingship." Retainers rose to their feet.

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But more than a dozen young men before whom meat had been placed rose, too, to their feet. "Hold!" cried Urta. "My company," said the giant, "is open to all clans, to all Otungs, and to others, as well." "And in such a company," said a man, "to whom is allegiance owed-to Telnaria, our hated foe, to whom we owe our exile on Tangara?" "No," said the giant, "not to Telnaria." "Then to whom?" asked the man. "To me," said the giant. There was silence in the hall. "Kill him," said Rolof, gesturing toward the giant. Six men hurried toward the table. "No!" cried others. It was a mistake, of course, that the noble, Rolof, had given the order he had. It was not in accord with the customs of the Otungs. Too, he did not understand the nature of the giant. But then, at that time, few did. His

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mistake was then twofold, on the one hand, a breach of civility, on the other, as it turned out, an error of judgment, not that one should blame Rolof severely for that, as, at that time, as we have suggested, the nature of the giant was not clearly understood. The accounts differ troublesomely on what exactly occurred. They concur, however, on the cry. With a sudden, wild cry, a cry which astonished those in the hall, a glad, elated cry, as though of the release of long pent-up frustration, of patience too long restrained, a cry of savage joy, of feral gladness, a releasing, laughing, merciful, discharging cry, a cry like the flashing of fire, like the sudden, unexpected, exultant crack of thunder from violent, aching, swollen clouds, a cry bestial, grateful and exultant, a cry that might have been that of a starving man who sees food, that of a man dying of thirst who sees water, the giant leapt from the table, the huge blade in flight, hurtling, bearing with it all its edged, cruel weight, that mighty blade which the giant handled as if it might have been a straw, sped with all its momentum, that of his movement and of its own swift, smooth arc, like a steel wind, almost invisible. Accounts of what matters then occurred, and the order in which these matters occurred, tend to vary amongst the chroniclers. Whereas this is regrettable, it is also quite understandable, as it is a commonplace that when a complex event occurs suddenly, precipitately, in a crowded area, and is hastily resolved, that even eyewitnesses tend to produce conflicting reports of what occurred. Doubtless they are startled, and perhaps confused; much happens quickly; it is soon

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done; perspectives differ; some vantages are superior to others; what one notes may depend in part on one's expectations; and memory, too, tends to be fallible, particularly in the case of such events, where so much happens so quickly; too, one must remember that the hall was doubtless poorly lit. I have elected to follow here, in the main, the account of Orban, of the house of Orix, as reported in the second chronicle of Armenion, as revised by Teminius. I have selected it not because I regard it as that likely to be most accurate, but rather because, as I do not know which account is the most accurate, it is the most restrained. I apologize for the account, but it must be remembered that the times were other than ours. Six men, it may be recalled, hurried toward the table, these retainers of Rolof, his champion, and five others, these coming from the giant's right. The mighty blade, which might have felled a small tree, or cut the head from a horse, with one blow, like a live, leaping thing, rising up, a flat, edged living wind, a flash under the torches, caught the men doubled on one another, they not anticipating the attack, they having foolishly thought it was they who were the aggressors, the first two stopping, suddenly, startled, others stumbling against one another, the men falling amongst themselves, none set, none in the guard position, caught the first two men to the right, cutting upward through the armpit of the first, slashing away the arm and upper torso and neck and head, and flighting thence, in the same arc, to cleave away

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the upper skull of the second man, the blade turning then, in its back stroke, to cut away the hand and split the ribs of a third man. The other three, half fallen, looked up, wildly, and one amongst them was cleaved at the side of the head, the stroke, downward, at the right eye, ceasing its dividing stroke only at the last of three sheared ribs. Two others turned to flee but another stroke cut both feet from under one, and he hobbled on stumps to the table of Rolof, beneath which he fell, and the last was caught against that very table itself, the table of Rolof, where he fell before his lord, the table itself splintered then in twain, the body, half cut in two, folded in upon itself, descending, sliding, in the collapsed planks. The giant scarcely noted the horrified eyes of Rolof behind the table, when his arena sense, alert to the tiniest of sounds, was that the movement of a foot in the dust, brought him full about to see men of lord Valdemar advancing toward him. "Stop!" cried Urta. The giant laughed, to see more meat for his sword, and men hesitated. "Stop!" again cried Urta, the namer of kings. "Kill him!" cried Valdemar, and his champion edged forward, but one blow of the long blade smote through a shield, flinging the arm, caught in the device's straps, across the hall. The man to his right was blinded by the blood, and in a moment, unseeing, screaming, thrust his hand downward, into his own guts, where it was caught, tangled, and in his terror, with two hands,

