"I have seen enough," said Marcus.

There was suddenly near us, startling us, another skirl of notes on a flute, the common double flute. A flute girl, come apparently from the wall side of the Wall Road, danced tauntingly near us, to our right, and, with the flute, while playing, gestured toward the wall, as though encouraging us to join the others in their labor. I, and Marcus, I am sure, were angry. Not only had we been startled by the sudden, intrusive music, which the girl must have understood would have been the case, but we resented the insinuation that we might be such as would of our own will join the work on the wall. Did she think we were of Ar, that we were the conquered, the pacified, the confused, and fooled, the verbally manipulate, the innocuous, the predictable, the tamed? She was an exciting brunet, in a short tunic of diaphanous silk. She was slender, and was probably kept on a carefully supervised diet by her master or trainer. Her dark eyes shone with amusement. She pranced before us, playing. She waved the flute again toward the wall.

We regarded her.

She again gestured, playing, toward the wall.

I had little doubt that she assumed from our appearance in this are that we were of Ar.

We did not move.

A gesture of annoyance crossed her lovely features. She played more determinedly, as though we might not understand her intent.

Still we did not move.

Then, angrily, she spun about, dancing, to return to her former post near the wall side of the Wall Road. She was attractive, even insolently so, at the moment, in the diaphanous silk.

"You have not been given permission to withdraw," I said.

She turned about, angrily, holding the flute.

"You are armed," she suddenly said, perhaps then for the first time really noting this homely face.

"We are not of Ar," I said.

"Oh," she said, standing her ground, trembling a little.

"Are you accustomed to standing in the presence of free men?" I asked.

"I will kneel if it will please you," she said.

"If you do not kneel," I said, "it is possible that I may be displeased." She regarded me.

"Kneel!" I said.

Swiftly she knelt.

I walked over to her and, taking her by the hair, twisting it, she crying out, turned her about and threw her to her belly on the Wall Road.

She sobbed in anger.

Marcus and I crouched near her.

"Oh!" she said.

"She is not in the iron belt," said Marcus.

"That is a further insult to those of Ar," I said, "that they would put unbelted flute girls among them."

"Yes," growled Marcus.

The tone of his voice, I am sure, did nothing to set our fair prisoner at ease. Flute girls, incidentally, when hired from the master, to entertain and serve at parties, are commonly unbelted, that for the convenience of the guests.

"She is not unattractive," I said.

"Oh!" she said, as I pulled her silk muchly away, tucking it then in and about the slender girdle of silken cord at her waist.

"No," said Marcus. "She is not unattractive."

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"You have been an insolent slave," I said.

"No," she said. "No!"

"You have not been pleasing," I said.

"You do not own me!" she said. "You are not my master!"

"The discipline of a slave," I said, "may be attended to by any free person, otherwise she might do much what she wished, provided only her master did not learn of it." The legal principle was clear, and had been upheld in several courts, in several cities, including Ar.

I then stood.

"Lash her," I said to Marcus.

"Please no, Master!" she suddenly cried.

I was pleased to note that she, as she was a slave, had now recollected to address free men by the title of "Master'.

Marcus used his belt for the business, slipping the knife in its sheath, and his pouch, from it, and handing them to me. He also gave me his over-the-shoulder sword belt as well, that he might not be encumbered.

Then the disciplined slave lay trembling on her belly, her eyes wide, her cheeks tear-stained, her hands beside her head, the tips of her fingers on the stones. "I gather," I said, "that the discipline to which you have been recently subject has been lax. Perhaps therefore you should be further beaten."

"No, Master!" she cried. "Please no, master! Forgive me, Master! Forgive me, Master!"

"Are you sorry for the error of your ways?" I asked.

"Yes, Master!" she said. "Please forgive me, Master!"

Her contrition seemed to me authentic.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Whatever Master pleases!" she sobbed.

"Come now," I said.

"Tafa, if it pleased maser," she said. That is a common slave name on Gor.

"Do you repent of the error of your ways?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Who repents of the error of her ways?" I asked.

"Tafa repents of the error of her ways," she said.

"Who is sorry, who begs forgiveness?" I asked.

