Rask of Treve held my head in his two hands.
It was near dawn.
We lay on the summit of the grassy knoll, wrapped in his cloak. Sensing his permission, I again touched my lips, timidly to his. I was turned suddenly, helplessly, on my back, and again, clutching him, tears of pleasure in my eyes, yielded to the joy of him.
We were silent together.
There was a dew on the grass, and the cloak in which we lay wrapped was wet on the outside. The light of the beginning of the morning was tender, sparkling on the stalks of the grass, giving the hill of my domination a sweet, soft sheen. I still wore on my left ankle the heavy chain. Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, once of Earth, once rich, once spoiled, and cruel and selfish, now only a conquered Gorean slave girl, lay intimately, lovingly, in the arms of her absolute master.
I looked up into the eyes of Rask of Treve. He looked down upon me. "How is it that I care for you?" he asked. "I love you," I whispered. "I love you, Master."
"I despise you," he said.
I smiled at him, tears in my eyes.
"And yet," he said, "from the first time I saw you, in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, I could not forget you, but must have you as mine."
"I am yours," I whispered, "I am yours, Master. Utterly. Unconditionally yours. Your slave. Your helpless slave!"
"From the time I saw you," said he, "I knew that to me you could not be simply as other slaves."
I clutched him.
He looked down at me, troubled. He touched my head gently, moving back hair from the right side of my face. "Can it be," he asked, "that I, Rask of Treve, care for a mere slave?"
"I love you, Master," I cried, "I love you! I love you!"
He did not let me press my lips to his. He looked down upon me, smiling. "Were you curious," he asked, "why before I never let you serve the men, when the other girls did so."
I smiled up at him. "Yes," I said, "I am curious."
"I was saving you for myself," he said.
I laughed.
"I kept you as long as I could," he said, "but when you danced, then I knew I must have you."
I kissed him, and kissed him, weeping.
His hands were suddenly hard on my arms, and he forced me back. He grinned. "You danced your insolence," he said. "You danced your pride, your defiance, your contempt and scorn." He looked down at me.
I looked up at him. "I am not now insolent," I said, "Master." I smiled, tears in my eyes. "I am not now proud. I am not now defiant. I am not now contemptuous, nor scornful." I reached up, and he permitted me to kiss him, gently. I lay back. "I have been humbled, well humbled, Master," I smiled. "What are you now? he asked.
"Only your slave," I whispered, looking up at him, "only your humbled, helpless slave, Master." He laughed.
I smiled.
"I have heard," he said, "that there is an insolent female slave in camp, a proud, unconquered girl."
I shook my head. "No longer, Master," I said.
"Did she escape?" he asked.
"No, Master," I smiled, "she did not escape."
"Her name was El-in-or," he said.
"She did not escape," I said.
He smiled.
"No female slave escapes Rask of Treve," I said.
"That is true," he said, the beast. But it was true.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"That same El-in-or," I said.
"She did not escape?" he said.
"No." I said. I laughed to myself. I had indeed not escaped.
"Whose slave is El-in-or?" he asked.
"Rask of Treve's," I said.
"Does she love? he asked.
"Yes," I said, "she loves." I tried to lift myself, to touch his lips with mine, but he would not permit me. "She loves desperately and completely," I whispered. "Whom?" he asked.
I lay my head back, regarding him. I put my head to one side. "May I speak? I asked.
"Yes," he said, toying with his finger on my shoulder.
"But must I speak the truth?" I asked.
"Or you will be lashed, and put in the slave box," he said.
I was startled. Yet I knew, suddenly, that, if I lied, he would indeed whip me, and quite possibly place me again in the hated slave box. He was a Gorean master. I was at his mercy. I wondered if I could have felt so much his, so completely surrendered, if he had not possessed this complete power over my life and body. I belonged to him. But I did not want him to whip me, or put me in the slave box. I wanted only, desperately to please him. And I knew I must, for I was his slave. The absolute truth must be spoken to a Gorean master. It is forbidden to a girl to hide her feelings.
I looked up at him.
"It is well known to Rask of Treve," I smiled, "whom it is that the slave girl, El-in-or, loves."
"Speak it," he said.
"She loves her master," I said. "She loves Rask of Treve."
"I am he," he said.
"It is you whom she loves," I said.
"And who are you? he asked, his finger idly at my hip.
"She!" I cried, suddenly, laughing, with pleasure.
He kissed my throat.
"Has she been conquered?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said. "Yes!" I held him.
"Conquer me!" I wept. "Again conquer me!"
There were sounds of the early morning in the camp. It was now light. Far off, I could hear Ute summoning her girls. A tarn cried in the compound. I heard the sounds of pans. Some fires were being lit.
"In your dance, before you fell before me in the sand," said Rask of Treve, "I thought I detected in your dance something other than contempt and scorn." "Yes," I said. I kissed him.
I knew then what I had not understood before, what, for brief moments in the firelight, on the sand before his warriors and their slaves, my body had danced to him, my need, my desire for him, my readiness and my desperate plea for his touch.
For those moments, briefly mingled with the dancing of my pride, my insolence, my contempt and scorn, I had, not fully aware, yet sensing fear what I did, in the dance of a slave girl, piteously begged for the love of my master. He had seen fit to touch me, and had summoned me to his tent.
We heard the sounds of the camp.
My left ankle wore the heavy chain. We lay together on the grassy knoll. I held him to me, my cheek at his waist. His hand lay gently on the right side of my head.
"It is time for you to be about your work, Slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
From his pouch he took forth a key and sprang open the heavy manacle that had clasped, so perfectly confining it, my left ankle.
He put his cloak about my shoulders. "Go to the shed," he said, "and get a work tunic."
I was being dismissed.
I threw the cloak to the grass and knelt at his feet, as though chained. I looked up at him. He was now standing on his feet, and he looked down at me, tenderly.
"I am chained at your feet," I said. It was a saying of a Gorean slave, to express her feelings.
"Yes," he said, gently.
"I love you!" I cried. I thrust my head to his feet. I suddenly began to weep. "Do not sell me!" I begged. "Do not sell me! Keep me for yourself! Keep me forever for yourself!" I could not bear the thought of being separated from him. It would have been the torture of the tearing of my heart from my body. The very thought caused in me excruciating suffering. I looked up agonized. I understood then as I had not before what could be the cruelty, the tragedy, of being a female slave. What if I had not pleased him sufficiently? "I will please you more!" I wept. "More! I will give you everything! Everything! Keep me! Do not sell me! I love you! I love you!" I lifted my wrists to him, as though they wore slave bracelets. I smiled through my tears. "You see," I whispered, "I am chained at your feet."