She was a large, strong woman, rather straight in body and coarse in feature. She was clad in brief leather. It was suggestive of that of a warrior. She wore armlets and bracelets. She carried a whip. Such is useful in keeping the slaves in line.

"This way," she said.

I followed her, threading my way among the small tables, and the mats, and the slave rings and clutching, moving, intertwined bodies, to a small table. I heard gasping, and a small cry of pain, and then a small cry of submission, and the movement of a chain on tiles. The room was crowded, but not too crowded. I heard conversation. Some musicians were playing in the half darkness. Some of these brothels are really not that much different from certain paga taverns. There, too, of course, girls go with the drinks, though dancers are commonly extra. The table was in the second row, or so, from the front of the room, where there was something of an open space. The musicians were on the right side of this, as I faced them. It was not easy to see at first. The room was illuminated, insofar as it was, with a soft, flickering, reddish light, the result of the flames of tiny tharlarion-oil lamps set in narrow red-glass enclosures on certain of the tables. In such a light, of course, interesting colorations, subtle, soft, constantly changing reddish hues, ranging, depending on the color of the glass and the mix of the lights, from dark, rose-colored pinks to creamy crimsons, are imparted to the flesh of white-skinned slaves. Too, there were many dark places and shadows. Some men are fond of privacy in such a place.

"Is this satisfactory?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, sitting down, cross-legged, behind the small table.

"Oh!" said a woman, near me, half rearing up on a mat, and I saw her eyes, startled, for an instant, and that she was blond, and that her flesh appeared interesting in the light, and then she, the chain on her neck fastening her to the slave ring near the mat, was thrust back on the mat. "Oh, yes!" she cried. "Yes, Master!"

"Are you he called Tarl, of Port Kar?" said the woman who had conducted me to my place.

"Why?" I asked.

"I was told to watch for such a person," she said.

"Who told you?" I asked. I had come to the Tunnels in response to a message, delivered to me by Achiates, the owner of the insula in which Hurtha and I were rooming. He had, it seemed, if he were telling the truth, and I had no particular reason to doubt it, found the message thrust under his door. She looked about. "I do not see him here now," she said.

"Are you this Tarl of Port Kar?"

"I am called Bosk," I said.

"Oh," she said. This information did not seem to make much difference to her, one way or the other. I watched her. She did not, as far as I could tell, glance at any particular person, nor in any particular direction. I detected nothing unusual. I did not think, in any case, she would be more than the conveyor of a message.

I looked about. Various folks had entered after us. They, too, in their turns, were being seated. There were two or three hostesses, clad and accoutered similarly to mine.

One fellow was carrying a large sack over his shoulder. Even in the dim light certain curvatures seemed suggested within the sack. Too, there was a squirming within it which suggested that its occupant was bound. He was speaking to one of the hostesses.

"What is that?" I asked my hostess.

"It is a joke," she said. "He has captured a free female. We will put her stripped back in one of the tunnel alcoves. Her wrists will be braceleted behind her, chained to a slave ring. She will be unable to speak, being perfectly gagged. She will be left there in the darkness, helpless."

"But she might be used," I said.

"It is not impossible," she said. "It is a matter of chance. Access to her will be as unrestricted as that to a slave."

"Do you approve of such things?" I asked.

"If she is a feminine female," she said, "of course. Such belong to men." "It is a splendid joke," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"What is done with them later?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. "We just put them out naked in the back, in the morning. If they have been used, however, we tie their hands behind their back and, on a cord about their waist, suspend a punched tarsk bit on their belly."

"Why would someone do this sort of thing to a free woman?" I asked.

"Perhaps they found her displeasing in some way," she said, "and thought it might do her a bit of good, to discover something about what it is to be a female."

"I see," I said.

"There she goes," said the woman. "She is being taken into one of the tunnel alcoves now," There are small exits from the larger room, on the other side of the open space, that lead to various tunnels, off of which may be found cells and alcoves. From such tunnels the establishment, of course, derives its name. "Yes," I said. We watched the fellow crouch down and enter one of the small openings, the sack now, with its helpless, squirming occupant, dragging behind him. One cannot, on the whole, stand upright in the tunnels. Sometimes one must actually crawl.

The musicians had now stopped playing.

"Are you interested in free females?" she asked.

"Not particularly," I said.

"Let us show you one," she said. "Esne," she called. "Bring Lady Labiena." In a few moments one of the hostesses had emerged from a side door leading a lovely woman, barefoot, in a wrap-around tunic, on a neck chain. She was brought to my table where, unbidden, she knelt.

"She is attractive, is she not?" asked my hostess.

"Yes," I said.

"She is a captive free woman," said my hostess. "We are keeping her for a friend."

"I see," I said.

"Open your tunic," said my hostess.

The woman parted her tunic, and held it to the sides.

"She is pretty, isn't she?" asked my hostess.

"Yes," I said. "Widen your knees," I told the woman. She did so, continuing to hold her tunic open.

"Are you sure she is free?" I asked.

"Yes," said my hostess.

I regarded the woman. "It seems she might as well be a slave," I said. The woman threw me a look of gratitude.

"No, she is free," said my hostess, "though now, to be (pg 315) sure, she doubtless has some notion of what a slave's life might be like."

"One can have no adequate notion of that," I said, "Until one has been truly enslaved.

"True," said my hostess.

"What is your life like here?" I asked the woman.

"I wear a neck chain," she said.

"I see," I said.

"You may lower your hands, but do not close your tunic," said my hostess. "In what manner does she serve here, in this house?" I asked. To be sure she was barefoot, and was naked but for a tunic, and had a chain on her neck. These things suggested some answers to my question."

"Much as a slave, but with little of their skill," said my hostess.

"They will not tell me their secrets," said the woman.

"They have been ordered not to," said my hostess, "our orders countermanding any which she might give them."

"But they are pleased not to tell me!" she wept.

"Of course," said my hostess. "They are slaves, and you are merely free. Too, often the secrets of slaves are perhaps best kept between themselves and their masters."

"We will not even give her training," said the hostess who had brought her in. "That has cost me many beatings," said the free woman.

"Why not train her?" I asked.

"Training would be inappropriate for her, as she is a free woman," said my hostess. "Too, it might scandalize and horrify her. We would certainly not want that. Too, it is not likely that it would even be fully meaningful to her, as she is free, and would thus not be able to fully understand it as it is meant to be understood, in the helpless depths of an owned belly."

"Is she being held for ransom?" I asked.