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clutching, in madness and pain, disemboweled himself. Other men of Valdemar drew back, four others. The giant looked about himself, crouching down, like an animal, turning with feral, almost inhuman quickness. "Kill him!" called Rolof, as though to the hall itself. The giant's eyes were bright. There was blood on his hands and furs. "It is Genserix," said a man. "It is more terrible than Genserix," said another. "Kill him!" cried Valdemar to his reluctant liegemen. The blood on the blade had run sidewise in narrow channels, these streamlets consequent upon the motion of the article. It was this quickness apparently, this seeming capacity to move with unnatural speed, which was one of the first things to have struck, or caught, even enflamed, the imaginations of many men of the time, doubtless rude, simple men, sword-wielders, spearmen and such. There is much agreement on this quickness, it seems, as one of the giant's properties. And yet, as certain chronicles have it, the field diaries of Lucian, for example, the speeds with which he moved

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tended, even in battle, to shift and vary deceptively, distractively, startling foes, disturbing their anticipations, necessitating costly adjustments, a thousandth of a second sometimes the difference of an inch or more in the reach and thrust of a blade. Such things cannot be taught, not in their fullness of subtlety, not in their diverse pacings, their delicate temporal modalities, their seemingly instantaneous sensings, not in their odd admixture of violence and sensitivity, brutality and refinement. They are bred into warriors, generation by generation, over thousands of years, much as hunting and killing, generation by generation, over thousands of years, is bred into the lion, the vi-cat, the wolf. Sometimes, it is said, he seemed somnolent, slow to act, silent like rock, massive like stone, and then again, sometimes without warning, it seemed that great body could explode, bomblike, destructive to all within its compass. Sometimes he seemed slow, awkward, inarticulate. Certainly he was illiterate, like many of his time. But it seems, too, he was not unintelligent. There is much evidence that he could be patient, reflective and thoughtful. We know little in detail of such things, however, his plans and long thoughts, as he muchly kept his own counsel. Few people claimed to know him well. There is universal agreement, however, that his anger was not a light thing. It could arise suddenly, unpredictably, stormlike. It could seldom be assuaged without blood. Doubtless this was his greatest weakness. Certainly, politically, it was his most grievous flaw. To be sure, his concept of statecraft in any event was rudimentary, being founded on little more, as was common with his sorts of peoples in those times, than simple virtues, such as the keeping of pledged words. He was not equally at home in the saddle and on a throne. But this was not unusual, too, for many leaders of his time. We know little of the deeper currents within him, or if there were such. He is said,

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once in the darkness of the woods, thinking himself alone, to have howled, as though in great pain. Men never saw him cry. Little is known of his inner life, or if he, in effect, had one. It is speculated that men in his time were less self-aware, less self-conscious, than men in our time, that they were simpler, and more like animals, than we. One does not know, of course. Too, on such matters it is difficult to speculate. The giant looked about himself. The warriors of Valdemar had drawn back. The giant went back to the table and, with the great blade, cut another piece of meat. Yata ran to him and knelt before him, her head down, her hands lifted, and he put the meat in her small hands, her tiny fingers clutching it, warm juice running between her fingers. She looked up at her master. He looked about. At the tables a young man had risen. The giant pointed to the young man and Yata hurried to him, and placed the meat before him. His eyes shone. Yata then drew back from the table, knelt, put her head to the dirt, and then turned, on her knees, lifting her head a little, to face the giant.

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How next would she be commanded? The young man had scarcely glanced at the lovely young slave before him, though she would doubtless have brought a high price in many markets. Mightier things were afoot. She was only a female, and a slave. "I have at this time no rings to give," said the giant. "I would not serve for rings," said the young man. "What is your name?" said the giant. "Vandar," said the young man. "It is a good name," said the giant. "I am ready!" said the young man. "Summon me to your side!" "At my side is danger," said the giant. "I would rather die at the side of one such as you than live elsewhere," said the man. "Do not move," said a man.

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"The night is cold, and the stars are indifferent," said the young man. "I answer only to myself." "Cease your obscure rantings," said a man. "Milord!" cried the young man to the giant. "Remain where you are!" said the giant. The young man cried out in misery. "Can you not see?" asked a man. "He stands alone." "At this time one such as he must stand alone," said another. "He who cannot stand alone deserves to have none stand with him," said another. "He has brought to the hall the pelt of a white vi-cat," said Ulrich. "No, no!" cried Valdemar, looking about himself. "Kill him! Kill him!" One of his men turned to him. "We follow you, my liege," he said. Valdemar did not move. Then his men drew away from him.

