"Sometimes, too, I gather," she whispered, "the slave must serve in varieties of manners regardless of her desires of the moment or will."
"Of course," I said.
"she is at the master's disposal, completely, for all forms of work and duties."
"Yes," I said.
"She is to be diligent and obedient in all things," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"That, too," she whispered, "is rewarding and gratifying."
"Really?" I said.
"Yes," she whispered. "Very much so."
"Interesting," I said.
"The being of the slave, like the being of the master," she said, "is a totality."
I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. She was right, of course. These things are totalities, modes of being. Too, I knew, from my own experience, that nothing fulfills maleness like the mastery. He who would be a man must be a master. he who surrenders his mastery surrenders his manhood. I wondered what those who flocked like sheep to their own castration received in recompense for their manhood. I supposed it must be very valuable. But it this were so, why did they feel it necessary to shrill so petulantly at others, those who scorned them and had chosen different paths?
I could hear Boots outside the tent. He was a few yards away, around the campfire with Chino and Lecchio. "Lamentations!" cried Boots. "Surely we are ruined! Surely we shall all starve!
There are not two copper tarsks in the coin kettle! What hope is there these days for artists such as we! That the skilled and famous company of Boots Tarsk-Bit, actor, promoter and entrepreneur, that company whose performances are commanded by high cities and ubars, the finest theatrical company on all Gor, should be forced to resort to mere carnival acts, that it should have to stoop to jugglery and somersaults, to mere tricks and illusions, to entertain village bumpkins, solid, noble fellows though they may be, is almost too much to bear. What shall be our fate first, I wonder, to merely starve in simple dignity or to perish in shame from such humiliation?"
"You are wrong about at least on thing, Boots," said Chino.
"Can it be?" asked Boots.
"Yes," said Chino. "There are more than two copper tarsks in the coin kettle."
"Oh?" said Boots.
I heard coins shaking in a metal kettle. "Listen," said Chino. "There is at least a silver tarsk's worth here."
"Are you sure?" asked Boots.
"Count it yourself," said Chino.
"Yes," said Boots. "Ah! Ah, yes. I did not realize my skills with magic were still that mysterious and baffling. Very good. Excellent, excellent. Excellent, indeed! You did well also, of course, Chino, my friend, and you, too, Lecchio. Well, it is as I always say, a bit of variety is a good thing. And one cannot always be too serious about art, you know. Upon occasion one should take a respite form even high drama. Too, excessive significance is not always good for the digestion. Also, we still need a Brigella, and desperately. I think, accordingly, that it will not be amiss if, upon occasion, particularly in somewhat less enlightened and more remote locations, we intermix a dash of legerdemain and prestidigitation, as well as a bit of carnival hilarity, prankery, and such, the sort of things that you folks are good at, with our nobler offerings. To be sure, we will still remain fundamentally true to the theater, for we are primarily, when all is said and done, serious actors. Too, our reputation depends on it. What do you think? I am glad that you agree."
I lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling of the tent. I felt the girl's cheek against my thigh. I remembered when she had been the free woman, Rowena of Lydius, whom I had first seen in the house of Samos. How proud she had been! She was now a contented slave, a girl who had been named «Rowena» at a man's thigh.
"The somersault on the rope was very good," Boots was telling Lecchio. "You should try to do it twice."
Boots's little Bina was chained in another tent. I thought perhaps I might try her sometime.
"Perhaps even three times, and backwards," Boots was saying.
I smiled to myself. He was talking, of course, about Lecchio's somersaults. The little Bina was very pretty, but I thought, rather clearly, she had not yet been brought to slave heat. I had gathered, from various tiny indications, back at the fair, and this afternoon, that Boots was not altogether satisfied with her. As a collared slave, I feared, she had much to learn. Too, she seemed to have a nasty streak in her. More than once I had heard her deride the "monster." In this I think she showed little judgment. He, at least, was free, whereas she, though she seemed not to fully understand it, was imbonded.
"It was funny, too," said Boots, "when you fell off the rope. Perhaps you should include that in the act."
"I did not do it on purpose," said Lecchio. "I am out of practice. I nearly broke my neck."
I supposed I might as well soon depart from the neighborhood of Boots's company. Surely there seemed little point in continuing any longer in its vicinity. My own small camp was within two hundred yards. To be sure, there was little there but a bedroll, some supplies and weapons, purchased at the fair. I had not seen fit to purchase a shield or spear, or even a bow, with sheaf arrows. Such things, I feared, might mark me as one to be reckoned with, or watched, on perhaps familiar with weapons. I supposed I would arouse enough suspicion in the neighborhood of Brundisium as it was, coming to their city as a lone male with no obvious business. I did have a sword and I had also purchased a set of Tuchuk quivas, their famed saddle knives. The set consists of seven knives, one for each of the seven sheaths in the Tuchuk saddle. They are balanced for throwing. I was rather skillful with them. I had learned their use long ago in the lands of the Wagon Peoples, or, as some think of them, on the plains of Turia. I must soon leave the tent. I must return to my own small camp. I must get a good night's sleep, and start out early in the morning.
"Ho!" I heard Boots call, suddenly. "Who is there?"
I was suddenly alert. It was a bit late now. The performances had been over for some hours. I was not at all sure that villagers or travelers would be about at this time.
"What is wrong?" asked the girl, sensing the change in me.
"Be silent," I said.
"Who are you?" called Boots. There was no answer. Whoever it was had not identified themselves.
I slipped into my tunic and picked up my sword, in its scabbard, the belt looped about the scabbard.
"Come forward," called Boots. "I know you are out there. Do not be afraid. Identify yourselves. Come into the light."
"If they wish to know if one was with you," I said to the girl, "tell them that he fled."
"What is going on?" she said.
I cautioned her to silence, holding my finger across my lips. This is a very natural gesture. I do not know if the gesture, considered as a Gorean gesture, had an independent development, or if, specifically, somewhere in the remote past, it had an Earth origin. There are many Gorean gestures, of course, some of which are very similar to Earth gestures and some of which are not. Another way of warning an individual to silence, incidentally, is to touch the fingers twice, lightly, to the lips. The origin of that gesture, as far as I know, is uniquely Gorean. I looked back at the female. Her lip trembled. She was frightened. She wanted desperately to speak. She could not speak, of course. She was a slave. She had been silenced. I lifted up the back of the tent, and inspected the terrain behind it. I would take my leave in this fashion. I looked back once more at the girl. She was kneeling, looking after me, frightened. She would remain, of course, exactly where she was. The chain on her ankle would see to that. How beautiful they are in collars. I then slipped from the tent.