"Jason," called Kenneth, from the shed above me.
"Yes, Master," I said, turning, on the ramp, the hatchling quiet, puzzled, on my shoulders.
"When you have delivered the hatchling to the nursery, return to the incubation shed. Doubtless other eggs will hatch this night."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Tomorrow you may rest," he said.
I was puzzled. "Yes, Master," I said.
"Jason," said he.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Tomorrow night you are to report to the house."
I did not understand this.
"You were right earlier," he said, "when you suggested that the Mistress seemed in a good mood. She is."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Her guests are arriving this evening, most, it seems, under the cover of darkness," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"She is looking forward to tomorrow evening," he said. "She has planned, it is rumored, an exotic entertainment for them."
"I am to report to the house tomorrow evening?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Am I to be implicated in this entertainment?" I asked.
"It is not impossible," he said.
"Do you know its nature?" I asked.
"No," he said, "but I can well conjecture what it may be."
I stood in the tunnel, puzzled.
"The hatchling must not chill," he said. "Get it to the nursery."
"Yes, Master," I said, and turned away.
"Wait, Master!" I heard Taphris cry.
I turned about, again, and saw her, drawing her tiny slave rag over her head, carefully descending the ramp, her small feet leaving prints in the incline's dust.
I turned away again and strode down the tunnel.
I heard the trap door close above and behind us. The tunnel was immediately plunged into total darkness.
I began to traverse the tunnel, toward the nursery, keeping my right foot on the center board.
"Wait, Slave!" she cried, peremptorily.
But I did not wait. I knew the tunnel well.
"Wait, Slave! Wait, Slave!" she cried angrily. Then I heard her stumbling in the darkness, half running to follow me.
"I am furious that Bares made me kneel to you!" she cried. "I am in the Mistress' favor! I am in the Mistress' favor! I am a house slave, a house slave! I am not a stable slut! I am a house slave!" continued down the tunnel.
"I am a house slave!" she cried.
Taphris was a bother, a nuisance. I was tired of being followed about by her. Kenneth and Barus, too, were weary of her constant spyings and reportings to the Mistress. They would not have been displeased to rid the stables of her.
"Wait, Slave!" she cried.
I considered putting the hatchling down and turning on Taphris, raping her in the darkness of the tunnel to within an inch of her life. But I did not do so. It was not that I feared the Mistress. It was rather that I did not want the hatchling to become chilled. I had stood the vigil of its hatching. I felt responsibility for it. Too, I respected it. It was a free animal. It was not a slave.
22 THE HOUSE GUESTS OF THE LADY FLORENCE; THE VENGEANCE OF THE LADY FLORENCE; I AM GIVEN A SLAVE TO SPORT KITH
"I do not know how I can ever thank you, Lady Florence," breathed the Lady Melpomene.
"It is nothing," said the Lady Florence, "for we are sharers of a Home Stone and are, too, fast friends."
"How I regret our former differences," said the Lady Melpomene, clasping in her two hands those of the Lady Florence.
The Lady Florence nodded, her features visible behind the light house veil, suitable for an informal dinner with friends. The Lady Melpomene, too, wore such a veil. Both were richly robed.
I stood with Kenneth behind a curtain. Through the curtain we could hear and see what took place within the lofty hall in the house of the Lady Florence, she of Vonda. The hall was lovely, too, as well as lofty, with its mosaics and tiles, its hangings and slim pillars. In the hall was an open circle of small tables, at which a handful of guests, on cushions and mats, reclined. There were four men and two women at these tables, other than the Lady Florence, the hostess, and her guest of the past several days, the Lady Melpomene. The tables were covered with cloths of glistening white and a service of gold. Before each guests there were tiny slices of tospit and larma, small pastries, and, in a tiny golden cup, with a small golden spoon, the clustered, black, tiny eggs of the white grunt. The first wine, a light white wine, was being deferentially served by Pamela and Bonnie. Both girls were beautiful, in flowing, classic white. Their arms, of course, were bare, as is common with slave girls. On the throat of each was a lustrously polished silver collar, and on the left wrist of each, locked, with a chain loop, should one desire to secure them, a matching bracelet. Both girls, of course, were barefoot.
"When these papers are signed," said the Lady Melpomene, happily, lifting some papers from the table in front of her, "I shall be free of my debts."
There was polite applause, the striking of the left shoulder, from those at the tables, including the Lady Florence.
"And all this I awe to my dear friend," said the Lady Melpomene, "the Lady Florence!"
There was again light applause, but this time, the Lady Florence, being the object of the commendation, merely bowed her head graciously.
"I lift my wine to the Lady Florence of Vonda!" said the Lady Melpomene.
"We lift our wine to the Lady Florence of Vonda," said the guests.
All then drank, save the Lady Florence, who, smiling, did not lift her cup. Free women, drinking, commonly lift their veil, or veils, with the left hand. Low-caste free women, if veiled, usually do the same. Sometimes, however, particularly if in public, they will drink through their veil, or veils. Sometimes, of course, free women will drink unveiled, even with guests. Much depends on how well the individuals are known, and who is present. In their homes, of course, with only members of their families present, or servants and slaves, most free women do not veil themselves, even those of high caste.
"I thank you, citizens of Vonda and others, friends, all," said the Lady Florence. "And now I, in turn, lift my cup."
All lifted their cups, save the Lady Melpomene.
"I lift my cup," said the Lady Florence, "to the beautiful Lady Melpomene of Vonda, who is beautiful enough even to wear the collar of a slave!"
There was laughter at this bold toast, and the Lady Melpomene, reddening, smiling, put down her head. "Please, Lady Florence," she chided. "There are those here who are not of Vonda." She looked across the tables, across the space between them, to where three men sat, one of Venna, and two of Ar. "What will your guests think?" she asked.
"Fear not, Lady Melpomene," said one of the men, one of Ar, who raised his cup. "I am sure that the toast of the Lady Florence is true in all particulars."
There was again laughter, and all drank, save the Lady Melpomene, who, embarrassed, smiling, was the object of the toast.
Pamela and Bonnie, heads down, silent effacing themselves, as is proper with slaves, again filled the small golden cups. It was again a serving of the first wine. In a Gorean supper in a house of wealth, in the course of the supper, with varied courses, eight to ten wines might be served, each suitably and congruously matched with respect to texture and bouquet not only to one another but to the accompanying portions of food.