There was the sound of the flute and drum. There was the firelight, the men about, the enclosure, the Vosk in the background, the firelight and the slave.

"So beautiful," whispered a man.

"Gold pieces," said another man, appraising the luscious property slut.

"Yes, yes!" agreed another, excitedly.

She paused before me, in her circuit, her hands moving on her thighs, her shoulders and breasts moving.

I sipped paga. Then I dismissed her, with a small movement of my head.

She spun away.

Now she was approaching the burly fellow.

It was pleasant to observe her, the owned, collared, silked, barefoot beauty.

Then the slave stood before the burly fellow, her shoulders back, her head up, proud in her slavery, unabashedly exultant in it, her body seeming hardly to move, but yet revealing, and obedient to, as must be the body of a slave in the parade, the music.

"Ah!" said the burly fellow, his eyes shining.

She regarded him. Surely he must recognize her!

Then she moved, back and forth, before him. His hand was tight on the goblet. The girls in the back murmured. He did not dismiss Temione. He kept her before him.

Men looked at one another, grinning.

Temione moved before the fellow, here and there, in one direction or another, twirling about, walking, approaching, withdrawing, approaching. Still he did not dismiss her. Once, as she moved away from the fellow, our eyes met. She seemed startled, puzzled. It seemed she had expected he must surely recognize her! Doubtless she had been prepared to be again scorned, to be rebuffed, to be ordered from his sight, to be sent away, perhaps even struck, but he had not yet even released her from the prime display area, that before him, near the center of the circle. In another moment, as she again faced me, I could not help but take in, in a glance, together with her consternation and puzzlement, the excitingness of her shapely, bared legs, her exquisite ankles and feet, the marvelous lineaments of her hips, waist and breasts, well betrayed by the silk she wore, that mockery of a garment, suitable for a slave, the sweetness of her upper arms and forearms, the smallness of her hands and fingers, her shoulders, her throat, encircled by its collar, her delicate, sensitive, beautiful face, the total marvelousness of her! Perhaps it was understandable then, I thought, that he had not recognized, in this beautiful and exciting slave, the mere free woman he had earlier so scorned and abused. Perhaps few men would have, at least at first. And yet she was, in a sense, the same woman, only now fixed helplessly in bondage.

Then she was again before him.

No, he did not recognize her.

Then she stood boldly before him, as though challenging him to recognize her!

But he still did not recognize her!

Then boldly, suddenly, she tore back her silk before him. The girls in the background gasped. Men leaned forward. The hand of Philebus tightened on the whip he held. He half lifted it.

But the girl noted him not. Her eyes were on the burly fellow, and his on her, raptly, startled, stunned.

Then she put herself to the dirt before him in what, had she been a dancer, and on a different surface, might have been termed "floor movements," such things as turnings and twistings, rollings and crawlings, sometimes on her hands and knees, sometimes on her stomach; sometimes, too, she would be kneeling, sitting, or lying, or half sitting, half lying, or half kneeling, half lying; I saw her on her back and stomach, sometimes lifting her body; I noted, too, she was excellent on her side, one and the other, both facing him, and away, in her movements; I regarded her crawling, on her hands and knees, or on her stomach, sometimes lifting her body; sometimes she would look back over her shoulder, perhaps as though in fear or even, it seemed, sometimes, challenging him to recognize her; sometimes she would approach him, crawling, head down, sometimes head up, or turned demurely to the side; then she would be again sitting, or kneeling, or lying, extending her limbs, displaying them, drawing them back, flexing them; sometimes she recoiled or contracted, as though into herself, drawing attention to herself, to her smallness and vulnerability, her curves, as a helpless, compact, delicious love bundle; I saw, too, that she knew the Turian knee walk. Men cried out with pleasure. And in all this, of course, time was kept with the music.

I glanced to the burly fellow. His knuckles were white on goblet, his hand so clenched upon it.

"Is master pleased?" inquired Philebus.

"Yes! Yes!" cried the burly fellow.

"Yes!" cried others.

With his goblet the burly fellow indicated that the slave might rise.

She stood then before him. Though she scarcely moved, in her body yet was the music. I did not think Philebus would use the whip on her for having parted her silk, unbidden, or for having put herself to the dirt before Borton, his customer. Such delicious spontaneities, incidentally, are often encouraged in a slave by a private master. Bondage is a condition in which imagination and inventiveness in a slave are highly appropriate. Indeed some masters encourage them with the whip. In a public situation, however, as in a paga tavern, it is advisable that the girl be very careful, at least in her master's presence. She must not let it appear that she is, even for an instant, out of the master's complete control, and, of course, in the ultimate sense, this is entirely true. She is, in the end, his, and completely. If a girl, say, one new to slavery, does not know this, she soon learns it, and well.

"Come, come," said Borton, gesturing with his left hand and the goblet in his right, "bring them all forward!"

Philebus, with the whip, gestured the girls in the background forward and they hurried forward, in their silk, their feet soft in the dirt, and they knelt, in a semicircle behind, and about, Temione, her silk parted, who still stood.

"Perhaps master is ready to make a choice for the evening?" asked Philebus.

There was laughter.

The question, surely, was rhetorical.

With his coiled whip Philebus, expansively, indicated the girls, like a merchant displaying wares, or a confectioner displaying candies, and, in a sense, I suppose, he was both.

There was more laughter.

I did not think there was much doubt what the burly fellow's choice would be.

The two fellows who had supplied the music were silent. One wiped the flute, the other was addressing himself to the tabor, loosening some pegs, relaxing the tension of the drumhead. The drumhead is usually made of verrskin, as most often are wineskins.

"Can they dance?" asked the burly fellow, as though his mind might not yet be made up.

The taborist looked up.

"Alas, no," cried Philebus, in mock dismay, "none of my girls are dancers!"

The taborist continued his work.

There were cries of mock disappointment from the crowd.

"I will dance," said Temione.

The slave girls shrank back, gasping. There was silence in the enclosure. Philebus, in rage, lifted his whip. But the burly fellow indicated that he should lower it.

"Forgive me, Master," said Temione. She had spoken without permission.

"You do not know how to dance," said Philebus.

"Please, Master," said Temione.

"You beg permission to dance before this man?" asked Philebus.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Let her dance!" called a man.

"Let her dance!" called another.

"Yes!" said others.

Philebus looked to Borton, the burly fellow. "Let her dance," he said.

Philebus glanced at his fellows, and the one tried a short schedule of notes on the flute, the other retightened the pegs on the tabor.

Borton looked quizzically at the girl before him, so beautiful, and owned.

She did not meet his eyes.