“Do not reveal me,” she begged.
“There is doubtless an anonymity for you,” I said, “being chained amongst state slaves.”
“Please,” she said.
“But, of course, if you are discovered,” I said, “you would be nicely at hand, on a chain.”
“Worthless barbarian!” she hissed.
“I think I shall call out your name,” I said, angrily.
“Please do not,” she whispered, “-Mistress.”
“I am not a Mistress,” I said. “We are both now no more than collar sluts.” I could conceive of a fellow in whose arms I thought I might now well be no more than an eager, grateful, squirming collar slut. How far I was now, a slave, from the cool, smug, haughty, so-self-satisfied Allison Ashton-Baker!
“You perhaps,” she said, “not I.”
“Wait,” I said, “until you are put out for public use, with a hundred others, on a feast day.”
“Let me go,” she begged.
“What is going on, down the street?” I asked.
“Curiosity-” she began.
“Speak,” I told her.
“A body was discovered,” she said, “thrust between buildings.”
“From last night?” I said.
“One supposes so,” she said.
“Then the larl must be about,” I said, frightened.
“If it is a larl,” she said.
“What else could it be?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. She touched the message box chained to her collar. “Please,” she said. “I must be back within the Ahn.”
“Who was killed?” I asked.
“Did you not see the garmenture?” she asked.
Somehow I had refused to see it, or, better, to see it for what it was. Too, of course, I had only glimpsed it, some shreds, and at a distance. I suddenly felt very much afraid. “Yes,” I said.
“A Metal Worker,” she said.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
I could form no words.
“I am Mina, Mina,” she said. “May Mina go?”
“Forgive me, Mina,” I said. “I wish you well.”
The former Lady Persinna then turned about and, gratefully, hurried away.
There would be, of course, hundreds of Metal Workers in Ar.
“Do you dally, Slave?” inquired a free woman, come to the fountain.
“No, Mistress!” I said. “No, Mistress!”
I then seized up the handles of the buckets and, step by step, slowly, carefully, for the weight, and that no water be spilled, frightened, miserable, made my way toward the shop of Epicrates.
Chapter Thirteen
I had fled through the streets, terrified.
“Come back, Allison!” had called the Lady Bina, but I had rushed, weeping, past her, down the stairs, and emerged on Emerald.
It was now late afternoon, and I was in the closest, sizable market to the domicile of Epicrates, the market of Cestias, in one corner of which was the Sul Market. It was there, in the market of Cestias, we commonly shopped. It was there I had been commanded by the Lady Bina, when she, for whatever reason, was intent to satisfy herself that I might be found acceptable to men. Well did I remember the ten Ehn she had given me, within which time, as she was not a patient woman, I was to satisfy her curiosity. It was there that I, hands bound behind me, in half a tunic, had been ordered to my knees by a surly, imperious stranger, he who had later protected me at Six Bridges, but had seen fit to take his reward from my lips, I helpless to prevent his arrogant presumption.
Surely I must despise him!
Yet he had protected me, from the girls from the house of Daphne.
From the fountain I had made my way, sick and fearful, to the domicile, and, step by slow step, had brought the buckets upstairs.
“Lord Grendel,” had said the Lady Bina, “wishes water. Carry one bucket to the roof.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.
“Too, he wants cloths,” she said. “Take these.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.
The trap opening to the roof was open, and I climbed the stairs, and, the cloths over my shoulder, and two hands on the bucket handle, emerged on the roof.
The beast was crouching in one corner of the area, concealed from the street by the wall surmounting the roof. Given my height, I could look over that wall. It came about to my shoulders.
It was there the beast slept.
It turned about, and lifted its head, and I saw those large, glinting eyes upon me.
I half dropped the bucket, and water splashed to the sun-hot roof. I threw down the cloths, and backed away.
“Do not speak of what you have seen,” said the beast.
“No, Master,” I said.
I then turned about, and fled, running down the stairs to the apartment, and then, past the Lady Bina, down stairs, to the street.
The paws of the beast had been covered with dried blood, stiffening and matting the fur.
Now I had been searching the market of Cestias, and nearby streets, how long I did not know. I did not see him! It was growing late. Where might he be? Was he no more? Had he met his end on Clive? Who had been in those bloodied shreds of black and gray, the colors of the Metal Workers? Could it have been he? To be sure, what could he, a stranger, be to me, and what could I, a slave, be to him, a free man? Were we not muchly disparate, he a free man, a citizen, doubtless the possessor of a Home Stone, and I, a lowly barbarian beast, brought from a far world to the markets of my superiors, my masters? I tried to remind myself that I should hate him, the callous brute, that I should loathe him, he so arrogant and supercilious, he who looked upon me so casually and saw me as nothing, only a meaningless Gorean kajira, fit only to be at a man’s feet. But I recalled he had ordered me to my knees before him, when I was helpless, wrists fastened behind me, and half-stripped, and I had knelt, as I had no choice but to do, as a slave, and had looked up at him, and suddenly, startled, wondered if it might be he, my master, before whom I knelt. And I remembered, too, the intimacy of the kisses forced upon me when I, as a slave, dared not, and desired not, to resist. I must have passed given stalls and vendors, given shops, an indefinite number of times. Surely I attracted curious glances, in the nearby streets, and, time and time again, in the market plaza. More than once I had been regarded by guardsmen. What business had I there?
I did not know where else to look for him. Indeed, I feared he had been cruelly slain, even dismembered. What had been folded in the mat by the guardsmen on Clive had not been a whole human being. Parts, I supposed, must have been eaten, or disposed of, elsewhere.
And I remembered the blood on the paws, and arms, of the beast, and how it had lifted its head, and regarded me, on the roof. “Do not speak of what you have seen,” it had said.
I had then, in horror, and hysteria, fled from the roof, and the domicile.
I hoped it would not be thought I had run away.
I knew I could not elude the consequences of the collar, the brand, the tunic. There was no escape for such as I, the Gorean slave girl. At most, one might fall into a heavier, more severe, more terrifying bondage.
But I had been unable to help myself, and had fled the house.
I had not truly intended to run away.
I knew the penalties which might be inflicted on a fugitive slave, the lashings, hamstringing, being cast amongst a foliage of leech plants, being butchered for sleen feed, even being cast alive to such beasts.
“Kajira,” said a guardsman.
“Master?” I said, kneeling.
“Are you lost?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I am looking for someone,” I said, “a Metal Worker.”
“Your master?” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“What is his name?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“You have been summoned to a tryst?” he said.
“No, Master,” I said. I realized that free persons do not always reveal their names to slaves. Many Goreans, too, I understood, particularly of the lower castes, had “use names,” to conceal their real names, lest their real names, it seemed, might supply ill-wishers with grist for spells and sorceries.