"Shall we wait?" asked one of the guards.
"It will not be necessary," said the man. "This is a man from the planet Earth."
The guards nodded, understanding.
"Kneel here," said the man, indicating a position before the heavy door, of iron, in the dark corridor. "When we have left," he said, "make your presence known."
"Yes, Master," I said, miserably.
He then turned and left, followed by the two guards. They did not look back.
I knelt by the door, miserably. I lifted my hand to knock at the door, but then my hand fell. I feared to knock. I put down my head, miserable. After I had been locked in the cell, only one man, for all practical purposes, had controlled me. He had fed me, and commanded me, and had overseen my bath, my preparation for whatever was to ensue. He had taken my collar off and then, later, had made me kneel, fastening it again on me. I knew he had not been armed, but, still, I had feared and obeyed him. Free men were to me as master, as free women were to me as mistress. I was angered, now that I thought of it, that they had seen fit to send only one man to handle me. In the beginning four or five men had, rudely and cruelly, controlled me. But then I had been whipped. They had seen me under the whip, crying out, begging for mercy. They had known then, I suppose, as slavers can know such things, that no more than one man would be necessary to see to my governance. I was only a man of Earth.
Then I was frightened, for I had not yet knocked at the iron door.
I knocked lightly, frightened, at the door. I had knocked timidly. I had scarcely heard the knock myself. I put my head down, trembling.
I looked down the corridor. The man who had conducted me to this place had now disappeared, together with the guards.
He had doubtless gone about his duties, whatever they might be, and the guards had returned to their post. I could see far down the corridor.
They did not fear to leave me at the door, alone. One man had, in effect, conducted me to this place. He, and the guards, had now left. I might as well have been a woman They showed me no more respect than they might have accorded to a helpless, vulnerable slave girl. How shamed I was. Yet were they not right? I was a man of Earth. Are we not all well tamed?
The door had not yet been opened. I was afraid. I had been told to make my presence known.
I then, frightened, breathing heavily, my heart pounding is fear, again knocked at the heavy door. I hoped that no one would be within.
"Who is it?" called a woman's voice,, distracted.
"A-a slave," I stammered.
She opened the door, and looked down at me. She held some papers, long and yellow, in one hand.
"It is Jason, is it not?" she asked.
"If Mistress pleases," I said.
"It will do," she said. She regarded me. She did not even seem to notice that I was alone in the hall. In this she apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I had forgotten," she said. "You were to be sent to my chamber this evening, were you not?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Come in," she said. "Remove your tunic and kneel by the couch. Close the door behind you."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. She was wearing golden sandals and a long, scarlet robe, with a high, ornate collar, fastened by a silver clasp.
I entered the room and shut the door behind me. I tomoved the silken tunic I had been given and folded it, placing it on the floor. I then knelt, naked and collared, near it, in the vicinity of the couch.
She knelt before a low desk, her back to me, and gave her attention to the papers which she had now placed upon it. She held a marking stick in her right hand.
"I am attending to the details of tomorrow evening's sale," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She worked quietly, thoughtfully. Sometimes she would remove one paper from the group, and add another. Occasionally she would make a notation on one of the papers with her marking stick. Several Ehn went by. I did not disturb her. I knew she was working. She was a businesswoman, with demanding and intricate responsibilities. I wondered if any of those papers were pertinent to me. I did not dare ask, of course. I had learned that curiosity was not becoming in a Kajirus. If I were to be sold tomorrow I would find out when masters or mistresses were pleased to let me know, perhaps as late as the moment when a sales disk might be wired to my collar.
"Serve me wine, Jason," she said, distractedly. "As a slave girl," she added.
"Yes, Mistress," I said, bitterly.
"Do I detect bitterness?" she asked, not turning about.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"Good," she said. "You are a true man of Earth, fit to be the slave of a woman."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I found some wine, and poured a bit for her. Then, as I had seen Lola do for me, I pressed the goblet into my lower abdomen and then lifted it to my lips, where, turning my head, I kissed it. Then, head down, kneeling back on my heels, arms extended, I proffered it to the Mistress.
"Excellent, Jason," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
She sipped the wine, and regarded me contemptuously. Then she said, "Go back to your place."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
I went back, beside the couch, and again knelt. She turned about and placed the cup of wine on the low desk and in a moment, was again deeply engaged in her work. I think she forgot that I was in the room. I knelt silently in the background. Occasionally, however, as the Ehn passed, she drank from the cup.
I was ignored and neglected. I would be summoned, if needed.
I glanced at the large, fur-strewn couch. I saw that there were chains, on rings, attached to it.
She at last, wearily, thrust back the papers and put down the marking pencil. She rose to her feet and stretched, and turned to look at me.
"Get on the couch," she said, "on your back."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She went to the right side of the couch and, in a routine and unconcerned fashion, lifted a shackle, on a chain, which she snapped shut on my right ankle. She then walked about the couch and, on the left, similarly secured my left ankle, She then, as I felt the movement through the left shackle, my leg pulled slightly to the left, adjusted that chain at the ring. She then walked about the bottom of the couch and, taking my right wrist, locked it on a manacle, at my right side. She then went about the head of the couch and, taking my left wrist, enclosed it, too, in a manacle, at my left side, which she then snapped shut. My left wrist was pulled further then to the left, as she adjusted the chain on the left manacle, fixing the length of its play by a snap ring thrust through a link and about the couch ring. My feet, then, had been well chained, and my hands, too, had been well chained, and a few inches from my sides. She had done these things with the same habitual routine, the same lack of attention and concern, with which she might have hung up a piece of wearing apparel or replaced a comb and brush on a vanity.
"Do you remember me. Jason?" she asked.
"I think so, Mistress," I said. "You were the slaver, were you not, who subjected me to such thorough assessment in the House of Andronicus?"
"You have a good eye for women, Jason," she said. "I was veiled."
"Thank you, Mistress," I said. "Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Did I frighten you, Jason?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"How I despise weakness in men," she said.