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"You are no longer first among the Tiri," said a man. "No!" cried Valdemar. Valdemar drew his blade, and cried out, and he, then followed instantly by several men, those of the Tiri in the hall, rush toward the giant. "No!" cried Urta. "Only the lord, or his champion, may challenge!" But none gave ear to the plaint of the King Namer. The giant struck about him with the great sword. A shield was cut in twain. Men were struck to the side, buffeted. The mighty sword flashed again, and sparks, like flaming snow, bright from three blades, exploded in the hall. Men pressed forward. "Stop!" cried the King Namer. "Stop!" cried others. The giant, looking about himself, backed away. The fire pit was behind him, long, some eighteen feet in length, some five feet in width, a foot deep with glowing coals. The two supports on which the spit had been mounted were still in place. The spit itself, one end pointed for insertion in the meat, the other end bent to a handle that the device might be turned, that spit on which the boar had been roasted, lay to one side, on a wooden rack. The giant felt the heat

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behind him. Valdemar lunged forward, his charge turned by the great blade, and the noble, screaming, losing his footing, fell into the pit. Otto forced the retainers back with a terrible blow, and spun about, turning to Valdemar, who, screaming, twisted in the coals, rose up wildly, slipped, fell, climbed again to his feet, and began to wade, frenziedly, stumbling, to the edge of the pit, but the giant turned about and plunged after him, wading into the coals, and seized Valdemar at the edge of the pit, by the collar of his furs, and threw him back, on his back, into the coals. Two men plunged after the giant, but he cut them down with one stroke, over the body of Valdemar, which he forced down, deeper, with one foot, into the coals. He then, to the horror of the liegemen, who hesitated, aware they could not reach him with their smaller blades, not having time to circle the pit, raised his blade above his head, holding it there with two hands, as he had, earlier, over the roast boar. "No!" cried one of the liegemen, raising his hand. "Strike!" cried Valdemar. The sword was poised. The liegemen cast their weapons to the floor of the hall. "Strike!" screamed Valdemar. But the giant stepped back from the body, through the coals,

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ascending the far side of the pit. Valdemar's liegemen drew him swiftly from the coals, covering his own body with theirs, to smother flames. Two other bodies were drawn, too, slashed, half dismembered, from the coals, one leg hanging by a muscle to a trunk, furs blackened, and, at the sides, burned away. A grayish smoke, like haze, hung over the coals. There was an ugly, sweet odor of burned flesh, of skin, of muscle and fat, in the hall. The left side of Valdemar's face was gone, burned away. The giant came about the pit, and stood over Valdemar, looking down at him. Valdemar's men drew back. Valdemar looked up, unblinking, staring, his right eyelid burned away. "You are Otung," he whispered. "I do not know," said the giant. The giant wiped on his furred thigh the long blade.

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"Aii!" cried a man. Too, at the same time, the slave had screamed, but the giant had already slipped to the side. The blow of Rolof's sword rang on the thick iron spit, it lying on its rack. Sparks sprang upward. "A felon's stroke!" cried a man. "Pig!" cried another. The giant rolled beneath the spit, the long blade lost, and another blow struck down, again ringing, showering sparks, from the spit. "No longer are you first among the Gri!" cried an angered retainer. Rolof snarled, and put his foot on the blade of the great sword, holding his own blade ready. "Pig!" cried a man. The noble of the Gri was flanked by two cohorts. The giant now crouched behind the heavy iron spit, it on its rack, a foot above the ground, its metal now twice scarred from the blade of

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Rolof. Before him was the noble, and his two fellows, and three blades. He did not take his eyes from the steel. The giant's eyes were terrible. From his throat there came a rumbling, growling noise. "Sheath your weapon!" called Urta to Rolof. "I sheath my weapon for no man," said Rolof. "I am king!" The huge hands of the giant felt for, and closed upon, the long, thick, weighty, still-warm spit on its rack. Before him were Rolof, and two of the Gri, behind him, glowing, bright with heat, deep with coals, was the fire pit. Its heat was fierce upon his back and legs. The hands of the giant were upon the spit. The spit had held the weight, unbending, of the great boar, which, ungutted, had weighed better than four hundred pounds. Two men had turned the spit in its mounts. Rolof raised his sword. With a cry of rage the giant rose up. The spit, like a snake, striking, was not even lifted from the rack, but shattered free, bursting, scattering wood. The man to the giant's right had no time even to scream, for the spit, a yard from its end, caught him beneath the left ear, breaking the

