She drew back in her bonds, in fury.
"You look well as a slave," I said. "It is what you are."
"I hate you!" she cried.
"And as for your favors," I said, "do not concern yourselves with them. They are mine to command, as I please."
She shook with rage.
"She belongs in a collar," said Marcus.
"You have been watching?" I said."
"Yes," he said. He had the wine decanter with him, now filled with water. "And eventually I will have her in one," I said. "And then it will be clear to all the world, and not just to us, that she is a slave."
"You are both sleen!" she wept.
"Open your mouth," I said. "Eat."
She looked at me.
"Yes," I said, "you will be fed as what you are, a slave."
I then out one of the tidbits into her mouth, and, in a moment, angrily, she had finished it. It is not unusual for a slave's first food from a new master to be received in a hand feeding. It may also be done, from time to time, of course, with all, or a portion, of a given snack, or meal. This sort of thing expresses symbolically, and teaches her also, on a very deep level, that she is dependent upon him for her food, that it is from his hand, so to speak, that she receives it.
"Although this doubtless does not compare with the provender of the Central Cylinder," I said, "which is reputed the best this side of the palace at Telnus, it is such that you should not come to expect it as a slave."
She finished another tidbit.
"We do not have any slave gruel on hand," I said.
She shuddered.
"That is enough," I said. "We must be concerned with your figure. You are a little overweight, I think. In a paga tavern or brothel, you would have to be trimmed down a little."
"Do not speak so of me," she said.
"Surely you would wish to look well, curled on the furs, at a man's feet in a lamplit alcove."
"I", she said, "in an alcove?"
"Certainly," I said.
"Never!" she said.
"I wonder how you would perform," I said.
"I would not "perform," she said.
"Oh, yes, you would," I assured her.
She looked at me.
"There are whips, and chains, there," I said.
She turned white.
"Yes," I said.
"And for whom would I be expected to perform?" she asked.
"For any man," I said.
"I see," she said.
"And to the best of your abilities," I said.
"I see," she said.
"Perhaps, someday, Tolnar, or Venlisius, might be interested in trying you out, to see if you were satisfactory."
She looked at me.
"If you were not," I said, "they would doubtless have you severely punished, or slain."
"I do not understand then," she said. "To uphold the law they have jeopardized their careers, they have entered into exile?"
"There are such men," I said.
"I do not understand them," she said.
"That," I said, "is because you do not understand honor."
"Honor," she said, "is for fools."
"I am not surprised that one should hold that view, who is a traitress." She tossed her head, in impatience.
"You betrayed your Home Stone," I said.
"It is only a piece of rock," she said.
"I am sorry that I do not have time now for your training," I said.
"My training?" she asked.
"Your slave training," I said.
She stared at me, disbelievingly.
"But it can wait," I said.
"You amuse me," she said, "you who come from a world of weaklings! You are too weak to train a slave."
"Do you remember our last meeting," I asked.
"Of course," she said.
"It took place in the house of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar," I said. "Yes," she said.
"You were not then on your knees," I said.
"No," she said, squirming a little.
"But you were in a slave collar."
"Perhaps," she said.
"At that time I did not realize how right it was on you," I said.
She looked away, angrily.
"As it is on any woman," I said.
She pulled a bit at the bracelets, angrily.
"I could not then rise from my chair," I said. "I had been cut in the north by the blade of a sword, treated with a poison from the laboratory of Sullius Maximus, once one of the five Ubars of Port Kar."
She did not speak.
"Perhaps you remember how you ridiculed me, how you mocked and scorned me."
"I am now naked, and on my knees before you," she said. "Perhaps that will satisfy you."
"That is only the beginning of my satisfaction," I said.
"Do not pretend to be strong," she said. "I know you are weak, and from a world of weaklings. You come from a world where women may destroy you in a thousand ways, and you are forbidden to so much as touch them."
I looked at her.
"I hold you in contempt," she said, "as I did then."
"Did you think I would walk again?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Perhaps that explains the license you felt, to abuse me," I speculated. "No," she said. "That you were confined to a chair was amusing, but I knew that you would free me, that I could do whatever I pleased to you, whatever I wished, with impunity. I despise you."
"I do not think it would be so amusing to you," I said, "if it were you in whom the poison had worked, paralyzing you, making it impossible for you to rise from the chair."
