I had not ordered her to kneel.
I looked down, into her eyes.
She was before me, she, a free woman, on her knees, before me, before a slave!
I did not understand this.
But it is not unpleasant for a slave to have a free woman before one, so.
There were tears in her eyes.
“Janice,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I beg!” she said. “I beg!”
I supposed she might want a hard candy, or a bit of pastry. I thought the pit master might permit that.
Her behavior had been much improved of late.
“Yes?” I said.
“I long to see the sun, Janice,” she said. “I want to see the sun!”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“I want to go to the surface,” she said. “Take me to the surface! I want to see the sun! I want to see the sun!”
“How can that be?” I asked. “That is not a trading city, some sort of multifaceted commercial metropolis. This is a city of thieves, of raiders and warriors. One does not have free women from foreign cities wandering about above.”
“I have thought carefully about the matter!” she said. “I must needs be disguised!”
“As what?” I asked.
“As a female slave, of course!” she said. “I would then attract little attention. There must be many of them above.”
“There are,” I granted her.
“Please, Janice!” she said.
“There is no escape for you,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“And there would be even less chance of escape,” I said, “if you were clad as a slave.”
“I know,” she said.
“And your body would be muchly bared,” I said. “and men could look upon you, even casually.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You find that acceptable?”
“Yes!”
“I do not think you understand” I said, “what it is to be looked upon by men, as a slave.”
“Please!”
“You would not be permitted your veil,” I said. “Your features would be bared, publicly.”
“But no one would know me,” she said. “Do you not see? They would not understand that they were looking upon a free woman, especially one such as the Lady Constanzia of Besnit! Some wear masks that their features not be recognized. But I, contrariwise, conceal my identity by going unveiled!”
“The depth warden would not hear of it,” I said.
“Ask him for me, beg it of him, I beg of you. Please, Janice!”
“If the pit master should prove accommodating,” I said, “are you prepared, actually to go though with this?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“But we have no slave garment for you,” I said.
“Surely something might be devised!” she said. “Anything will do!”
“Even a rag?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
That thought amused me-to put a free woman in a rag!
“You would have to wear a collar,” I said.
“A collar!” she cried, softly. She put her hand to her throat, frightened.
“Yes,” I said.
She stiffened.
“Never,” she said. “Impossible!”
Clearly she understood the symbolism, the significance, of such a thing.
She was, after all, a free woman.
I, too, as a slave, understood the symbolism, the significance, of this. How momentously it marked the difference between us, between the slave and free!
“It would have to be,” I said.
She seemed then to shake with ambivalence. Within her two women warred, I thought, one who wanted her to be as she was expected to be, the other who wanted her to be as she wanted to be.
“In this city an uncollared girl,” I said, “would immediately attract attention, and suspicion.” And I supposed that would hold for other towns and cities on this world, as well. Indeed, how could one be “slave clad” without a collar? Men expect to find collars on slaves.
“I would not dare take you to the surface without having a collar on you,” I said.
“I do not know if I have that much courage-to go that far,” she said.
I shrugged.
“Is that really necessary,” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“What sort of collar,” she said.
“A slave collar,” I said, “the collar of a slave.”
“Might there not be something else?” she asked. “Something which might resemble such a collar?”
“No,” I said. “It would have to be a slave collar, an authentic slave collar.”
She turned pale.
That is the end of that, I thought.
Then it seemed she came to some sort of resolution. And it seemed her entire body suddenly shuddered with delight, thrilled. A bridge, it seemed, had been crossed.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course, I would have to be collared. Of course! Have me collared! And it must be the collar of a slave. Of course! Yes! Put me in a slave collar!”
“It would have to be an authentic slave collar,” I said, “an actual slave collar.”
“Of course,” she said.
“And it would be on you, truly on you,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“It would have to be locked,” I said, “and you would be unable to remove it.”
I would take no chances with her, if it was not locked on her, if she were not well fastened within it.
It would perfect my custody of her.
If she were to escape my charge for even an Ahn I would be held responsible.
Too, it would be dreadfully dangerous if someone should, either routinely or on provocation, perhaps a guardsman, discover that it was not locked.
“Let it be locked!” she said. “Let me be helpless it in!”
“You want it to be locked?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “I want to be helpless in it!”
“You would be,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“There is one compensation for the degradation,” I said, “though it is nothing in which you would be interested.”
“What is that?” she asked.
“The slave collar is very pretty on a woman,” I said. “The beasts who design them doubtless have that in mind. It much enhances the beauty, the attractiveness, and interest, of a woman.”
“That is, of course, of no interest to me,” she said.
“Certainly not,” I said.
“But do you think I would be pretty in such a collar?”
“Strikingly so,” I said. “You would be stunning in one.”
“Oh?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “But, too, you must recognize its effect on men, for it says to them that you are such as belong to them, that you are lovely and helpless, that you are kajira, that you exist for their service and pleasure.”
“Perhaps it has, too, its effect on the woman,” she speculated.
“Yes, it does,” I said, “clearly.” But I thought it unnecessary, and perhaps improper, to elaborate on this, as she was a free woman.
“Such things are, of course, of no interest to me,” she said.
“Of course not,” I said. As she was a free woman, she could lie with impunity. I myself, if caught in a lie, could be switched mercilessly.
“Please, dear Janice,” she said, earnestly. “Please convey my petition to the pit master!”
I regarded her. I did not really wish to risk the wrath of the pit master.
“I want to see the sun!” she wept.
Could there be more to it than that?
“I am not sure of this,” I said.
“Please Janice!” she wept.
“I will ask him,” I said.
That night I had knelt before the pit master. “Master,” I had asked, “may I speak?”
“Yes,” he had said.
I conveyed to him the petition of Lady Constanzia. I feared I might be cuffed.
“She wants to see the sun,” I said.
“Undoubtedly,” he said, “but she also wishes to have her body bared and to have it looked upon, it adorned in the rags of a slave.”
“Master!” I cried, scandalized.
“It is not what all women want?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“Is it not what you want?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said, boldly. Then I added, in a whisper, “But I am a slave.”
“And so, too, are all women,” he said.
I put my head down, trembling. I did not know if what he had said were true or not. Certainly some of the women who had been in my training group had denied in vehemently, particularly in the first day or two. But sometimes, at night, I heard them crying out with gratitude to masters in their sleep. Too, they had soon trained excellently. A little later I had often heard them conversing among themselves eagerly, looking forward to their sales, discussing what they hoped for in the way of masters.