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neck, half tearing the head from the body. Rolof and his fellow were struck to the side by the same blow, and fell, rolling, to the floor. The giant kicked aside the remnants of the rack. Rolof scrambled back. The man to the giant's left was struck on the return of the spit, and his arm, the elbow smashed, running with blood, hung like rope to the side. He put up his left hand to fend the next blow, but the crook in the spit's handle, tearing back through the fingers, struck him in the throat, crushing it back, breaking cartilage, inches. Rolof reached for his lost blade. The giant lifted and plunged the portion of the spit handle, two feet long, parallel to its shaft, down twice, once through the jaw and mouth of the man, then on his back, breaking teeth and bone, and driving through tissue, and, then, more carefully, through the forehead, until it stopped, inches deep, in the dirt floor of the hall. Rolof now had his sword in hand but backed away from the giant, who was now regarding him eagerly, terribly, who now held the huge spit, drawn free, its length well beyond the reach of even the great blade, holding it as one might have held the peasant's weapon, one hand at the center, the other below, the long staff. Suddenly Rolof cried out, flung down his weapon, and fled toward the entrance of the hall. The giant pursued him, in fury, the spit, its pointed end forward, lifted over his head in both hands. Rolof fled up the stairs, toward the wooden door of the hall. But of course the two beams, barring the door, the hall having been entered, were now in place, secure in their brackets.

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Rolof turned about, suddenly, wildly, at the door, knowing he had no time to lift the two beams from the braces. He stood there, for a moment, on the level before the door, his back to the door. "No!" he cried. "Aii!" cried men. Women screamed. The giant worked the spit free of the door, through which the point had penetrated, emerging on the other side, and then he carried the spit, on which the body of Rolof was impaled down the stairs, and to the side of the fire pit. The hall was silent. He stood near the fire pit, the spit still in the body of Rolof, who, toward the lower end of the spit, had slipped toward its point, and lay on the floor, near the coals, one side of the body illuminated by their light. One of the liegemen of the Tiri looked up, from his knees, where he knelt beside a seared body. "Lord Valdemar is dead," said the man.

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"He died as first among the Tiri," said another. "Yes," said another. The giant, with his foot, thrust the body of Rolof from the spit, and cast the spit aside. He then, from near the fire pit, retrieved the great sword. He then looked about the hall, from face to face, Ulrich, Gundar, Hartnar, Gelerich, Astarax, the others. He then turned to face Urta, the King Namer. "Who is king?" asked the giant. "You are king," said Urta. "Let us eat," said the giant. "I am hungry."

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CHAPTER 33 There is little more to tell, at this time, though, in a sense, this was the beginning, not that it was then recognized as such. On a winter night, after feasting, the giant, outside the hall, in the snow, for such things are done outside, in the light of a sun, or of stars, was lifted upon the shields of Otungs. His nature, and his lineage, no more than his destiny, were at that time unknown. He refused to sit upon the empty throne, that upon the dais in the hall, as he had not yet, at that time, in his view, earned such a right. Too, the medallion and chain, which was the token of an Otung king's office, his heritage and right, was not with the Otungs. It was that on which the heads of clans, long ago, had sworn the honoring of the kingship, even before the time of Genserix. Until that was found there was little assurance, and even less hope, that the nobles of the Otungen would long respect the kingship, such being the force of ambition amongst them. Fuldan, the Old, who had been sought, that he might look upon the stranger, and speak upon his appearance, which had so intrigued some members of the hall, was not found in his hut, for he had, in desolation and grief, in sorrow for the debasement of the Otungen, even before the time of the king naming, left the forest, borne upon a litter, in furs, his bones ancient with pain, and misery, with ten retainers.

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"They are no longer the folk, no longer the Otungen," he had said. He did not know then, mercifully enough, one supposes, of the election of a stranger as king, which matter might have caused him even greater pain. Urta, for he was the King Namer, slipped away later, that he might inform the Heruls of what had occurred. The chieftains of the Heruls were not pleased to learn that the Otungen had lifted one upon the shields, even a stranger, for year kings are not lifted upon the shields, but only other sorts of leaders, such as lords of clans, chieftains, commanders of battle groups, and such, and kings. Too, they were disturbed to learn that the stranger had brought to the hall the pelt of a white vi-cat. Such things were not permitted to year kings. To be sure, he who had been lifted upon the shields did not have the medallion and chain, which had seemingly been lost. In a sense then, though he might be king, he was not to be feared as might have been a king who wore both the mantle of the white vi-cat and the ancient medallion and chain of the Otungen. The medallion and chain might unite not only the clans of the Otungen, but the other tribes, as well, of the Vandal nation.

