"Of course," he said. "Do not move."

"No, Master," I said. Suddenly I resented and hated those other girls from the bottom of my heart. How angry and jealous I was!

"The little slave is angry," he said. "Do not move."

"No, Master," I said.

I lay in the darkness, in his arms, trying not to move.

"What became of the Earth girls whom you owned before me, Master?" I asked.

"Was a slave given permission to speak?" he asked.

"Forgive me, Master," I said. "May a slave speak?"

"Yes," he said.

"You owned other Earth girls," I said. "Where are they?"

"I do not know," he said.

"What did you do with them?" I asked.

"I have had five such women, not including yourself, my dear," he said. "I gave two away, and sold off three."

"Are you going to sell me, or give me away?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said.

I moaned. He could do what he wished, of course.

"Did they love you?" I asked.

"I do not know," he said. "Perhaps. Perhaps, not."

"Did they protest their love to you?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. "That sort of thing is common among slave girls."

"And yet you gave them away, or sold them?"

"Yes."

"How could you do that, Master?" I asked.

"They were only slaves," he said in explanation.

I uttered a cry of anguish. I could be discarded as easily. "You were cruel," I said, "Master."

"How can one be cruel to a slave?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "How can one be cruel to a slave?"

"You're crying," he said.

"Forgive me, Master," I said.

We lay together in the darkness, I not permitted to move. I heard the peasant boys finishing with my sisters in bondage. Afterwards they would be put in slave hobbles.

"What was your barbarian name?" he asked.

"Judy Thornton," I said, "Master."

"How came you into my possession?" he asked.

"You won me in challenge, Master," I said. "Then you made me your slave."

"Ah, yes," he said. What a beast he was, me so naked, so helpless in his arms.

"Barbarians have such complicated names," he said.

"It is two names, Master," I said. "My first name was Judy, my second name was Thornton."

"Barbarous," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"I do not like those names," he said. "Therefore they will not be yours."

"Yes, Master," I said. I supposed such names did sound unfamiliar, and barbarous, to a Gorean ear.

"What was the name of your barbarian master?" he asked.

"I do not understand, Master," I stammered.

"The barbarian who owned you on Earth," he said. "Perhaps we can use his name."

"But I was not owned on Earth, Master," I said. "I was a free woman."

"Women such as you are permitted to be free on Earth?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Of what sort are the men of Earth?" he asked.

"Of a sort other than Gorean, Master," I said.

"I see," he said. "Are the men happy?" he asked.

"No," I told him.

"Are the women happy?" he asked.

"No," I told him.

"I see," he said.

"Do the men of Earth not find you beautiful and desirable?" he asked.

"They have been weakened," I told him. "I did not know what it was to be desired until I came to this world." I clutched him. "It is only in the arms of true men, such as you, Master," I said, "that I have learned what it is to be a woman."

"You may move," he said.

With a cry I began to respond spasmodically to him.

"Stop," he said.

"Master!" I cried.

"Do not move," he said.

I wept with misery. How cruel could he be. "Yes, Master!" I wept.

He had raised me to the point at which another instant's movement would have precipitated that most incredible and fantastic of sexual experiences to which a human female can attain, that in which she knows herself cognitively and physiologically submitted, fully and completely, absolutely, to a master, the psychological and somatic raptures of submission spasm, the slave orgasm.

"I must drive you from my mind," he said.

I moaned.

"What is your brand?" he asked.

"The Slave Flower, the Dina!" I cried. "The name," he had said, "for you are a common girl, and worthless, should be an unimportant name, one plain and simple, one fitting for a valueless girl, an ignorant, branded she-slave such as you."

"The Dina!" I cried.

He had begun to have me.

"Permit me to yield! Permit me to yield, Master!" I cried.

"No," he said.

I cried out with misery. I tried to hold myself immobile.

"You are going to be named," he said.

I could not even speak.

I was the only Dina among his girls. It was a common brand. Often girls who wore it were called Dina. For a low, common girl, one not to be distinguished from others, it was a suitable name. It was unimportant. It was simple. It was plain. I was common, and of little value. The name, too, was common, and of little value. It was thus not unfitting for a girl such as I, not unfitting for an ignorant, branded she-slave such as myself.

"You will not forget your name," he said.

"No, Master!" I said. I knew how he would impress my name upon me.

He had told me that I was without value, that I was worthless. I knew I could be bought and sold for a handful of copper tarsks.

I knew what he would name me.

He did not cease to have me.

At length I cried out, agonized. "I must yield, Master! I cannot help myself! I cannot help myself but yield to you!"

"Must you yield," he asked, "even though it might mean your death?"

"Yes, Master!" I cried.

"Then yield, Slave," said he.

With a cry I yielded to him.

"You are Dina," he said, laughing, his voice like a lion. "You are the slave Dina, whom I own." He laughed and cried out with pleasure in his triumph over the slave girl. "Yes, Master!" I cried. "I am Dina! I am Dina" I clutched him, joyously, his. "Dina loves Master!" I wept. "Dina loves Master!"

Later I lay in his arms, an owned slave girl, content beside the mightiness of her master.

How I loved him!

"Strange," he said, looking up at the Gorean stars.

"Master?" I asked.

"You are obviously only a common girl," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. I began to kiss him gently about the shoulder.

"Only a common girl," he said.

It was true. He was Clitus Vitellius, a Captain, of the city of Ar. I was only Dina.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"I fear that I might begin to care for you," he said.

"If Dina has found favor with her master," I said, "she is pleased."

"I must fight this weakness," he said.

"Whip me," I said.

"No," he said.

"It is not you who is weak, Master," I said. "It is I, Dina, in your arms, who am without strength." I kissed him.

"I am a captain," he said. "I must be strong."

"I am a slave girl," I said. "I must be weak."

"I must be strong," he said.

"You did not seem weak to me, Master," I said, "when you laughed, and took me, and named me Dina. Then you seemed magnificent in your power and pride."

"It was only the conquest of a slave girl," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said, "I am your conquest." It was true. Dina, the Earth girl, she who had once been Judy Thornton, a lovely college student and poetess, was now the enslaved love conquest of Clitus Vitellius of Ar.

"You trouble me," he said, angrily.

"Forgive me, Master," I said.

"I should rid myself of you," he said.

"Permit me to follow at the heels of the least of your soldiers," I said. I truly did not fear that he would rid himself of me. I loved him. I was confident that he, too, in spite of himself, cared for me.

"Master," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Has Dina pleased you this night?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I want your collar," I said.

There was a long silence. Then he said, "You are an Earth girl. Yet you beg to wear a collar?"