“In public.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“It is different in private, I take it,” said the officer of the court.
“Yes, Mistress. In private, the fullness of my slavery is revealed.”
“And what does that mean?”
“That I am a slave, Mistress,” said the girl, trembling.
“And what does a slave do?”
“She strives to please, and obeys,” she said.
“And you can be bought and sold,” said the officer of the court.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You are the sort of animal that can be bought and sold,” said the officer of the court.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
“You are a pretty animal,” said the officer of the court.
“Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.
The officer of the court turned about, angrily. Then she turned about, again, to face the pourer of kana. She looked down upon hen angrily.
“You are an exquisite, extraordinarily attractive slave, Janina,” said the officer of the court.
“Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.
“Such as you,” said the officer of the court, “are suitable for slaves.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.
The officer of the court then, clutching her small, white purse close to her, went to the exit of the lounge.
She turned back at the portal.
The pourer of kana was still on her knees, beside the table.
“You may rise,” said the officer of the court. “Return to your work.”
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” said the girl.
In returning from the lounge to her cabin, unescorted, of course, for she was of Terennia, the officer of the court paused before a giant oval port in the corridor, which looked out on the vastness of the mysterious night, a night in which galaxies drifted, like glowing fragments in a dark sea.
She felt very small and alone in such a night, even with the lit corridor behind her, even with the comfortable, enclosing steel of the ship.
She regarded her image, reflected in the portal.
She moved her hand, brushing back her hair. She was not displeased with what she saw. She did not think she was unattractive. She thought that she would be wasted on Tuvo Ausonius. Yes, she would be wasted on him. But she would make him pay for that. He would suffer. She looked herself over, carefully. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn the white, off-the-shoulder sheath, the earrings, the necklace. She had purchased it in a ship’s shop, daringly. On Terennia they did not have such things, or, at least, she had not seen them. There, even a white, belted clingabout was thought to be scandalous. Her mother had been much against that, annoyingly, even fiercely, vociferously so, but she had worn it anyway. She was not accustomed to doing what others wanted. She was accustomed, rather, to doing precisely what she wanted, whatever she wanted, and when she wanted. She regarded her image steadily. Perhaps it had been a mistake to have worn this ensemble this evening. But then she thought not. Had one seen how that oaf, that ignorant, illiterate oaf, that guard, had looked at her? She could not recall ever having been looked at like that by a man before, saving of course by the same fellow, when he, a peasant, had stood in the dock in her mother’s court. She was then well satisfied with her appearance, and the garment. She thought of the poor little creature in the lounge, what was her name, Janina, or some such. She would wear only what men decided, or approved of. The officer of the court continued to regard herself in the mirror of the portal, the stars visible beyond. “How would I be dressed by men,” she wondered, “if I were a slave — or would I be permitted clothing?”
Then, suddenly, she started, gasping, for, behind her, clearly visible in the reflection of the port, was the large form of the guard, he who had been behind Pulendius, and to his right. She spun about and backed against the railing before the port.
The other guard, the other gladiator, was somewhat in the background.
“Forgive us, milady,” said the guard, he so close to her. “We did not mean to startle you. We have been relieved. We are off duty now, and are returning to our quarters.”
The other guard continued on his way, and the guard closest to her, he whose sudden appearance had so startled her, turned to follow him.
“Linger,” she said, suddenly.
“Yes, milady,” said he, turning.
“I had not seen you, until the lounge,” said she, “since the arena.”
“No, milady,” said he, “not since you had me bound.”
“You were spoken for by Pulendius, who was much impressed with your deeds in the arena.”
“Yes, milady,” said he.
“In deference to Pulendius, your sentence was commuted, remanding you into his custody.”
“Into the custody of a keeper of a gladiatorial school,” said he, “in which men are trained to kill.”
She tried to step back, but the railing was behind her.
“I am now a free man,” he said. “I received my freedom after my tenth victory.”
She looked up at him.
“My seventh kill,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“I am now as free as you,” he said.
“I — I see,” she said.
Need he stand so close to her? Was he still such a rude, ignorant peasant, with no understanding of civilities? Did he think himself still in some primitive, dirty village, with animals running about between the huts? Was he so ignorant of the proprieties, of the distances, on Terennia, suitable to one of her class? She seemed confused, she looked about, she felt enflamed. Not a hand’s breadth separated her from that mighty chest, the shining leather stretched across it.
“Pulendius has high hopes for you,” she said, unsteadily, looking to the side.
The gladiator shrugged.
How dare you stand so close? she thought.
Pulendius had some twenty fighters with him on the ship. He also had a complement of support personnel, trainers, a physician, an accountant, secretaries and such. He was bound for Iris, which, like Miton, was in the first provincial quadrant.
“I am low in the matches,” said the gladiator, looking down at her.
Please don’t stand so closely to me, she thought. Cannot you see I am uncomfortable?
“But even fighters like Archon and Mir San were once low in the matches,” he said.
These two were known throughout galaxies. They normally performed on the Telnarian worlds themselves, even in the imperial arena.
“You — you enjoy the arena?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully. “The light, the crowds, the music, the contest. One is very much alive there. I can understand why men seek it out. But I do not feel the arena is my destiny.”
“You are free,” she said. “You can leave Pulendius.”
“He saved my life. I serve him,” he said.
“Doubtless he pays well,” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are of the humiliori,” she said. “You do not have a destiny.”
“Even less than humiliori have slaves a destiny,” said he, looking down at her.
“What do you mean by that?” she cried.
“Why, nothing, milady,” he said.
She felt weak, giddy. What could be the meaning of such feelings?
She feared they might be those of a slave girl before her master.
“Why did you look at me, as you did this evening?” she asked, angrily.
“Surely it was milady’s imagination,” he suggested.
“Perhaps,” she said icily.
“Methought,” said he, “that milady did have her eyes once or twice upon me.”
“Never!” she said.
“How then would she know if I might have glanced upon her?”