She made the tiniest of stifled noises, her head pulled back, my hand held tightly, mercilessly, over her mouth.

She was kneeling. I was crouching behind her.

"Make no noise," I whispered to her.

I felt her face and head move the tiniest bit, as it could, indicating obedience.

I then removed my hand from her mouth and, from behind, my hand on her arm, drew her to her feet, and conducted her to the nearest of the small alcove tents in the paga enclosure. I had entered the enclosure from the Vosk side, under the railing. In a moment I had thrust her into the small tent. You cannot stand up within it.

I lit the tiny lamp in the tent. I lowered the flame so it was little more than a flicker.

"You!" she said, twisting about in the tiny space, on the silken carpet.

"Do not make noise," I warned her, softly.

She was pretty there, now naked, save for her collar, inside the canvas.

"Your silk is gone," I said.

"They removed it before they lashed me," she said.

"Turn about, kneeling," I said.

She did so.

It is common that clothing is removed before the administration of the discipline of leather. In this way the clothing is not likely to be cut or stained. Too, in a formal whipping, as opposed to an occasional stroke or two, perhaps called forth on a given occasion, not even as meaningless, fragile or symbolic a shield as slave silk is allowed to obtrude itself between the slave and the justice, or mere attention, of the lash. Similarly, in such a formal situation, even the hair of the slave is normally thrown forward, before her shoulders.

"Seven strokes," I said. "Yes," she whispered. "Count them," I said.

Tears sprang to her eyes, in memory of the lashing.

"One," she said, "for parting my silk unbidden; two, for putting myself to the dirt before a customer, unbidden; three, for speaking without asking permission; four, for not speaking clearly; five, for not answering directly; six, because I am a slave; seven, because it pleased the master to strike me again."

"In many cases," I said, "with a private master, I do not think you would have been beaten at all this evening. For example, a private master, though he might be particular about such things, is less likely than a public master, in public, to administer discipline for, say, speaking without permission. To be sure, if your speech is thought insufficiently respectful, or too bold or forward, or you have been recently warned not to speak, or it is obviously not a time in which he wishes to hear you speak, or such, you might be beaten. Similarly, a private master would not be likely to beat you for parting your silk before him or for putting yourself to his feet and writhing there piteously, in begging need, and such. Indeed, he would be more likely to be pleased. Indeed, with private masters many girls actually escape beatings by recourse to just such delightful strategies. Similarly, unclear or evasive discourse is not likely to win you a beating unless it is clear the master objects to it, and, in effect, will not accept it. Then, of course, you must speak with what clarity and directness you can. Your problem this evening, of course, is that you are a paga slave and that your master, Philebus, is before customers. You must do nothing to suggest to the customers that you are not helplessly subject, and absolutely, and perfectly, and completely, to Philebus. And you are, you know."

"Yes, Master," she said, wincing.

"But if your behavior should suggest that this is not the case it might be offensive to Philebus, and, indeed, to the customers. In such a case, you should rejoice you received such a light beating. You understand these things?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are not stupid, are you?" I asked. "No, Master," she said.

"Then why did you behave as you did?" I asked. I knew.

"Because of him!" she said. "Because of him!"

"Speak," I said, "but do so, softly."

"It is difficult to speak softly of such things!" she said, fire in her eyes.

"Beware," I said. "You are in a collar." She turned white.

"Now speak," I said.

"Let me speak with tenseness," she said. "But softly," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She was trying to gain control over herself. "Speak, slave," I said.

"You saw that it was he, he, here, in the paga enclosure, he who so scorned and abused me at the Crooked Tarn!"

"Of course," I said.

"Surely you recall he would not even permit me to serve him, though I was naked and in chains, at the Crooked Tarn!"

"You were then a free woman," I reminded her.

"He preferred a slave to me, to me!" she said.

"But you yourself are now a slave," I said.

"You permitted me to serve you!" she said.

"Yes," I admitted. "But then I am a tolerant, broad-minded fellow," I pointed out. I smiled inwardly. I had enjoyed having the proud wench, so distraught and resentful in her chains, serve me. It is pleasant to take a proud free woman and teach her her womanhood.

"He shook me, and cruelly," she exclaimed, softly, tensely. "He flung me from him to the floor in disgust. Though I was free he held me in contempt!"

"He wanted a woman," I said.

"I was a woman!"

"But at that time not as a slave is a woman," I said.

She shuddered deliciously in her collar, sensing my meaning. But in a moment she had again addressed herself to her grievances.

"He used a slave in preference to me!" she said.

"And you watched in awe, as I recall," I said.

"Master," she said, reproachfully.

"And enviously."

"Master!" she protested.

"Perhaps you wished that it was you who was serving him rather than the slave in his power."

"Please, Master!" she protested.

"Continue," I said.

"And later, when you were kind enough to have me brought to your space at the inn, he was there, too!"

"Kind enough'?" I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said.

"I wanted a female to relieve my tensions, and as you were then free, a debtor slut, you came cheap."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Too, you were attractive," I said.

"Even as a free woman?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"And now," she asked, "as a slave?"

"Thousands of times more attractive," I said. "Good," she said, and her body moved excitingly, I think inadvertently.

"So do not speak of kindness," I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said.

"Proceed," I said.

"And he was there, the rude brute, the monster!"

''I recall, ' I said.

"He spoke of me as "fat," "she said, "as "stupid," as a she-tarsk, as not being worth sleen feed!"

"I recall," I said.

"And he wanted me taken from his sight!"

"And he made you address him as "Master," " I said.

"Yes!" she said.

"Was he the first man you ever addressed as "Master"?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I thought so," I said.

"But I was free, free!" she pointed out.

"And you are now a slave," I said.

"Yes," she said. She would now call all free men "Master," and, of course, all free women "Mistress."

"But I was then free!" she said.

"But yet you called him "Master," " I reminded her.

"Yes," she said.

"And he was the first to whom you, even though at that time free, addressed that title of respect and sovereignty."

"Yes," she said. "The brute, the monster!"

I looked at her in the light of the tiny lamp. She was very beautiful.

"Oh," she said, bitterly, "you may well wager that I never forgot the monster!"

"I am sure you did not," I said.

"Oh," she said, "I hate him! I hate him!"

"I see," I said.

"And then he was here, and I within his reach, though now as a slave!"

"I can well imagine your feelings," I said.