She didn't answer.
"Doubtless such toxins still exist," I mused, "and might be procured. Perhaps one could be entered into your fair body, with so small a wound as a pin prick. "No!" she cried, in alarm.
"But anything may be done to a slave," I said.
"Please, no!" she said.
"But then," I said, "I think I would rather have your lovely legs free, that you might hurry to and fro, serving me, or be able to dance before me, for my pleasure."
"Dance!" she wept. "For your pleasure!"
"Of course," I said.
She regarded me, aghast.
"Such practices are surely not unusual among slaves," I said, "such things a dancing before their masters."
"I suppose not," she said.
"For they are owned," I said.
"Yes," she said.
I was silent.
"What are you thinking of?" she demanded.
"I was thinking," I said, "that a special chair might be constructed, a holding chair, a prison chair, so to speak, into which you might be inserted, it then locked shut about you for, say, a few months. More simply, you might be simply chained in a chair for some months. This would give you, I would think, something of the sense of one afflicted with such difficulties. Then again, of course, you might consider how amusing you might find it."
"Do not even speak so!" she said.
"I would speculate," I said, "that after only a few Ahn in such a predicament you would be eager to be freed, that you would soon beg piteously to be permitted to dance, to run and fetch, to serve, such things."
"You can walk now," she murmured.
Much the same effect, of course, can be achieved in many ways, for example, by close chains, by the slave box, by cramped kennels, tiny cages, and such. These devices are excellent for improving the behavior of slaves.
She put her head down. I saw that she was frightened, that she was no longer certain of me.
"I received the antidote in Torvaldsland," I said, "brought to me from far-off Tyros, and, interestingly, as a matter of honor."
She lifted her head.
"Do you understand honor?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"How, then, can you speak of it?" she asked.
"Once or twice I glimpsed it," I said.
"And what is it like?" she asked."It is like a sun, in the morning," I said, "rising over dark mountains."
"Fool!" she cried.
I was silent.
"Weakling!" she said.
I was silent.
"You are a weakling!" she said.
"Perhaps not so much now as I once was," I said.
"Free me!" she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Before," she said, "you freed me!"
"I am wiser now," I said.
"Cos can never be driven from Ar!" she said.
"The might of Cos on the continent," I said, "as opposed to her naval power is largely dependent on mercenaries."
"So?" she asked.
"Mercenaries, on the while," I said, "saving some companies with unusual allegiance to particular leaders, such as those of Pietro Vacchi and Dietrich of Tarnsburg, are seldom trustworthy, and are almost never more trustworthy then their pay."
"It matters not," she said. "Their pay is assured."
"Is it?" I asked.
"Ten companies could hold Ar," she said.
"Perhaps," I said. "I am not sure of it."
"Is it truly your intention to call my whereabouts to the attention of Seremides?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"He will rescue me," she said.
"No," I said. "In a sense he, or Myron, or others, will merely be keeping you for me, rather like your being boarded at some commercial slave kennels."
"What a beast you are," she said.
"Indeed," I said, "they will be saving me your upkeep."
"I shall be restored to the honors of the Ubara!" she said.
"No," I said. "You are now a slave. A slave cannot be Ubara. You can do no more now than pretend to be the Ubara. In a sense you will be an impostor. And let us hope that no one detects your deception, for, as you know, the penalties for a slave masquerading as a free woman are quite severe."
She looked at me, in fury.
"To be sure," I said, "few, at least at present, are likely to suspect your bondage. Most, seeing you participate in state ceremonies, holding court, opening games, and such, will think you are truly the Ubara. Only a few will know that you are my slave girl. Among these few, of course, will be yourself, and myself."
"It interests me," she said, "that you will not try to smuggle me now out of the city."
"You are only a slave girl," I said. "You are not that important."
"I see," she said.
"It would be rather pointless to take you now, and I do not find it convenient to do so."
"I see," she said.
"Other projects, you must understand, are of much higher priority."
"Naturally," she said.
"You can wait to be collected."
"Of course!" she said.
"Besides," I said, "it amuses me to think of you in the Central Cylinder."
"Oh?" she asked, angrily.
"Waiting for me to come for you," I said.
"Absurd!" she said.