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Urta, bowing, withdrew from the council of the Heruls. They did not put him to death, but gave him golden darins, from Venitzia. An old Herul warrior, whose name was Hunlaki, one of the far riders and hard fighters of that warlike nomadic people, might, if urged, or pressed, have been able to supply some informed speculation as to the possible whereabouts of the medallion and chain, but he was not of the high council of the Heruls, and he had not, in his own knowledge, an understanding of its significance, even though, once, years ago, after a campaign against Basungs, it seems quite possible that he may have held it in his hands. The high council knew its meaning, as Hunlaki did not. Hunlaki, on the other hand, might have had some sense of its fate, and whereabouts, as did neither the council nor the Otungen. To be sure, memory tends to be fallible, and the incident, if it had occurred, had occurred long ago. It seemed quite clear to the Heruls that the Otungen had elected a king who was not a year king, but, against their wishes, and their clearly expressed ordinance and policy, in some sense, a true king, even if one lacking the medallion and chain. Accordingly they decided to move against the Otungen. We do not know, exactly, why the stranger took the hero's portion at the feast of the king naming. He may have taken the hero's portion that the strife amongst the Otungs might be thusly resolved, that their lack of unity and the plight of their rivalries might be abolished, or at least, for a time, assuaged.

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Too, he may have adopted this course of action simply as an instrumentality conducive to the recruitment of men, comitates, comites, companions, a retinue, for a mercenary company. Ostensibly, at least, such seems to have been his original purpose in approaching Otungs. Others see some sensing of an obscure reality in the matter, a sensing of fittingness, a response to a prompting of blood or instinct, thusly not so much that he saw an opportunity, in a time of confusion, uncertainty, and chaos, to seize a kingship, as that it seemed to him fitting that he should do so, that it, in some sense, was his, that it belonged to him. To be sure, this possibility is perhaps too uncertain and too disturbing to be accepted as a hypothesis. Others see the matter merely as a warrior's dark jeu d'esprit, brief, terrible, and celebratory, no more than a momentary, exultant gesture, or game, or festival, of blood and steel, and some, even, that it was merely that he was indeed hungry, and had decided to feed, in his uncouth, boorish manner, and that one event had led to another. We do not know the truth of the matter. Perhaps there are many truths, and they are woven somehow together, to form the tapestry of existence, the subtle, somber, some bright, some dark, threads, or cords, of reality. In historical studies it is often hard, trying to peer back into the mists of time, to ascertain even the deeds of men; how much harder it is then to look into their hearts. Too, it is a sobering thought, but it is well to remember that those hearts may be quite different from our own. Our beliefs, our values, our worlds, may not be the beliefs, values, or worlds of others. Doubtless we would find it difficult to enter the experience of the serpent, the wolf, the hawk, the vi-cat. Perhaps, too, then, we would find it difficult to enter into the experiences of men which may be quite different from ours, experiences perhaps more akin to those of the serpent, the hawk, the wolf, and the vi-cat,

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to those of predators, to those of beasts, than they are to ours. But, doubtless, even so, there is a kinship. It seems likely that nothing which is human can be utterly alien to us. Each of us, doubtless, carries in our heart many things. In historical studies it is not impossible to find the present, and ourselves. No sooner had the giant leapt down into the snow, under the stars, from the shields, to the shouting and the clashing of weapons, than a warrior thrust aside others, and confronted him. "Let us laugh with steel!" he cried, tears in his eyes. The warrior was seized by those about, and, struggling, held fast. A blade was instantly at his heart, poised there by young Vandar, the first of the Otungs who had seized up the hot meat on the table before him, and fed upon it, his eyes on his lord, Otto, who had just been acknowledged by Urta as king of the Otungs. Otto gestured that Vandar should lower his weapon. Otto gestured that the warrior should be released. "Let us laugh with steel," said again the warrior, to Otto, king of the Otungen. Men cried out with rage for their lord had again been threatened. Had Otto not raised his hand, conveying to them that they must desist, furs would have surged about the bold fellow, the press of a hundred knives, in turn, responding to his insolence. "Let him laugh with me!" cried Vandar.

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"No, with me!" cried others. Men looked angrily at one another. Each would vie with each to defend to the death their liege lord. "How is it that you so speak to your king?" asked Otto of the bold fellow. "I want the slave girl," said Citherix. There was a soft, startled cry from the side where, miserable, shivering, partly bent over, her arms clutched about her, stood blond Yata, the slave of Otto. She had crept forth from the hall, and, until then, had been muchly unnoticed. Aware of eyes upon her, she knelt in the snow, putting her head down to it. "I will give you a thousand sheep, and a thousand pigs, for her," said Citherix. Men cried out, amazed, at the bounty of such an offer. "She is not for sale," said Otto. "Let us laugh with steel," said Citherix. "You must want her very much," said Otto.

