"I suppose it is silly," I said.
"Men seldom make war on work chains," she said.
"I am glad to hear that," I said.
"It is not like we were working on siege trenches or repairing the walls of a beleaguered city," she said.
"No, I suppose not," I said.
"I am ready," she said. "Let us go."
With difficulty, carrying the water bags, in our chains, we made our way up the sandy slope. I reached the top first and extended my hand to Tupita, who took it, and, with its help, pulled herself up, until she stood beside me." "You are bruised," she said.
"It is nothing," I said.
"You will be stiffer, and sorer, tomorrow than today," she said.
I shrugged.
From where we were we could see men, and the tank, and the overseer" s tent, on its hill, and our pens, at its foot, and the wire around the camp. I think we were both glad to see these familiar sights.
"How is your back," she asked.
"It is all right," I said.
"The sand stanched the wounds," she said.
The chain, when it had been behind me, had cut at my back a little, sawing there, when I had struggled, grasping and crying out. When I had felt the wetness of blood there, I had tried to keep my hands low at my sides, in the sand, scratching and clutching at it, but then, almost as though unable to help myself, I had again tried to reach for their bodies. This had pulled the chain tight again against me. In the throes of my submission, however, as I, a slave, gave myself from the deepest depths of my belly to masters, I think I was unaware of the pain. If I had been aware of, dimly and fare off, I think I must, in my frustration and joy, trying to reach them, and yet helpless in their hands, have accepted it willingly. I could not even remember, clearly, what had happened.
"There is a little blood at the back of your tunic," she said.
I regarded her.
"Do not fear," she said. "I think it will wash out, at the tank. Besides, it is not your fault."
"I will not be permanently marked, will I?" I asked.
"No, vain slave," she smiled.
Such marks, of course, if permanent, might reduce a girl" s value on the slave block.
I looked down into the sandy trough. "Do you think I will often be put to the pleasure of the chain?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Our master, Ionicus, has had his sport. You will now, presumably, be used more to frustrate them than to please them. To be sure, the guard has seen you move, and please them. To be sure, the guard has seen you move, and please them. This will get around camp. Do not be surprised, accordingly, if they now choose to avail themselves of you more frequently. I would not even be surprised if, say, in an evening or two, you found yourself again in the thong and silk, in the overseer" s tent.
I looked over to the overseer" s tent. It was about a half pasang away. He had the call of any of the slave females in the camp. Too, of course, he could assign us however he wished, and for as long as he wished, to others.
"To be sure," said Tupita, "we might be thrown to the chains, from time to time, as bonuses or rewards."
I nodded. Much as men might throw us pastries or candies, so, too, we ourselves, in turn, or our uses, might be given to others.
"Do you know anything more of the beast who slew the aedile?" I asked. "No," she said.
"Nor anything further of the two slaves who were stolen?"
"No," said Tupita.
"Perhaps they ran away," I said. I shuddered. Even the thought of the possible penalties for such an action struck terror into my heart. Too, given the culture, her marking, the closely knit nature of the society, and such, there was, for all practical purposes, no escape for the Gorean slave girl.
"In work tunics, through the wire, laden with chains?" she asked.
I was silent.
"Too, work slaves outside the wire, not in the vicinity of a work chain, not in the keeping of a guard, they would provoke immediate suspicion."
I nodded.
"They would be in punishment yokes, on their bellies before the overseer, within an Ahn," she said.
I nodded. "Who, then, do you think stole them?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Tupita.
"The animal?" I asked.
"I would not think so," she said, "but who knows?"
"It is getting darker," I said.
"Tonight," said Tupita, "I will be glad to be locked behind the bars of our pen."
"I, too," I said, shuddering.
"Come along," she said.
"Tupita?" I said.
"Yes?" she said.
"Call me by my name," I said.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Tuka," I said. That was the name masters had given me. It was my name, as a dog has a name, or a slave.
"Tuka," she said.
"You love Mirus," I said.
"I would beg to lick his whip," she said.
"Does he love you?" I asked.
"I do not think he knows I exista€”in that way," she said.
"He is a kindly and marvelous man," I said.
"He found you pleasing," she said.
"I caught his fancy in Brundisium, a new girl in the tavern, one not yet fully accustomed to her collar," I said. "He enjoyed teaching me, and putting me through my paces. He enjoyed using me, as have many men. He gave me great pleasure, and I hope, too, that I gave him great pleasure."
She regarded me.
"And I think he was fond of me," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"But I do not believe I was ever more to him, really," I said, "than another girl at his feet."
She did not speak.
"I am sure he never thought of me as a possible love slave," I said. She did not speak.
"I am not even Gorean," I said. "I am only a slut who was brought here from Earth, to wear a collar and serve my betters, the masters."
"Do you truly think he is kind?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"And do you think he is so marvelous?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"And do you think he is still fond of you?" she asked.
"I know he is," I said. I looked back, down into the sandy trough. "I lured him in Argentum," I said, my voice suddenly breaking, as I considered the enormity of it, "I lured him whom I knew, he who had been kind to me, he who trusted me, and brought him to chains and servitude, and yet, this afternoon, he saved my life."
She was silent.
"I shall be forever grateful to him for that," I said. "Had it not been for him, I would have been killed."
"Beware of him," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why do you think he saved your life?" she asked.
"For caring for me," I said.
"No," she said.
"Then for pity," I said.
"No," she said.
"For desire?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"I do not understand," I said.
"He did not want the others to kill you," she said.
"Of course not," I said.
"He is Gorean," she said. "I do not know if you truly understand such men. Too, he has a long memory. Too, where you are concerned, he is not himself. Where you are concerned I think he is half crazy."
"I do not understand," I whispered.
"Stay away from him," she said.
"I would not try to take him from you," I said.
"He is a determined, intelligent man," she said. "He is biding his time." "Do not fear," I said.
"I speak to you for your own sake," she said, "not mine."
"He did not let them kill me," I said.
"Why not?" she asked.
"I do not know," I said.
"I do," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"It is his intention to kill you himself," she said.
"Surely you are mistaken," I whispered.
"Did he accept water from you?" she asked.
"No," I said. "He poured it out, on the ground."
"Did you not see that he would not even look upon you as you danced?" she asked. "Did you not note that he, of all of them, did not put you to use?" "Why?" I asked.