"Yes, Master," she said.

"It will be a life of total femaleness, and dedication, and service and love." "Yes, Master," she said.

"The smallest tasks in your life, how you clean your master's leather, how you set out his clothes, how you cook, and she said, how you shop, how you clean and launder, even the tiniest and most servile tasks, all such things, will become sexual, and all will become expressions of your femaleness, fitting and joyful manifestations of your worthless but helplessly proffered, gladly tendered love and service, that of only an insignificant slave."

"I understand," she said.

"The life of a female slave," he said, "is a life wholly given over to love. It is not a compromised life. It is not one of those lives which is part this, and part that. It is a total way of life, a total life. The female slave seeks to give all, selflessly, knowing that she, as she is a mere slave, a rightless animal owned by her master, one who can be bought and sold at his least whim, can make no claims, that she deserves nothing, and is entitled to not the least attention or consideration. There are no bargains made with her, nor arrangements."

"Yes, Master," whispered the girl. "And it is for such women," he said, "that men are willing to die." She put down her head, humbly.

"What do you want for her?" asked Tenalion.

I shrugged.

"Two silver tarsks?" he asked.

"Fine," I said.

"Not a thousand gold pieces?" asked the blonde.

Tenalion smiled. "You have a very unrealistic concept of the market," he said. "Too, you are no longer a free woman, and priceless. You are now only one slave among others, and now, within certain limits, have a specific monetary value." "But so little?" she asked.

"Prices are useful in helping women to understand themselves and rank themselves, at least in certain dimensions," he said.

"So little?" she asked.

"That is a high price," I told her. Indeed when Boabissia had returned herself to Tenalion, only one silver tarsk had changed hands.

"Oh," she said.

He reached to a bell on his desk and rang it. It was not unlike the bell which had been on his desk in his residence. Tenalion, I gathered, like most efficient people, was a creature of habit. This frees the mind so that it may better concentrate on important considerations. In a moment, as before, a fellow had entered the room.

"This is a slave," said Tenalion, indicating the blonde. "Take her below. See that she is fittingly marked as such. We do not want there to be any confusion in the future about the matter."

"Yes, Tenalion," said the fellow.

The blonde saw Tenalion place two silver tarsks in my hand. She looked at them, wonderingly. The slave, she, herself, so easily, now had a new master.

Tenalion's man, taking her by the upper arms, from behind, jerked her up to her feet.

"You do not even know my name!" she cried to me. My right hand, reflexively, flew up, striking her across the mouth, lashing her head back.

Tenalion's man, angrily, threw her again to her knees, before me.

She looked up at me, startled, frightened, blood about her mouth.

"You do not have a name," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she gasped.

I regarded her, idly. She was attractive, naked and bound, and on her knees. "Do you not wish to know who I was?" she asked.

"Who were you?" I asked.

"I was the Lady Lydia, she of the High Merchants, she whose wealth was in gems and land, she of the Tabidian Towers! she said.

"An excellent catch," smiled Tenalion. "I shall enjoy having her in my pens for a time, the lovely Lady Lydia, before her sale."

"Lydia," she said, "of the Tabidian Towers!"

"Does it matter?" I asked.

"No," she said, crushed. "It does not matter."

"You are now only a nameless slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, head down.

"Take her away," said Tenalion.

The slave was pulled to her feet. She was roughly turned about. The hand of Tenalion's man was then in her hair, fastening itself deeply therein. It was like the closed talon of a bird of prey. She, bound, held, was helpless. She cried out softly, so held, startled, in pain. Then, bent over, her wrists confined in the cruel, encircling binding fiber, that which I had earlier put well on her, holding them mercilessly, so helplessly, behind her back, her head at his hip, stumbling, weeping, she was conducted swiftly from our presence. "She will be branded shortly," said Tenalion. "If you wish, a little later, in the afternoon, you might visit her in her pen."

"You are a kind fellow," I said.

He shrugged. "It is a weakness of mine," he said.

"Girl," I said.

She moved in pain, in the straw. She lifted herself to a half sitting, half kneeling position. There was a sound of chain. "It is you!" she said, softly. The heavy chain was on her neck. "They branded me," she said. "I am branded." "Thigh," I said.

She, wincing, turned toward me, in the straw. "An excellent brand," I said. It was the common kajira mark, as I had expected, a small, delicate, and beautiful, the cursive Kef, the stand and fronds, lyrically feminine, but unmistakable, a brand marking property, worn by most Gorean female slaves.

She looked at me. How helpless and soft she was, so perfect, now that she was enslaved.

"It is beautiful," I said, reassuring her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"I have not been given a name," she smiled. I too, smiled.

"Do you think I would so soon forget my cuffing?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I did not think so."

"The other girl had a name, or thought she did," she said.

"I see," I said.

"So I shall answer promptly to the name given me," she smiled.

"That would be my recommendation." I said.

"I hope I am given a good name," she said.

"You are pretty," I said. "You will probably be given a pretty name." "I hope so," she said.

"But if you are not pleasing," I said, "it may be removed from you." "I know," she said.

"Some masters force a girl to serve superbly for months, before being given any name, let alone a lovely one."

"That is cruel," she protested.

"You are at the mercy, totally, of anyone who buys you," I said.

"I know," she shuddered. The chain on her neck made a small noise. Chains look well on the necks of women.

"Have you received your first taking, after your branding?" I asked.

"No," she said.

I nodded.

"I am naked, and the straw is soft and warm, Master," she said.

"You are very beautiful," I said. So beautiful are slaves!

"My Master, Tenalion, of Ar, has permitted you here," she said.

"Yes," I said, looking down at her.

"He has doubtless planned this," she whispered.

"Are you resistant?" I asked.

"No," she laughed. "I am not resistant! I am a slave! I shall do my best to be responsive, and pleasing. I wish to be pleasing to my masters."

"Perhaps you do not wish to be beaten, either," I said.

"True," she laughed. "I do not wish to be beaten, either."

I smiled.

"I think Tenalion is kind," she whispered.

"Do you think he would be slow with the whip, if you were not pleasing?" I asked.

"No," she smiled. "I do not think he would be slow with the whip." "Does your brand hurt?" I asked.

"A little," she said.

"Prepare to be taken," I said. I removed my tunic. I looked down at her. She was lovely in the straw, at my feet.

"How do you wish to be taken?"

"I am new to my chains," she said. "Gently, lovingly, please."

"Very well," I said, "this first time."