How I hated him! I was a Tatrix, a Tatrix! He was only a soldier, a mere guard! I had power. I could have my vengeance on himl I could tell Liguribus that he bad become fresh with me, that he had dared to try to kiss me. Surely he might be broken in rank for that, or whipped, or even slain! I wondered why he had not kissed me. Was il because I was a Tatrix? But I did not think that that thought, momentous though it might be, would have deterred a man such as Drusus Rencius. Was it then because I was not sufficiently attractive? Perhaps. But on Earth I bad been thought to be very pretty. Too, Miles of Argenturn had speculated that I might bring as much as even a silver tarsk in a market. Was it then because I was free? Were Gorean men spoiled for free women by those collared, curvacious little sluts they had crawling about their feet, desperately eager to please them?

Given such luscious alternatives it was natural enough, I supposed, that men would see little point in subjecting them-selves to the inconvenience, frustration and pain of relating to a free woman, with her demands, inhibitions and rigidities.

Perhaps they could not be blamed for not choosing to reduce the quality of their lives in this fashion. To be sure, if slaves were not available, then it was understandable how men might relate to free women. Sexually starved, and driven by their needs, they would then be forced to make do with whatever might be available, the best in such a case perhaps being the free woman. But on Gor alternatives, real alternatives, slaves, were available. It was no wonder free women as I had beard, so bated slaves. How could they even begin to compete with a slave, those dreams come true for men? Perhaps that is it, I thought, perhaps that is why he did not kiss me.

Perhaps fie did not kiss me because I was free, or, I added, in my thinking, not truly understanding the qualification, because he thought I was free. I lay there in the darkness, in the heat of the silks. I wondered why I had made that qualification in my thinking-"because he thought I was free."

Could he have been wrong, I asked myself. Could he have been mistaken? How absurd, I thought. What could you possibly mean, I asked myself. The meaning is perfectly clear, I told myself, irritably. Are you stupid? I am a Tatrix, I cried out to myself. I am freel Of course, I am freel "Go now to the slave ring," a voice seemed to say to me. I got up and, almost as though in a trance, scarcely understanding what I was doing, went to the slave ring, that at the foot of the couch. I knelt there. "Are you positioned at the ring," the voice seemed to say. "Yes," I whimpered, to myself. "Take it in your hands, Tiffany," it said, "and kiss it." I took the heavy ring in uny hands, lifted it, and kissed it. I then put it back gently, lovingly, against the couch. I then felt it would be permissible for me to return to the couch. I crawled again upon it, to its center. "Get where you belong," said the voice, a bit impatiently. I crawled then to the bottom of the couch and lay there, near its foot, by the slave ring. I wondered if Drusus Rencius would have refused to kiss me if I had not been a free woman, but a slave. If I had been a slave, say, perhaps, a fifteen-copper-tarsk girl, that amount for which be had once suggested a slaver might let me go, I think I might have received a somewhat different treatment at his bands.

"It is fortunate for you," said the voice within me, "that Drusus does not know that you are a slave." "I am not a slave," I said, aloud. "I am not a slave!" "Remain where you are, at the foot of the couch, until morning," said the voice within me. "I will," I said, frightened. I had then fallen asleep. To my embarrassment I was still there in the morning when I awakened, Susan having entered the room. "I must have moved about in my sleep," I said to Susan. "Yes, Mistress," she had said, her head down, smiling. I had considered whipping her, but I had not done so. "What is it like, being owned, and having a master," I had later asked Susan, while being served breakfast, as though merely curious. "Consider yourself as having a master, and being owned," said Susan, "that you are totally his, and that he may do with you, fully, whatever he wants." I shuddered. "it is like that," she said, "only it is real." "I see," I had whispered.

I stood on the riser, behind the parapet.

"I hear it again," I said, "that sound, as of metal, from within your cloak. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said.

On Gor my entire mind and body, in the fullness of its femininity, had come alive, but yet, in spite of my new vitality and health, I was in many ways keenly miserable and unfulfilled. On Earth, in its pollutions, surrounded by its crippled males and frustrated women, exposed to its antibiological education and conditionings, subjected to the perversions of unisex, denying their sexuality in its fullness to both sexes, the nature of the emptiness in my life, and its causes, had been, in effect, concealed from me. I had not even been given categories in terms of which I might understand it.

Where I bad needed reality and truth I had, been given only lies, propaganda and false values. Here on Gor, on the other hand, I*was becoming deeply in touch with "my femininity. as keenly and deeply, never on Never on Earth had I felt it Earth had I been so deeply sensitive to it, so much aware of its needs, delicacy and depth. But here on Gor I was clearly aware of my lack of fulfillment, instead of, as on Earth, usually only vaguely or obscurely aware of it. What had been an almost unlocalizable malaise on Earth, except at certain times when, to my horror, I had understood it more clearly, on Gor had become a reasonably clearly focused problem. On Earth it had been as though I was miserable and uncomfortable without, often, really knowing why, whereas on Gor I, bad suddenly become aware that I was terribly hungry. Moreover, on Gor, for the first time, so to speak, I had discovered the nature of food, that food for which I so sorely hungered, and the exact conditions, the exclusive conditions, perhaps so humiliating and degrading to me, yet exalting, under which it might be obtained. Such thoughts I usually thrust quickly from my mind.

"You are right, Drusus," I said, suddenly. "Slaves are unimportant. They are nothing."

"Of course," be said. "But what has brought this to mind?"

"A conversation I had this morning with that little chit of a slave, Susan." "Ob," be said.

"It is unimportant," I said.

He nodded.

"Do you know her?" I asked.

"I have seen her, yes, several times," be said.

"What do you think she would bring?" I asked.

"She is a curvaceous little property," be said, "and seems to understand herself well, and the fittingness of the collar on her beck."

"Yes?" I said.

"Three tarsks, perhaps," he said.

"So little?" I asked, pleased.

"Three silver tarsks, of course," said he.

"Oh," I said, angrily.

"There is little doubt what she would look like at the slave ring," he said, "and, too, she has doubtless received some training."

I did not doubt but what Susan, the little slut, had received sonic training. There was not a detail about her which did not seem, in its way, a perfection. This morning she had again, in entering my quarters, discovered me near the foot of the couch. Usually, early in the morning, before she entered, I would try to be elsewhere.

"I do not know what is wrong with me," I confessed to her, desperately needing someone to talk to, as she served my breakfast. "I sometimes feel so empty, so miserable, so uncomfortable, so meaningless, so restless."

"Yes, Mistress," she had said, deferentially.

"I just do not know what is wrong with me," I had lamented.

"No, Mistress," she had said.

"You," I said, "on the other hand, seem contrastingly content and serene, even fulfilled and happy."