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"I must have her," said Citherix. "But she is not yours," said the giant. "I will have her or die," said Citherix. "I do not understand," said the giant. "I love her," said Citherix, angrily. The slave, to the side, cried out, startled, softly. There was rude laughter amongst the men and women outside the hall. "He loves a slave!" laughed a man. "A slave!" laughed another. "He is a fool!" said a man. "Yes," said another. There was more laughter. "I will have her or die," said Citherix. "As you wish," said Otto. "Bring me my sword," said he to Vandar. In a moment the great sword was in his hands.

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"Do you think you can best me?" asked the giant. "No," said Citherix. "But yet you would laugh with steel?" "Yes," said Citherix. Men cleared a space in the snow about them. It was some fifteen feet in diameter. "Please, no, Master!" cried the slave. "Cuff her," said Otto. The nearest warrior struck the slave to her side in the snow. She lay in the snow, weeping. "See that he has a shield," said Otto. A shield was handed to Citherix. The moonlight was bright, the shadows dark, the snow, where not trampled, away from the hall, away from the crowd, glistened. The great blade struck, cutting away the upper part of the shield. Citherix stumbled backward, slipping in the snow. Another blow cleaved away much of the left side of the shield. Citherix cast it aside and, two hands on the hilt of his sword, tried desperately to interpose

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it between himself and the great blade, which, with blow after blow, ringing, mighty, patient, merciless, with terrible weight, beat down upon it. Down Citherix was forced to his knees, each blow pounding his own blade down, forcing it down, driving it closer and closer to his head, his face and body. And then he was on his back, and the giant was over him, and again the great blade rang down. The arms of Citherix trembled, and shook, and ached. The hilt of his sword burned in his stung, tortured hands. Then the giant's blade, on the last stroke, turning, not lifting away for yet another onslaught, caught Citherix's blade under the guard, in that tiny moment just after the last pounding, ringing blow, when the grip loosened, to be instantly readjusted, retightened, for meeting the next stroke, and tore it up, away from his hands, and flung it high, and aside, over the heads of men, yards away, into the night, and the snow. "Ah," said men, softly, and the business was for all intents and purposes finished. The giant raised the blade over his head. "No!" screamed a voice, and a small body flung itself, sobbing, across Citherix, who lay in the snow, shielding him, clinging to him. "No, no, please, Master!" it cried. "Kill me, instead!" Otto, puzzled, lowered the sword. The blow, of course, from such a blade, wielded with the might of the giant, which could fell small trees, and cut the heads from horses, might have cut through both bodies, arresting itself only, at last, in the

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frozen ground. But the giant lowered the sword. "Kneel," said he to the slave girl, who, in terror, drew back from the body of Citherix and knelt to one side in the trampled snow. The giant, with one hand, bent her head down and threw her hair forward, exposing that small fine neck, the vertebrae of which he might have snapped in one hand. "Very well," said he, "it is her life for yours." The giant rested the edge of the blade on the back of the slave's neck, and then lifted it, for the blow. "No!" said Citherix, his hand extended, half rising. "No!" He turned and crawled to the slave. He, on his knees, took her in his arms, shielding her, putting his body between hers and the blade. "Let her live," said he. "It is I who am guilty. It is I who raised steel against my king. That is treason, and the punishment for it is death." "That is true, milord," said Ulrich. "The king may kill," said Otto. "The king may pardon. The king may do as he pleases." "That is true, milord," said Ulrich. There was assent to this among the men. "I pardon you," said Otto to Citherix. "Rise up. Be Otung."

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Citherix rose, unsteadily, to his feet. "Why do you pardon me, milord?" he asked. "I have need," said Otto, "of men bold enough to challenge kings." Men looked at one another. "Only of such men," said Otto, "would I be king." "What of the slave, milord?" asked Ulrich. Otto looked down at the slave who, kneeling in the snow, shivering, put her head down. "Sometimes," said Otto, to the girl, "it takes a slave some time, in straps and chains, to learn who is her true master." "Yes, Master," she whispered. Otto turned to Citherix. "Do you think you can teach her?" "Milord?" said Citherix. "It seems she is more your slave than mine," said Otto. "My slave?" said Citherix, astonished. He looked down at the slave, who looked up at him, tears in her

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eyes. She smiled, through her tears, and nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of her head, so small a movement that it seemed she almost feared that it might be detected. "I could give her to you," said Otto, "but I would rather sell her to you." "Anything!" cried Citherix. "One pig," said Otto. "I want her clearly to understand her value." "Done, milord!" cried Citherix. "To him, slut," said Otto. Yata hurried on her knees to Citherix, and, laughing and crying, performed obeisance before him, and then, putting herself to her belly in the snow and holding to his ankles, one after the other, pressed kisses upon his snowy boots. "I thought you hated me," said Citherix. "I have always loved you, Master," she said. "I have always wanted to be owned by you, wholly, uncompromisingly, as a slave is truly owned. I have always wanted to be yours, completely, and to have no choice but to obey you perfectly, helplessly, will-lessly, in all things. That is how much I love you! So much so that I wanted to be your slave! So much so that I must be your slave! So much so that I can be only your slave! I have always wanted to be your slave! I have always

