I sat back from the dancing floor, my back to the wall, the musicians to my left.
"Paga, Master?" asked a girl, kneeling beside the low table, behind which I sat, cross-legged.
I regarded her. She was well made up, with lipstick, eye shadow, and such, a painted slave, as it is said. There was a pearl droplet on a tiny golden chain, on her forehead. She was clad in a snatch of yellow slave silk. She was necklaced, as well as collared: Her left arm was encircled with a serpentine ornament. Her wrists were heavy with bracelets. Two of these, one on each wrist, were locked there. On them were snap rings. They could thus be joined, and she could not free herself from them. Her left ankle was belled, these bells being attached to a locked anklet.
"Yes," I said, but I would nurse that paga.
She rose to her feet humbly, head down, and then, with a swirl of slave silk and a flash of bells, turned and hurried to the paga counter.
I studied the fellows in the tavern. I did not see any here who had been in the vicinity of our camp.
I had thought that they might make their move outside, in the alley. They had not done so.
The dance was coming to an end and the slave who had been "netted," now well in custody, bound and leashed, was being displayed by the «hunters» to the patrons. Now the captive knelt in the center of the dance floor, the «hunters» exultant about her. Then, as the music swirled to a conclusion, the captive lowered her head, humbly. There was much Gorean applause, the striking of the left shoulder with the palm of the right hand. There was then, suddenly, the snapping of a slave lash, and the «hunters» swiftly stripped themselves, cast aside their staffs and knelt with the prisoner. Then one of the fellows from the tavern took the net and cast it over the lot of them. No longer then were the hunters hunters. Now, they, too, were only netted slaves. Then, to a passage of music, all rose up, hunted and hunters, all now in the net, and, in the small, pretty running steps of hastening slave girls, hurried from the floor. There was more applause.
The girl who had gone to fetch my paga now returned and knelt before the table. She kissed the goblet, and then, her head down, between her extended arms, proffered it to me. "Paga, Master?" she asked.
I took the paga and put it on the table.
"Sipa, Master?" she asked. She came, of course, with the price of the drink.
"You may go," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
Often, of course, one does not make use of the girl who comes with the drink. Many men, for example, come to such a tavern merely to drink, to hear the news, to visit with friends, such things. Some come to them to play Kaissa. If one is interested in a particular girl, of course, it is a simple matter to summon her to your table.
I looked about the floor, at the numerous patrons. Although most of them were doubtless fellows from Brundisium, citizens of that polity, there were many others about, as well, in particular, oarsmen from the galleys in the harbor, not far away, and soldiers from the camp outside the walls, mostly mercenaries, on which Cos depends heavily, but some, too, who were apparently regulars.
I considered the doors leading off the main paga room. Some of those were undoubtedly the doors to private dining areas.
One of those doors opened and a luscious, dark-haired slave emerged, clad in a light brown tunic. She burned to the paga counter to fetch paga, which she then, carefully, carried back into the other room, closing the door behind her.
The last time I had seen the luscious wench had been earlier this evening, returning from the wagon of Ephialtes. She had been naked, her hands braceleted behind her back, being marched at her master's stirrup, chained to it by the neck.
I had, of course, seen her before, and not merely this evening, neck-chained at the stirrup. I had seen her months ago, helpless in chains beside her master's desk. Indeed, at that time, she had not even been a legal slave, the legalities of her condition, to her distress, given what had been done to her, and what she had become, being denied to her by her master. Now, however, she was not merely a natural slave, aware of herself, reduced, and self-confessed, begging the resolution and solace of the collar, but a legal slave, fully and perfectly imbonded in law. Once she had been the Lady Cara, of Venna. She had been overheard making disparaging remarks about a certain city. A mercenary captain from that city, learning of this, saw to it that she was brought naked and in chains into his keeping. Soon she had learned what it was to be in the power of such a man. In his office I had heard this female, who had spoken disparagingly of his city, who had then been well taught her chains, beg from him the brand and collar. What now would be done with her? Even though she had then been turned in effect into a pleasure slave, much as might be purchased in any market, he had, it seems, considered having her serve in his city as a mere house slave, or even, in spite of what she had now become, if it pleased him, denying her the collar, as a mere cleaning prisoner, a confined servant, a mere housekeeper in captivity. But he had, it seems, relented, acceding to her piteous entreaties, at length accepting her as the slave she begged to be, for earlier this evening, she in a position of the display slave, at her master's stirrup, given her exposure, there had been no mistaking the brand on her thigh, the common Kajira mark. There had been some other slaves, too, following the slim line of mercenaries on the road, beauties serving as pack slaves, bearing burdens. I had recognized one among these, as well, one struggling, bent over, with a burden perhaps somewhat heavier than those of the others. She had once been Lucilina, the preferred slave of Myron, Polemarkos of Temos, cousin to Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, commander of the Cosian forces in the south. Indeed, she had been not only a high slave, and the preferred slave of the Polemarkos, but his confidante, as well. She had, thus, been privy to many secrets. Too, through her wiles and his weakness, she had exercised great influence over him. She had, thus, though ultimately only a slave, become a force in his retinue. Even free men had shamefully courted her favor. Her influence might be the difference between the favor and the disfavor of the Polemarkos, between advancement and neglect, between promotion and disgrace. Then, tricked and captured, she had been smuggled out of the Cosian camp, to a nearby city, to find herself there in common chains as a common girl. She had then been put under suitable disciplines and subjected to exact, sustained Gorean interrogation. Later, emptied of all sensitive and pertinent military and political information, and retaining merely her values as a female, she was given away as might have been any other spoil of war, she in this instance, and by design, to one of the captain's lowest soldiers, a rude and common fellow of the lowest rank, to serve him in absolute and uncompromising bondage, as one of the lowest and most common of slaves. Her name, at last I had heard, had been Luchita. I did not know if it would be the same now or not. Similarly, I did not know what might now be the name of the former Lady Cara, of Venna. I would have supposed 'Cara', that seeming to me suitable for a slave name, but I did not know. It could be anything. The city of which the former Lady Cara had spoken disparagingly, before being brought into the custody of the mercenary captain was Tarnburg. The city to which the former Lucilina, the former preferred slave of Myron, the Polemarkos, had been smuggled was Torcadino, then held by the same mercenary captain, Dietrich of Tarnburg, of course. This evening I had seen a line of mercenaries, perhaps a hundred in all, with some slaves, mostly pack slaves, some eight or ten of them, approaching Brundisium. The leader of the mercenaries, and several of them, astride their tharlarion, wore wind scarves, rather like those worn in the Tahari, protecting themselves from the dust of the journey. These served, as well, doubtless inadvertently, to conceal their features. I would have thought little of the passage of these mercenaries, what with so many hundreds about, here and there, coming and going, had I not recognized the slave at the leader's stirrup, and, indeed, later, one of the beauteous pack slaves. As I stood back, with others, off the road, as they passed, the leader, and the others, would not recognize me. I had made inquiries tonight in Brundisium, of course, to ascertain the whereabouts of these fellows. I learned first what quarter of the city they had entered, and, later, what inns, hotels and taverns they might be patronizing. This was not difficult for most mercenaries in the vicinity of Brundisium were not quartered in the city but in the Cosian camp. Accordingly, they would not be entering the city with their units, but rather, if they entered it at all, as individuals, or in small groups.