“I can see little from my knees!” she protested, looking up at me.
“It is not yours to look,” I said, “but yours to be found, if any should regard you of interest.”
“Oh!” she said.
I was hitching her head back, by the leash and collar, close to the slave ring.
“Please, Janice!” she said. “Not so close!”
“Why not?” I asked.
“I want to be able to put my head down,” she said. “I want my lips to be able to touch the very tiles of the terrace!”
I looked at her. I did not think it was the tiles of the terrace that she wanted to kiss.
“Please, Janice,” she begged.
“So you have already reached that phase, have you?” I said.
“Yes!” she said, defiantly, earnestly.
I gave her the slack she required.
“Thank you, Janice!” she said. “Thank you!”
:I will be back shortly,” I said.
“Do you see him?” she asked.
“No,” I said, looking about. “Do not get up!” it is customary for slaves not to stand at slave rings. Usually they kneel there, or sit there, or lie there.
“Yes, Mistress!” she said. How naturally, how quickly, how easily, I thought, had that expression escaped her! To be sure, it was part of her disguise, so to speak.
There are still people hurrying over the bridge. There was already a crowd at the docking area, mostly near the warehouses.
I checked the bracelets, and the leash lock, of the Lady Constanzia.
“You have been so kind to me, Janice!” she exclaimed. “I am sorry that I had you whipped!”
That had occurred in my first day in the depths, when she was still the occupant of a dangling slave cage, suspended over a pool to which large aquatic rodents, one variety of urt, had access.
“Do not concern yourself with the matter,” I said. “I may have your clothing removed and have you whipped.”
“Janice!” she said.
“Then you can see for yourself what it is like,” I said.
“Please do not whip me, Janice,” she said.
I could do this, incidentally, she was in my keeping. On the other hand, I had no intention of doing so. I was really rather fond of the Lady Constanzia. She did not seem to me to be a bad sort, considering that she was a free woman.
“Perhaps I shall,’ I said, lightly.
“No!” she begged.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I want my first beating to come from the hands of a man,” she said. “After that, you may do with me what you want.”
“I will be back shortly!” I assured her.
I did turn back, at the bridge, to see her kneeling there, in the accustomed place, by the slave ring.
I could also see, now, the scarlet-clad figure for whom she had been waiting making his way across the terrace, toward her. At almost the same time she may have seen him because, when I glanced back, she was kneeling beautifully, modestly, head down, at the ring. Perhaps she would lift her head, seeming surprised, and pleased, when his shadow fell across her body. Some days ago, upon my suggestion, following her urgent request for it, the pit master had permitted her slave wine. Who knew, after all, what might occur in the streets or markets? There were many byways in such a city, narrow alleylike streets, dark doorways, and such, into which a slave, ordered to silence, might be drawn.
“That is what we must drink,” I had informed her, noting with satisfaction the expression on her face as she had lifted up the bowl, filled with the foul brew, and had smelled it. “It is not like the delicious beverages quaffed by free women for such purposes, is it?” I asked.
“No,” she had whispered.
“I am told, however,” I said, “that the releaser is delicious. When we are given that we know that we are to be bred.” This form of mating, as one might suppose, is carefully controlled and takes place under supervision. The slaves selected for breeding are generally unknown to one another, normally hooded and commonly forbidden to speak. In this way it is felt that certain complications may be avoided.
She looked down at the foul brew.
“You need not drink it,” I said to her.
“No,” she whispered. Then she lifted the bowl to her lips. She put back her head. Then, scarcely pausing to take a breath, she drained the bowl.
“Oh!” she cried, her entire body shuddering.
“That is slave wine,” I said, “free woman.”
I regarded her with some satisfaction. I thought that she might now understand, a little bit better than before, what it might be to be a slave.
“How can you drink it?” she asked.
“Do you think we are given a choice?” I asked she put the bowl down, unsteadily.
“Will it work with a free woman?” she asked.
“If she is a female,” I said. “Where do you think slave girls come from?”
“Bracelet me now, Janice,” she asked. “Leash me. Take me above now.”
The scarlet-clad figure had no reached the Lady Constanzia. I saw her lift her head, timidly, to him. How very much she looks like a slave at his feet, I thought. But then, of late, I reminded myself, how much the Lady Constanzia seemed to be like a slave at the feet of any man.
She had had her slave wine. I did not fear now, to leave her at the ring. On the other hand, I thought she would, indeed, be safe in such a place. It was not merely that she was chained there, for safekeeping, but that it was a very public place. Also, the scarlet-clad figure had visited her there several times before and had never, in spite of what I suspected were certain provocations, forced her. It would not have been wise to have done so, of course, for he was not of this city. The forcing of a slave, indeed, even the use of an unoffered slave, by a stranger, an outlander, so to speak, might be taken as some form of presumption or insult. Furthermore, even within a city, such things are often regarded as incivilities, unless taken, perhaps, as legitimate portions of a free man’s punishment of an errant slave, say, perhaps, one who might have been regarded as being insufficiently deferential. These men have many ways of reminding us that we are slaves, and one of them is our use. But I thought there might be an even more grievous reason for the scarlet-clad figure’s restraint in the matter of lovely, fetching “Tuta.” I conjectured that he was the sort of man who would want to won a slave, one who would want to have her fully his, before putting her to his pleasure. I did not know on what business, incidentally, the scarlet-clad figure was in the city. Doubtless it must be soon concluded. I would not have advised him to dally beyond his welcome. Suspicion of strangers, of outlanders, seems to come very easily to the men of this world. Too, neither the Lady Constanzia nor I knew the name of the stranger, nor even his city. She, as a putative slave, and I, as an actual slave, would not dare to inquire into such matters. One does not wish to be kicked or cuffed. Curiosity, it is said, is not becoming in kajirae.
I quickly turned about and hurried over the bridge, toward the docking area.
19
There were some folk still crossing the bridge, though fewer now that the tarns had alighted. Some slave girls, too, scurried across the bridge, doubtless eager to see the return raiders, the mighty mounts, the harvested riches of the venture’s predations. I joined them. Slave girls often have the run of the city. On the other hand, male slaves seldom do, for obvious reasons. An exception is the male silk slave, usually the male pleasure slave of a rich woman, but sometimes one belonging to a female entrepreneur, in whose brothel, one specializing in the tastes of women, he serves. Some men are brought from Earth here for such purposes I have heard, but I do not know if it is true. There were certainly no males in my group. We were all women. Had there been males in our group I think they would have soon been spoiled for such an application. Seeing women like us, in the power of men, they would doubtless have soon assumed the whip and become masters.
More than a hundred and fifty tarns had landed in the docking area. Guards held the crowds back. Loot was being unloaded. There was music in the docking area, adding to the celebration. In the city, to my right, the bars, which normally signify times and alarms, were sounding in jubilation.