"Particularly as you grow ever more apprehensive, and more frantic, sensing Ar slipping away from you, and your power collapsing about your ears."
"You are mad!" she said.
"But now I must water you," I said. I lifted up the decanter of water. "There is a good deal of water here," I said, "But I want you to drink it, as you will not have another drink until sometime tomorrow. Put your head back."
I set the opening of the bottle to her mouth, but scarcely had she dampened her lips than she drew back her head.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"This water has been drawn for days," she said. "Surely it is not fresh!"
"Drink it," I said. "All of it."
She looked at me.
"Your head can be held back by the hair," I said, "and your nostrils can be pinched shut."
"That will not be necessary," she said.
I then gave her of the water.
"Please," she protested.
But I did not see fit to permit her to dally in the downing of it.
I then set the decanter to the side, empty.
"That is a nicely rounded slave belly," said Marcus.
I patted it twice. It sounded not unlike a filled wineskin. Too it bulged out, and reacted not dissimilarly.
She drew back.
"If you were to be sold in a Tahari market," I told her, "you might find yourself forced to drink a large amount of water, like this, shortly before your sale."
She crept back, on her knees, apprehensively, putting a little more distance between us.
"Do not fear," I said. "I have no intention at present of testing you for vitality."
I then picked up the makings of the gag which were to her left, the wadding and the binding.
She eyed them, apprehensively.
"This is not the first time you have been a slave," I said. "Once, I knew, you were owned by Rask of Treve."
She looked up at me.
"Did you serve him well?" I asked.
"He put me often in slave silk, and jewelry, to show me off," she said, "as it amused him, he, of Treve, to have the daughter of Marlenus of Ar for a slave, but he did not make much use of me. Indeed, I served him, by his will, almost entirely in domestic labors, keeping his tent, and such. This he seemed to feel was appropriate, such demeaning, servile labors, for the daughter of Marlenus of Ar. But, too, I do not think he much cared for me. Then, when he got his hands on a meaningless little blond chit, a true slave in ever hort of her body, named El-in-or, he gave me away, to a panther girl named Verna, to be taken to the northern forests. I served panther girls, too, as domestic slave, and was later sold, at the coast, where I came into the collar of Samos, of Port Kar."
"It is difficult to believe that Rask of Treve did not put you to slave use," I said.
"He did, of course," she said.
"And how were you?" I asked.
"He told guests that I was superb," she said.
"And were you?" I asked.
"I had better have been," she said.
"True," I said. I had twice met Rask of Treve, both times in Port Kar. He was the sort of fellow whom women strove to serve unquestioningly to the best of their abilities.
"Surely you learned much of the arts of the slave in his tent," I said.
"No," she said. "I was more of a prize, or a political prisoner. I was more like a free woman in slave silk than a slave, in his camp."
"Then, in effect," I said, "aside from having worn the collar and such, you have never experienced what one might call a full slavery?"
"Like a common slave slut?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"No!" she said, angrily.
"That would seem to have been an oversight on the part of Rask of Treve," I said.
"Perhaps," she said, angrily.
"Perhaps other masters can remedy that oversight," I said.
"I am the Ubara of Ar!" she said.
"No," I said. "You are a slave girl." I then gagged her.
I then stood up, and looked down at her. "Tomorrow," I said, "guardsmen will come to free you of your bonds, and return you to the Central Cylinder. You must not forget, of course, even in the Central Cylinder, that you are my slave girl. Too, you must remember that I will come for you. When will it be? You will not know. Will you fear to enter a room alone, or a corridor unescorted, for fear someone may be there, waiting? Will you fear dark places, or shadows? Will you fear high bridges, and roofs, and promenades, because you fear that loop of a tarnsman tightening on your body, dragging you into the sky, his capture? Will you fear even your own chambers, perhaps even to open the portals of your own wardrobe, for fear someone might be waiting? Will you fear to remove your clothing, for fear someone, somehow, somewhere, might see? Will you fear to enter the bath, for fear you might be surprised there? Will you fear to sleep, I wonder, knowing that someone might come to you in the night, that you might waken suddenly to the gag, and helplessness?"
I looked down at her. There were tears in her eyes, over the gag. She looked well in bonds. She was a pretty slave.
"Let us go," I said to Marcus.
We then left the room.