She opened her hand, holding it out a little, that I might see what she held. There, in the palm of her right hand, was a small sack, bulging, seemingly weighty for its size, from the look of it, a sack of coins. It was leather. It had strings.
"Move your hand," I said.
She did so.
"I see now why you were so frightened," I said. "You have stolen a sack of coins."
"No, no!" she said.
"Many masters," I said, "do not permit a slave to so much as touch money. To be sure, they might let her carry coins in an errand capsule, or an errand sack, tied about her neck, instructions to a vendor perhaps also contained within it, her hands braceleted behind her."
She looked up, frightened.
"And few masters, indeed, I assure you," I said, "even if so lenient as to let her venture to a market with a coin or two in her mouth, on a specific errand, would permit her to scamper about with a trove such as that which now seems to be in your keeping."
"You do not understand, she said.
"Kneel more straightly," I said.
She complied. I viewed her. I wondered what her master had paid for her. Probably a goodly price. She was worth such.
"How did you expect to escape the palisade?" I asked.
She looked at me, agonized.
"Were you approaching me, intentionally? I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"It was your intention, I gather," I said, "to attempt to bribe me, that I might abet your escape."
Tears sprang into her eyes.
"But do you think I would do other then to carry you into my own chains?" She trembled. She clutched the tiny sack.
"You have been caught," I said. "You are a caught slave. I will now turn you over to an attendant, for binding and holding, pending what punishments your master might see fit to visit upon you."
"You do not understand," she whispered.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The coins are mine," she said.
"Surely you are an inn girl," I said, "though your collar is now off. "I do not have a collar, she said.
"That is surely an incredible oversight on the part of your master," I said. "I do not have a master, she whispered.
I looked at her, puzzled, such a woman.
"Am I truly pretty enough to be an inn girl? she said.
"Of course," I said, "and a superb one."
She looked up at me, elatedly, gratefully.
"Who is your master?" I asked.
"I do not have a master," she repeated.
"Do you seek to compound your crime with deceit," I said. "I am not a slave," she whispered. "I am a free woman. Oh!" I had seized her, half lifted her, and turned her from side to side, examining her slim, attractive thighs for the tiny brand which would confirm the matter. The most common brand sites, that on the left thigh, the favorite, and that on the right thigh, lacked slave marks. This determination, given the nature of her garmenture, could be instantly made. I then put her on her feet. "Oh! she said. She was not branded on the lower left abdomen. That is perhaps the third most favored brand site. I then checked several other brand sites, such as the insides of the forearms, the left side of the neck, behind and below the left ear, the backs of her legs, and her buttocks. I even examined the insteps of her left and right feet. Her body was not branded.
"I am a free woman," she said, so rudely handled.
"It seems you have not yet been branded," I said.
"I am not a slave," she said. "I am a free woman."
This did not seem to me possible, of course, clad as she was, in this place. "Do you not recognize me?" she asked.
"On your knees," I said.
Swiftly, she knelt.
"Don't you recognize me?" she asked.
I looked at her, puzzled. To be sure, something about her seemed familiar. "Crouch before me," she said.
I did so.
She put her hands before her face, the strings of the sack looped twice now about her left wrist. As she held her hands before her, rather to the bridge of the nose, they concealed the lower portions of her face, much as would a veil. "Ah!" I said. It was not so much at first, however, that I recalled her upper facial features, as hey would have appeared over the veil, if only because it had been very dark in the upper level when I had sought my space last night, as I recalled immediately, vividly, the appearance and positioning of her small hands. The small palms of them, with their delicate, extremely sensitive, exposed openness, faced outwards. It was in this way that I first realized who she was. During the night she had perhaps realized what she had done. Perhaps, then, she had sobbed with shame. Yet now, in the morning, presumably by now fully aware of what she was doing, she dared to again so hold her hands before a man. Even last night, once she must have realized how her hands were positioned, I recalled she had not quickly, shamed, turned them about, presenting their backs to me. One expects a Gorean woman, attempting to conceal her features from a man, to place her hands, cuplike, over her nose and mouth. As I have indicated, the lips and mouth of a female are commonly regarded as extremely sensuous features to a Gorean, hence the concern of many free women, particularly of high caste, in the high cities, to conceal them. A simple way to uncup the woman's hands is to take the small finger of her left hand in your right hand and pull that hand to the side, and then take the small finger of the right hand in your left hand, and pull that, too, to the side. This opens the barrier and reveals the mouth and lips of the woman to you. In this case, however, as she held her hands, with the palms facing me, I simply took her wrists and, gently, drew them apart. This exposed her lips and mouth to me. Her lips were slightly parted. She was breathing quickly.
"I remember," I said. Last night I had face-stripped her, before gagging her with her own veil. It had been very dark on the level last night, with only the tiny lamps far to the side and back, but I could see now, upon close examination, that it was indeed the same woman.
"You gagged me," she said. "You made it so that your will was imposed upon mine. I could not cry out or speak. You did not choose to permit it."
I nodded.
"And you tied me!" she said.
"Of course," I said. I had done so with her stockings, hand and foot. She looked at me, with awe in her eyes. Perhaps she had never been tied before. I considered her beauty. It seemed made for rope, and steel and leather. "Did you manage to free yourself?" I asked. I was curious to hear what she would respond.
"No," she said. "I was absolutely helpless. I could not begin to free myself. I was freed by an itinerant metal worker."
"I see," I said. "You knew I could not free myself!" she said, suddenly, reproachfully. "Yes, I said.
She shuddered. "Are slaves sometimes bound like that?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I said.
"You cut apart my clothing, and removed the hooks and fastenings from it," she said. "Yet you did not strip me. You left it lying upon me in such a way that my modesty might be protected. You even covered my head and face with my hoot, that I might not lie there face-stripped. Thank you."
I nodded.
"To be sure," she said, "the hood in such a placement functioned almost like a slave hood."
"True," I said.
"If I did not move I could not see," she said, "and if I did move I might well face-strip myself."
"The choice was yours," I said.
"And if I had as much as squirmed," she said, "I would have stripped myself." "Again," I said, "the choice was yours."
"As I am a free woman," she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"Had I been a slave girl," she said, "I gather I would not have had such choices."
"Probably not," I said. "The slave girl, normally, stays simply as men put her, for example, in such a case, presumably naked and bound."
"After you disarmed me, and made me helpless, what did you do with my dagger?" she asked.