"I see not," he said, laughing.
I looked up. "I have been taught how to please men," I said.
"Of course," he said, "you are a slave girl."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Are you good?" he asked.
"Some masters have not been fully displeased," I said.
"Do you think you could please me?" he asked.
My heart leaped. I applied myself as subtly and marvelously as I could, touching his leg variously, bringing my mouth slowly, biting and loving, to the side of his knee. "No, Master," I whispered. "Yata could never please a great warrior like you."
He looked about. "Say only 'sailor, " he said. "Here I am not a Captain of Ar, he Clitus Vitellius, but only a seafarer, a simple oarsman from Tyros, one called Tij Rejar."
I looked up at him. "As master wishes," I said. Then I again applied myself to his legs.
"Master will not cuff me from him, will he?" I begged.
"Clever slut," he said.
He lifted my head and brushed back the kerchief on my head. I reddened.
"I was some weeks ago slave cargo," I said, my head down.
"And pretty slave cargo indeed," he said.
"I am pleased, if Master is pleased," I said. I held his legs, my cheek against his thigh. I wanted to cry out that I loved him, but then I checked myself, remembering my project. I knelt at his feet only to bring him low. I did not think it would be difficult if I could get him to the Chatka and Curla.
He would pay! He would pay!
I looked up at him, smiling. "I was once yours," I said, "Master."
He looked down at me, almost tenderly. "Perhaps it was a mistake to have given you away," he smiled.
I caught my breath, but remained firm. I must not relent. I would be remorseless.
How vulnerable in a way I was, in silk and collar at his feet. But I held great power.
"It is strange," I said. "Once you owned me. Now, in faraway Cos, on the wharves, I kneel at your feet in the collar of a paga slave."
"It is a pretty collar," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"I see by your silk," he said, "that you work in the Chatka and Curla."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"What is your duty there?" he asked.
"To please the customers of my master," I said.
"It is long since I have held your hot little body," he said.
I blushed, though I was a slave girl.
"You are a hot, lovely slave, you know," he said.
"In your arms," I said, "any girl, even the daughter of a Ubar, would find herself only a responding slave." I did not doubt but what this was true. I remembered myself miserable in his arms, writhing with unwanted ecstasy, then, unable to help myself, unable to hold out longer, suddenly surrendering to my enslavement in his arms. Though I had been of Earth he had reduced me to a spasmodic, yielding slave.
"I am thirsty for paga," he said.
"I know a place," I said.
"The Chatka and Curla?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But are there girls there?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Are you one of them?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"It is long since I have owned you," he said.
I looked up at him, boldly. "Own me again at the Chatka and Curla," I whispered.
"You are a curvacious, tempting little slut," said he, "-Yata."
"Does Yata dare to suspect," I asked, "that Master once cared for her a little?"
"Does a slave girl wish to be whipped?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said, head down.
"I have other matters to attend to," he said.
I looked up, frightened. "Please, Master," I begged. "Come with Yata to the Chatka and Curla."
"I am busy," he said.
"But Master thirsts for paga," I said.
He grinned.
"And Yata," I wheeled, "was detained upon the wharves." I remembered the slave who had been set upon me by his master, to discipline me. I had been well ravished, and at length. He had forced me to respond to him, as a slave's slave. It was now well past the time when I should be at the tavern, bathing and preparing for the labors of the evening. "She is late," I said. "If she does not return with a customer, after all this time, her master may not be pleased."
"It is nothing to me," said he, "if a girl is tied at the slave ring and put under the leather."
"Of course not, Master," I said. But then I looked up at him. "But Yata," I said, softly, begging him, supplicating him "desires to serve Master paga." I knelt before him, on the boards of the wharf, eyes lifted, holding him. "Have me with the cup Master," I begged. "Please, Master."
He looked down upon me.
"Have pity on a slave, Master," I begged. "Have me with the cup, Master. Please, Master.
He smiled. "Conduct me to your tavern, Slave Girl," he said.
"Thank you, Master!" I breathed. I put down my head, so that he might not see the smile of victory, of triumph, that suffused my features. Submissively, with the sound of bells, those on my collar and ankle ring, I rose lightly to my feet, turned, and, excited, scarcely daring to breathe, barefoot, as a slave girl, led the way toward the Chatka and Curla.
I heard him following me.
The double gate, of barred iron, shut behind me.
I turned, suddenly, screaming, pointing to he who had followed me within.
"He is of Ar!" I cried. "He is an enemy! Seize him!"
Clitus Vitellius looked at me, startled.
"Seize him!" I cried. His hand had gone to his left hip but the short sword in its scabbard did not now hang there.
Strabo, assistant to Aurelion of Cos, leaped upon him, and was struck back. Clitus Vitellius looked about himself wildly.
"Seize him!" I cried.
Two of the men who worked within the tavern hurried toward the gate. Men leaped up from tables.
Clitus Vitellius turned to the double gate and tore at the bars, but could not fling them hack, for the bolts had slipped into place.
A man leaped on him and he shook him off. He bent to Strabo, to rip the keys from his belt. There were many keys. He cut with the keys, holding their ring, at the face of the second man of the tavern, who fell screaming, bloodied, reeling back. He slashed about him with the keys, long and heavy on their thick ring, some six inches in width. A man leaped at him, low, seizing his legs. Two others leaped bodily upon him. They struggled. Then two others sped to him, and then there was a sword at his chest, where the tunic of the sailor had been torn away. Four men held him, back against the bars of the gate. Aurelion of Cos rushed forward. "What is going on here?" he demanded.
I pointed to the powerful, bloodied captive.
"He is Clitus Vitellius of Ar," I cried. "He is a captain of Ar!"
"A spy!" cried a man.
"Kill the spy!" cried another.
"He says he is Tij Rejar, an oarsman of Tyros, but he is of Ar, of the Warriors! He is Clitus Vitellius! He is of Ar! He is a captain!"
Aurelion looked at me. "It would not be well for you, Slave," said he, "to be mistaken in this matter."
"I am not mistaken, Master," I said.
"Who are you?" asked Aurelion.
Suddenly I was frightened, If his identity were sufficiently well established so as to truly appear an oarsman from Tyros it might not go well for me. I might be boiled alive in the oil of tharlarion. I began to sweat.
"I scorn to conceal my identity from those of Cos," he said. "I am Clitus Vitellius, a captain of Ar."
I laughed with pleasure. "See!" I cried.
"Bring chains," said Aurelion.
Clitus Vitellius looked at me. I shrank back. Chains were placed upon him.
"He is securely manacled," said Strabo, whose face was swollen as a consequence of the blow of Clitus Vitellius.
Ankle chains were then placed, too, upon the warrior of Glorious Ar, and a chain ran, too, from his wrists to the chain on his ankles.