The iron was now poised for the sudden, firm imprint.
I noted that some of the delicate golden hair on her thigh, from the very proximity of the iron, curled and blackened.
She closed her eyes and tensed herself for the sudden, inevitable, searing flash of pain.
"Don" t brand her," I said.
The man looked up, puzzled. The terror-filled eyes of the girl opened, regarded me questioningly.
"Why not?" asked the man.
"I" ll buy her," I said.
The minion of the slaver stood up and regarded me curiously. He turned to the domed tents. "Targo!" he called. Then he thrust the iron back into the brazier. The girl" s body sagged in the chains. She had fainted. From among the domed tents, wearing a swirling robe of broadly striped blue and yellow silk, with a headband of the same material, there approached a short, fat man, Targo the Slaver, he who was master of this small caravan. Targo wore purple sandals, the straps of which were set with pearls. His thick fingers were covered with rings, which glittered as he moved his hands. About his neck, in the manner of a steward, he wore a set of pierced coins threaded on a silver wire. From the lobe of each small, round ear there hung an enormous earring, a sapphire pendant on a golden stalk. His body had been recently oiled, and I gathered he may have been washed in his tent but moments ago, a pleasure of which caravan masters are fond at the end of a day" s hot, dusty trek. His hair, long and black beneath the band of blue and yellow silk, was combed and glossy. It reminded me of the groomed, shining pelt of a pet urt.
"Good day, Master," smiled Targo, bowing as well as he could from the waist, hastily taking account of the unlikely stranger who stood before him. Then he turned to the man who watched the irons. His voice was now sharp and unpleasant. "What" s going on here?"
The grizzled fellow pointed to me. "He doesn" t want me to mark the girl," he said.
Targo looked at me, not quite understanding. "But why?" he asked. I felt foolish. What could I tell this merchant, this specialist in the traffic of flesh, this businessman who stood well within the ancient traditions and practices of his trade? Could I tell him that I did not wish the girl to be hurt? He would have thought me a mad man. Yet what other reason was there?
Feeling stupid, I told him the truth. "I do not wish the see her hurt." Targo and the grizzled master of the irons exchanged glances.
"But she is only a slave," said Targo.
"I know," I said.
The grizzled man spoke up. "He said he" d buy her."
"Ah!" said Targo, and his tiny eyes gleamed. "That" s different." Then an expression of great sadness transformed his fat ball of a face. "But it is sad she is so expensive."
"I have no money," I said.
Targo stared at me, uncomprehendingly. His fat small body contracted like a pudgy fist. He was angry. He turned to the grizzled man, and looked no more at me. "Brand the girl," he said.
The grizzled man knelt to pull one of the irons from the brazier. My sword pushed a quarter of an inch into the belly of the merchant. "Don" t brand the girl," said Targo.
Obediently the man thrust the iron back into the fire. He noted that my sword was at the belly of his master, but did not seem unduly disturbed. "Shall I call the guardsmen?" he asked.
"I doubt they could arrive in time," I said evenly.
"Don" t call the guardsmen," said Targo, who was now sweating.
"I have no money," I said, "but I have this scabbard."
Targo" s eyes darted to the scabbard and moved from one emerald to the other. His lips moved silently. Six of them he counted.
"Perhaps," said Targo, "we can make an arrangement."
I resheathed the sword.
Targo spoke sharply to the grizzled man. "Awaken the slave."
Grumbling, the man went to fetch a leather bucket of water from the small stream near the camp. Targo and I regarded one another until the man returned, the leather bucket hung over his shoulder by its straps. He hurled the bucket of cold water, from the melted snow in the Sardar, on the chained girl, who sputtering and shivering opened her eyes. Targo, with his short, rolling steps, went to the girl and placed one thumb, wearing a large ruby ring, under her chin, pushing her head up. "A true beauty," said Targo. "And perfectly trained for months in the slave pens of Ar."
Behind Targo I could see the grizzled man shaking his head negatively. "And," said Targo, "she is eager to please."
Behind him the man winked his sightless eye and stifled a snort. "As gentle as a dove, as docile as a kitten," continued Targo. I slipped the blade of my sword between the girl" s cheek and the hair that was bound across her mouth. I moved it, and the hair, as lightly as though it had been air floated from the blade.
The girl fixed her eyes on Targo. "You fat, filthy urt!" she hissed. "Quiet, She-Tharlarion!" he said.
"I don" t think she" s worth very much," I said.
"Oh, Master," cried Targo, swirling his robes in disbelief that I could have uttered such a thought. "I paid a hundred silver tarn disks for her myself!"
Behind Targo the grizzled man quickly held up his fingers, opening and closing them five times.
"I doubt," I said to Targo, "that she is worth more than fifty." Targo seemed stunned. He looked at me with a new respect. Perhaps I had once been in the trade? Actually, fifty silver tarn disks was an extremely high price, and indicated the girl was probably of high caste as well as extremely beautiful. An ordinary girl, of low caste, comely but untrained, might, depending on the market, sell for as little as five or as many as thirty tarn disks.
"I will give you two of the stones from this scabbard for her," I said. Actually I had no idea of the value of the stones, and didn" t know if the offer was a sensible one or not. In annoyance, looking over the rings of Targo and the sapphires which hung from his ears, I knew he would be a much better judge of their value than I.
"Preposterous!" said Targo, shaking his head vehemently.
I gathered that he was not bluffing, for how could he have known that I did not know the true value of the stones? How could he know that I had not purchased them and had them set in the scabbard myself?
"You drive a hard bargain," I said. "Four —»
"May I see the scabbard, Warrior?" he asked.
"Surely," I said, and removed it from the belt and handed it to him. The sword itself I retained, knotting the scabbard straps and thrusting the blade into them.
Targo gazed at the stones appreciatively. "Not bad," said he, "but not enough —»
I pretended to impatience. "Then show me your other girls," I said. I could see that this did not please Targo, for apparently he wished to rid his chain of the blond girl. Perhaps she was a troublemaker, or was dangerous to retain for some other reason.
"Show him the others," said the grizzled man. "This one will not even say "Buy Me, Master"."
Targo threw a violent look at the grizzled man, who smiling to himself knelt to supervise the irons in the brazier.
Angrily Targo led the way to the grassy clearing among the trees. He clapped his hands sharply twice, and there was a scurrying and tumbling of bodies and the sound of the long chain slipping through the ankle rings. The girls now knelt, each in the position of the Pleasure Slave, in their camisks on the grass, in a line between the two trees to which their chain was fastened. As I passed each she boldly raised her eyes to mine and said, "Buy Me, Master".