"Tafa is sorry! Tafa begs forgiveness!" she said.

"I wonder if you should be further beaten," I said.

The belt, doubled, hung loosed in Marcus' hand.

"Please, no, Master," begged the girl.

I turned to Phoebe. "Are you distressed?" I asked.

"No, Master," said Phoebe, "certainly not. She was an errant slave. She should have been punished."

Tafa groaned.

"Indeed," said Phoebe, "it seems to me that she got off quite lightly. I myself believe she should have been whipped even more."

"Please no, Mistress," begged Tafa.

"I am not 'mistress', " said Phoebe. "I, too, am only a slave."

It was natural enough, in the circumstances, for Tafa to have addressed Phoebe as "Mistress." As Tafa was currently subject to us, and Phoebe was with us, this put Phoebe in a position of de facto priority to her. For example, in a group of female slaves, for example, in a pleasure gardens, a fortress or a tavern, there will usually be a girl appointed First Girl. Indeed, if there is a large number of slaves, there are sometimes hierarchies of "first girls," lower-level first girls reporting to higher-level first girls, and so on. The lower-level slaves will commonly address their first girl as "Mistress." Thus, in some situations, the same girl may be first girl to certain girls and be subordinated herself to another, on a higher level, whom she will address as "Mistress." Sometimes a hierarchy is formed in which girls are ranked in such a manner that each must address the girls above her as "Mistress." More commonly, it is only the lowest slave, usually the newest slave, who must do this with all the others, whereas the others will address only their first girl as "Mistress," and, of course, any free woman whom they might, to their risk, or peril, encounter. Technically the lowest of free women, of the lowest caste, is immeasurably above even the highest of slaves, even the preferred slave of a ubar. Sometimes a ubar will even had his preferred slave serve in a low-caste hovel one day a year, under the command, and switch, of a low-caste free woman, performing her labors, and such, that she may be reminded that she is truly, when all is said and done, only a slave, as much as the lowest of the kettle-and-mat-girls in the most wretched of hovels, crowded about the walls of a small city.

"The decisions as to the discipline of slave will be made by the masters," I reminded Phoebe.

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe. "Forgive me, Master."

Phoebe's zeal to see an errant slave punished, and suitably, was a quite natural one, of course. The girl was a slave, and had not been pleasing. Thus it was appropriate, even imperative, that she be punished, more broadly, order and structure in human life, stability in society, even, in a sense, civilization itself, depends upon sanctions, and to impose them reliably and efficiently. A lapse in such resolve and practice is a symptom of decline, even of impending disintegration. Ultimately civilization depends upon power, moral and physical, upon, so to speak, the will of masters and the reality of the whip and sword. It might be added, incidentally, that Phoebe, herself a slave, in moral consistency, fully accepted this same principle, at least intellectually, in her own case. She accepted, in short, as morally indisputable, the rightfulness of herself being punished if she should fail to be pleasing. Also, accepting this principle, and knowing the strength and resolve of her master, and the uncompromising reality of the discipline under which she herself was held, she was naturally disinclined to see others escape sanctions and penalties to which she herself was subject. Why should others be permitted lapses, faults and errors, particularly ones in which they took arrogant pride, for which she herself would promptly and predictably suffer? Accordingly, slave girls are often zealous to see masters immediately and mercilessly correct even small lapses in the behavior of their chain sisters. It pleases them. Phoebe herself, it might be mentioned, had very seldom been lashed, particularly since the day of Myron's entrance into the city when Marcus had finally accepted her as a mere slave., as opposed to a Cosian woman in his collar, to be sure, enslaved, on whom he could vent his hatred of Cos and things Cosian. The general immunity to the lash which was experienced by Phoebe, of course, was a function of her excellence as a slave. Excellent slaves are seldom beaten, for there is little, if any, reason to do so. To be sure, such a girl, particularly a love slave, occasionally desires to feel the stroke of the lash, wanting to feel pain at the hands of a beloved master, wanting to be whipped by him because she loves him, in this way symbolizing to herself her relationship to him, that of slave to master, her acceptance of that relationship, and her rejoicing in it. To be sure, she is soon likely to be merely, again, a whipped slave, begging her master for mercy.