"Of course," I smiled.
"Doubtless in your deft script," he said, lying on his back, looking at the low, peeling ceiling above him.
"I was hoping someone might be prevailed upon to provide a more convincing communication," I said.
"Oh!" said the new slave. She moved uneasily, tensely, but did not break position.
"The handwriting must suggest a correspondent who is educated, charming, witty, elegant and suave," I said.
"That sounds like a job for your own block script," he said. "It has many virtues. I have known peasants who could not do as well. Or, if you prefer, you could use your inimitable cursive script, with its unusual alternate lines. Its humorous suggestion of complete illiteracy adds to it's a piquant charm all of its own."
"My master has an excellent hand!" volunteered Phoebe.
"Were you asked to speak?" inquired Marcus.
"No, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." She then lay small and quiet beside him. She did not wish to be cuffed or whipped.
"It was my hope, Phoebe," said I, "that your master, exactly, might be prevailed upon to lend his expertise to this endeavor.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"I write a simple hand," said Marcus.
"Perhaps you could add a few flourishes, or something," I suggested.
"No," said Marcus.
"Do you want me to write it?" I asked.
"That would be disastrous," he said.
"Also," I said, "my handwriting might be recognized."
"I hadn't thought of that," said Marcus.
"You will do it then?" I asked.
"I will write only my own hand," he said.
"That will be perfect," I said.
"What if she has seen the handwriting of the putative correspondent?" asked Marcus.
"That is highly unlikely," I said. It was unthinkable that the putative correspondent would initiate such a correspondence. In such a relationship the first note, if there were to be notes, given the risks involved, would surely issue from the free person.
I touched the slave near me, on all fours, on the side of the leg.
"You," I said to her, "will be under no doubt, however, as to the contents of the other message."
"Yes, Master," she said. She moved, uneasily. I moved a bit, and looked at the ankle ring on her left ankle. I then put my hand on the ring, and then pressed my thumb a little into her leg. I then turned the ring a little on her ankle, shifting it a bit. There was about a quarter of an inch of slippage between the metal and her ankle. I then lifted the chain, a little, one of its links hammered shut about the ring's staple, and let it drop to the floor. She shuddered at the tiny sound. I then jerked twice, softly, on the chain, that she might feel this small force exerted on the ring, and subsequently on her ankle, within it. Below the ring, behind it, her foot was small and soft. I regarded it, the hell, the sole, her toes. It was a small, shapely, lovely foot. And then, above it, close about the ankle, locked, was the ankle ring. I then touched her collar, and turned it a little, back and forth. She was very quiet while I did this. It, like the other collars, was an excellent fit. I then readjusted it, carefully. The lock was now again centered, at the back of the neck. I then touched her. "Oh, oh!" she said.
"Steady," I said.
She moaned.
"Because," I said, "you will write it."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"I will dictate the contents to you," I said, "or, if you wish, you may compose it, subject, of course, to my approval."
"As master wishes!" she said.
"Do not break position," I warned her.
Marcus and I had agreed that Phoebe would not write the letter. It was better that it was done by a woman who had been at one time a citizeness of Ar, her penmanship influenced by the private schools of the city. It is a well-known fact, on the world, Earth, that the cursive script of diverse nationalities, such as the English, French and Italian, tend to differ in certain general ways, quite aside from the individual characteristics of particular writers. Certain letters, for example, tend to be formed differently, and so on. Much the same thing, predictably, and perhaps even more so, given the isolation of so many of her cities, occurs on Gor. for example, Phoebe had a beautiful, feminine hand, but it was natural for her, and easiest for her, of course, to write it Cosian script. It was not that Cosian script, was illegible, say, to folks of Ko-ro-ba or Ar, but rather that it was recognizably different. Thus, rather than have Phoebe try to disguise her hand and write in the script of Ar, Marcus and I had decided that the note, or letter, would be written by the new slave, whose background, and education, were of Ar, the same as those of the putative writer of the note, or letter. In the formation of most cursive letters, incidentally, there are few, if any, differences among the various cities. The differences tent to have more to do with the "cast' of the hand, so to speak, its general appearance, a function of a number of things, such as size, spacing of letters, linkages among them, lengths of loops, nature of end strokes, and such. Also, certain letters, at least for commercial or legal, if not personal purposes, tended to be standardized. An excellent example are those standing for various weights and measures. Another familiar example is the tiny, lovely, cursive "kef' which is the same whether it is put on a girl in Cos, or Ar, or Ko-ro-ba, or Thentis or Turia.
"Oh, Master!" sobbed the slave.
"Master!" said Phoebe, suddenly, taken by Marcus and thrust down, forcibly, to the boards. He looked down into her eyes, fiercely. "Yes, Master," she said, lifting her arms to put them about his neck.
"When do you think your friend, the noble Tarsk-Bit, will be prepared to act?" asked Marcus, evenly.
"Please enter your slave, Master," said Phoebe.
"Do not be angry with him," I said. "He had to revile the Home Stone to see it, to examine it. "I had encouraged Marcus not to be present when this was done, but he had, of course, insisted upon it. In so far as it was practical it seemed he wished to be present at, and, in a sense, supervise, all phases of this delicate and, I thought at least, perilous operation. No detail was too unimportant to him to overlook. What could compare in importance for Marcus, for example, to the recovery of his Home Stone, its rescue from its captivity in Ar? To be sure, I think Boots had overdone the matter a bit. He, exuberant in his performance, probably did not realize that I was struggling a few yards behind him to keep Marcus from leaping upon him, blade in hand. Most of those about, of course, also taking no note of the reactions of Marcus, the fire in his eyes, and such, had been muchly amused. Boots had made a great show of his contempt for the Home Stone of the treacherous Ar's station. His insults had been numerous, well thought out, stinging, and delivered with flair. He had even been applauded. It was fortunate that Marcus had not reached him. In so simple a manner had Boots, unbeknownst to himself, escaped unscathed, for example, without having had his heart slashed out of his living body.
"When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.
"He did not mean it, what he said," I said.
"He sounded convincing," said Marcus, grimly.
"Would you have preferred that he sounded unconvincing?" I asked.
"Master," begged Phoebe.
"Master!" said the new slave, suddenly. She must not, of course, break position. "When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.
"The facsimile must be prepared," I said. "That takes time."
"When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.
"Soon, I am sure," I said.
"Perhaps he has already left the city," said Marcus.
"No," I said.
"Your slave begs," said Phoebe to Marcus.
"Your slave begs, too!" said the slave near me.
The new slave, beside me, was on all fours. She was in this position by my will. I had been keeping her in this position. It is a position which a woman understands. I had, furthermore, checked her ankle ring, and collar. Such things are very meaningful to a woman. such attentions, seemingly small in themselves, subtly, explosively, erupt in the cognizances of her belly. Bu means of them is her bondage recalled to her. By means of them she understands herself the better, and to whom she belongs. Also, such things would commonly be checked as a simple matter of course, just as one might check the tether on a verr, or the chain on a sleen. Beyond this, of course, I had, from time to time, as I had spoken with her, and discussed matters with Marcus, touched her, sometimes almost idly, while concerned with other matters. But now her body was tense. "Oh!" she said. Her lovely flanks quivered. She could not resist my touch, even involuntarily, as her knees and the palms of her hands must remain in contact with the floor.