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dreamed of being of your slave, even from the time I was a little girl and you were a little boy! And I had hoped that you might accept me not only as your slave, but that you might one day come to realize that I was not only your helpless slave, yours to do with as you wished, in any way, but that I was, too, your love slave! No matter how you may despise or mistreat me, Master, I cannot help but be your helpless love slave!" "You will be kept, of course, as a slave," said Citherix. "Yes, Master!" "As a total slave." "Of my own will, were it permitted me, I would have it no other way, Master." She

shivered, in the

snow. "Forgive

me, Master!"

she

said,

frightened. "You are Hortense," he said, naming her. "I am Hortense," she said. This name would serve to remind everyone that she was once Hortense, though she wore the name now only as a slave name, only as a pig or dog might be named, by the will of her master. "Many times did I dream of owning the troublesome, insolent Hortense," he said.

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"She is now yours," said the slave. He bent down and folded her shivering body in his cloak, and lifted her up. "I will carry you within the hall," he said, "and warm you by the fire pit, and then you will serve me, beneath the table, at my place." "Yes, Master!" she said. She wept with joy, kissing him. "I have waited long to own you," he said. "I have waited long to be owned by you," she said. He gathered her more closely to him. "How shall I treat you?" he asked. "Remember that I cost only a pig, Master," she said. "I shall," he said. He turned about and carried her within the hall. "Citherix would now die for you," said Ulrich.

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The giant turned about. "I would have a woman," he said. "Where are the slaves of the Otungs?" Men looked to one another, abashed. "There is only one slave among the Otungs," said a man, "and that is the slave of Citherix." "The Heruls do not permit us slaves," said another man. "It is part of their policy," said another, "to so exercise their will over us, to mock and humiliate us, to keep us weak, to deny us the rights of dominance and possession, the rights of conquering manhood." "That will change," said Otto. "Men need slaves." "Slaves, too, need masters, milord," said a woman, almost inaudibly. "There are many women in the empire," said Otto, "who need masters." "And elsewhere, milord," said a woman, softly. "Do not become aroused by the example of a despicable slave," said a man, angrily. "No, no, of course not!" said the woman. "They are different," said the man. "You are not such as they!"

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"No, of course not!" exclaimed the woman. "You are different!" he said. "Yes, yes!" she said. "You are proud, noble, and free!" he said. "Yes," she said. "Yes!" The giant looked at the woman. He sized her up, as men who are practiced with women do. He did not think she would look badly, in chains. She would lick and kiss eagerly, and within the hour, with scarcely a touch of the whip, he thought. "I think some women can be found," said the giant. He, at that time, of course, believed that the women embarked from Inez IV were in Venitzia. To be sure, that was days away. "The king," said Hartnar, "will need a queen." He thrust a young woman forward. "My daughter, Gertrude," he said, "is a comely lass." The giant pushed up the girl's chin and looked into her eyes, which she suddenly, frightened, turned away. Never had she been so looked upon. Surely she was not in a slaver's house, for sale! Surely she was not upon a slave block! "I have this niece," said Gelerich. "She is of the lineage of Pertinax, of

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the Orti." Another woman was pushed forward. "Not of the Orti!" said Astarax. "Take a woman of the Eni, Una, of the house of Fendash, or Tuse, or Gretchen, of the house of Hertzaufen. Una, Tuse, Gretchen, come forward!" "The daughters of Gundar, Esa and Estrid, are beauties," said a man, of the clan Oni. "Where has he hidden them?" laughed a man. "He does not want the Heruls to learn of them and take them for slaves," said a man. "Perhaps they should be slaves," said a man. The giant supposed that many women should be slaves, and of the Otungs, too, for their women, too, were women. Many, he supposed, might be better off, taken to far, rich, exotic worlds, in chains, there to serve strong masters. But the Otungs, too, he thought, must have women. "There are many comely women," said Ulrich, "and from the Elbi, too!" Women crowded about. Some had been thrust forward, others guided

