"I wish they would not put them out like that," she said.
"Do you object to public drinking fountains?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But that is different."
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Men are beasts, and seeing such women may get ideas. Perhaps free women would be less safe."
"The existence of such women on Gorean streets, particularly in times of stress," I said, "tends to keep free women safer."
She was silent.
"It is true," I said.
"Perhaps," she said.
"Few men will trouble themselves to steal a dried crust of bread, perhaps even at great personal risk, if a free banquet is set forth before them. To be sure, some men are unusual."
"I am not a dried crust of bread," she said, irritably.
"It is only a figure of speech," I said.
"I am not a dried crust of bread," she said.
"You are a free woman," I said.
"If I chose to be, if I were in the least interested in that sort of thing," she said. "I could prove to be a quite tasty pudding for a man."
" "Tasty pudding'? " I asked, pleased to hear her speak in this way. "Yes," she said.
"That is a common misconception of untrained free women," I said. "They think themselves attractive and skilled, when they know little of attractiveness and almost nothing of skill." "Skill?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "There is more in pleasing a man than taking off your clothes and lying down."
"Perhaps," she said, irritably.
"Indeed," I said, "sometimes you do not take off your clothes, and you do not lie down."
"I see," she said, angrily.
"Perhaps you could get lessons from Feiqa," I said.
"Oh, no, please, Master!" cried Feiqa, fearfully. "Please, no!"
I smiled. I did not think, under the circumstances, it would be necessary to beat her. It had, after all, been a joke on my part, a capital one. To be sure, not everyone appreciates my splendid sense of humor. Boots Tarsk-Bit had not always done so, as I recalled.
"That would be absurd," said Boabissia, angrily.
"Yes, Mistress!" said Feiqa, quickly.
"To be sure," I said to Boabissia, "you are in somewhat greater danger than many free women for you have not chosen to veil yourself."
"Alar women do not wear veils," she said. "They are an artifice of civilization, fit rather for perfumed girls who would be better off in collars."
"You are not an Alar woman," said Hurtha.
"I grew up with the wagons," she said, angrily.
"That is true," he admitted, it seemed almost reluctantly. I supposed if Hurtha had encountered Boabissia under somewhat different circumstances his relationship to her would have been considerably different, for example, if he had bought her in a slave market. Her background with the wagons had perhaps, rightly or wrongly, inhibited him somewhat, I feared, keeping him from viewing her as what she essentially was, a rather juicy possibility for a female.
"You do want to be safe, don't you?" I asked Boabissia.
"Of course, of course," she said, irritably.
"Then perhaps you should not object to the occasional chaining out of slaves." I said.
"Perhaps," she said.
"And perhaps you should veil yourself." "Nonsense," she said.
"But you do want to be safe?" I asked.
"Of course," she said.
"Then veil yourself," I said.
"No," she said.
"Well, perhaps it does not matter," I said.
"Why is that?" she asked.
"You are probably right," I said.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"You are probably not pretty enough to interest anyone," I said.
"Nonsense," she said. "I am beautiful. And men would pay a high price for me." Hurtha roared with laughter.
Boabissia turned about and glared at him. I was pleased she no longer possessed her dagger.
"Do not laugh," I laughed.
I, too, then, I fear, had she been armed, might have had to defend myself. "You are stupid, both of you," she said, "like all men. You simply do not know what to make of free women."
"I am an Alar," said Hurtha. "I know what to make of free women."
"What?" she asked.
"Slaves," he roared.
"I am pretty, aren't I?" asked Boabissia.
"Yes," I said. "You are. We are teasing."
"And I would bring a high price, would I not?" asked Boabissia.
"I would think so," I said, "at least for a new, untrained slave, for slave meat a master has not yet seasoned and prepared to his taste."
"You see?" she asked Hurtha.
Hurtha snorted with derision.
"Am I not attractive, Hurtha?" she asked.
"You?" he asked.
"I," she said, angrily.
"You are of no more interest than a she-tharlarion," he said, "and if you were a she-tharlarion, I do not even think a male tharlarion would be interested in you." He threw back his head, laughing.
"If you saw me all soft and naked, at your feet, and perfumed and painted, and in a collar and chains, you would want me," she said, angrily.
Hurtha stopped laughing. Suddenly he seemed angry. His hand closed on the ax handle over his shoulder. His other hand clenched into a fist.
"Do, not fear, Hurtha," she said, "you big simple beast, that pleasure will never be yours."
Hurtha did not respond, but glared angrily, fixedly ahead.
We continued on our way.
"He does think I am attractive, doesn't he?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"And you would like to have me, too, wouldn't you?" she asked.
"Under certain circumstances, perhaps," I said.
"If I were a slave?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"Of course!" she laughed.
"Move along," said a guard, one of several along our route.
Boabissia began to hum an Alar tune. She seemed in fine spirits. I glanced over at her. A great transformation had come over her since the night before last, since she had been put on her back, her wrists tied to the spokes, a copper bowl resting on the dirt beside her. I wondered if she might make a suitable slave. It seemed possible. I imagined what she might look like with a collar on her neck, instead of the familiar thong and disk. I supposed it might be nice to have her. It was not too late, really, I supposed, to enslave her. One could then have her when and as one pleased.
"What is wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said.
"Move, move along," said another guard.
"Ah," said another, regarding Boabissia. She was, of course, not veiled. "Move," said another.
"You, too, free wench," said another, irritably. Boabissia would walk straightly by these fellows, regally, her head high, seemingly ignoring them, apparently not even deigning to glance at them. To be sure, I was confident she was only too keenly and pleasurably aware of their scrutiny, their appraisal and appreciation. She was now, after her experiences of the night before last, too much of an awakened female not to be aware of, and pleased at, the effects she could exercise upon men.
"Do you think it wise to behave in such fashion?" I asked her.
"In what fashion?" she asked, innocently, smiling.
"Never mind," I said.
She laughed.
To be sure, what had she to fear from them? She was a free woman. She had nothing to fear from them, absolutely nothing to fear from them, unless perhaps, one day, she should become a slave. Then she might have much to fear from them. In the distance I could see the great gate of Torcadino.
"Slut," said one of the soldiers.
Boabissia laughed, not looking at him.
"Collar meat," he called out.
She laughed again, giving him no other notice.
How well, if haughtily, she now walked. I considered the walks of free women, and of slaves. How few free women really walk their beauty. Perhaps they are ashamed of it, or fear it. Few free women walk in such a way as to display their beauty, as, for example, a slave must. I considered the length of garments. The long garments, usually worn by free women, such as that now worn by Boabissia, might cover certain defects of gait perhaps, but when one's legs are bared, as a slave's commonly are, one must walk their beauty and grace. Too, given the scantiness of many slave garments, it is sometimes necessary to walk in them with exquisite care.