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forward, or urged forward, but others had come forward of their own will, some hurrying forward. It is not unlike the wares in a slaver's house, thought the giant, on those rare occasions when a strong man, one deemed a desirable master, a possible buyer, is given the liberty of the premises. To be sure, the goods were not in brief silks, or stripped, and, either silked or stripped, in collars, kneeling. The thought of Filene crossed the giant's mind. He remembered her, from the night he had tied her at the foot of his bed. He had heard, at times during the night, when she had thought him asleep, her restlessness, her tiny, half-restrained inadvertent whimpers, and moans. There had seemed something different about her, though he had not been sure what it was. He supposed that it was only that she had not yet learned her slavery. That could be remedied, easily. And she was on Tangara, presumably in Venitzia. The giant looked upon the free women. One smiled. Another turned, that he might conjecture her figure. They are free, they are dangerous, he thought. They have all the power of their freedom, of custom, of rude law protecting them,

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rendering them invulnerable, permitting them to strive in a thousand sly ways against men, capable of reducing and diminishing men, of denying them, of using their bodies to buy what they wanted, of withholding them for gain, of offering favors for bribes, and all with impunity. How different the slave, who is owned, and must please! Women are the enemy, thought the giant. Why should not men then, who are stronger, simply subdue them, and then let them find themselves the spoils of war, owned and mastered. It is pleasant to tame women, to make them obedient, dutiful, passionate slaves, and to drive them to sexual ecstasies a thousand times beyond those attainable by the free woman, to have them at the foot of your bed, on the floor, perhaps bound hand and foot there, begging for your touch. Yes, thought the giant, women should be slaves; they belong in collars, and shackles. And women, interestingly, thought the giant, dream of masters. They long for the chains in which they know themselves rightfully to belong. At the master's feet is the place of women, and this, deny it, and fear it and fight it as they will, in their hearts, they know. The man who does not put them to their knees they despise. They respond, in the fullness of their sexuality, only to the man before whom they must kneel. How luscious, thought the giant, was Filene. And she is somewhere in Venitzia! I must arrange for the trading mission he thought. I must go, with men, to Venitzia.

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It was the next day that the giant learned, to his elation, after a night of terrible and restless torment, that the trade expedition, with vehicles, and goods, and tents and equipment, under the command of Lysis, attempting to follow him, had arrived near the edge of the forest, only hours away. Heruls, apparently curious to see what would ensue, had brought the expedition that far. They would not venture into the forest. The next day, toward evening, at the head of some ten picked men, including Vandar, the giant emerged from the forest, and saw, in the distance, the camp compound and its defensive perimeter, illuminated by floodlights. The men with him had never seen such a camp. It was quite different from the wagons of the Heruls. In a short time the giant had approached the camp, and, from a distance of several yards outside the fence, made himself known. Lysis himself, and the young blond officer, having ascertained through sentries that the guest from the night was indeed Otto, came themselves through the fence. They seized him, and embraced him warmly. "We had hoped we could make contact with you here," said Lysis, supply officer of the Narcona. "Why did you leave Venitzia without us?"

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"It was important to come alone, to prepare the way," said Otto. "Telnarians are not welcome in the forest?" asked Corelius, the young blond officer. "There are many places Telnarians are not welcome," said Otto. "Did your mission go well?" asked Lysis. "I think we have cause to be pleased," said Otto. "Who are those with you?" asked Lysis. "Otungs," said Otto. "I would not approach them too closely, as two have bows." "How many are there?" asked Lysis. "Ten," said Otto. "That does not seem too many," said Corelius. "They are welcome," said Lysis. "Telnarians and Otungs are enemies," said Otto. "I think it is better that we do not bring soldiers and Otungs together, until we have prepared both."

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"He is right," said Corelius. "A gesture, a shove, a heated word, a drawn knife or pistol, and the work of Ottonius could go for naught." "The mercenary company I have been charged to form," said Otto, "as it is currently conceived, will be much its own unit, functioning substantially independently, muchly under its own command. Ideally, it will have as little close interaction with regular Telnarian forces as possible, in particular, with those of the fixed sort." Here the giant was referring to the border, or garrison troops, as distinguished from the mobile forces. "Fraternization would be dangerous?" said Lysis. "Better," said Otto, "to house arn bears and vi-cats in the same cage." Both animals, it might be noted, aside from being natural enemies, tend to be restless, short-tempered, aggressive, and territorial. "Perhaps you should return to them, and have them wait, until we have discussed matters fully." "My thoughts, as well," said Otto. "You will enjoy our hospitality, in the compound, I trust," said Lysis. "Yes," said Otto.

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"We will have a splendid supper," said Lysis. "I shall return in a moment," said Otto. He went back and conversed with his men. He told them to return to the hall, and he would join them later. They faded away, back into the darkness of the forest. In a few moments Otto had rejoined Lysis and Corelius. "Tonight," said Otto, "after we talk, and after supper, I will need a woman." "We will have one prepared for you," said Lysis. "Who?" asked Otto. "Filene," said Corelius. "Excellent," said Otto.

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