I lay tensely in the box, on my side, my head lifted, trying to listen.

The men conversed with the newcomer in hushed tones. I could not determine what they said.

At one point the box was struck and I jerked back. One of the men had apparently kicked it, the cloak spread over it, indicating it.

“Masters?” I heard Aynur ask, fearfully.

Then I thought she was being removed from the wall. I also heard, a moment or two later, to small clicks, from which sounds I gathered that she had been bracelted. I also heard a stirring of straw, and supposed that she was pulled forward, presumably to kneel, as free men were present, closer to the box.

A moment later the box, with the cloak, was turned, so that my head was oriented away from the men, toward the opposite wall. The cloak was then lifted away from the box. But I could see nothing but the room though the perforations before me. “Close your eyes,” said a voice, that of one of the men whose captive I was, he whom I took to be first of the two. I closed my eyes. I heard the locks undone, the lid put back, in its hinges. I was on my side in the box. I felt a hand in my hair. I winced, as it urged me up. Too, it turned my head toward the wall, away from the men. “Kneel upright, back straight, head down,” said the voice. I was then kneeling in the box, my head down, my eyes closed, facing the wall, away from the men. I felt my wrists pulled together, behind my back, and corded together. The cord was then run down to my ankles, which were crossed, bound together, and tied to my wrists. “Put a knife to her throat,” said the man who was near me. I was afraid, but it was Aynur whom I heard whimper. Certainly I felt no blade at my throat. “We will now see if you have given us the right girl,” said one of the two men, he whom I took to be second of the two. He was some feet away, in the room. “Let us hope, for your sake, you have delivered the right slave to us.”

“I have tried to do so, Master!” wept Aynur.

“have you sought to trick us, or betray us?”

“No, Master!”

“Have you made a mistake?”

“I hope not, Master!”

“Is she the right girl?”

“I hope so, Master!” cried Aynur.

“If she is not, you will die,” said the man.

I heard Aynur cry out with misery, as though her head had been jerked back by the hair.

I was startled as a cloak, doubtless that which had been put on Aynur in the house of the master, and which had just been over the box, was put about my shoulders. Too, it was loosely draped about me. I felt it on my calves, as I knelt. I was then lifted from the box, in the cloak, and turned, and knelt facing the men. I kept my eyes closed, as I had been commanded. A salve does not disobey such commands. Too, now that I was again kneeling, I kept my head down. Disobedience is not permitted to us. We are kajirae.

“Lift your head,” said the man near me.

I obeyed, but kept my eyes closed.

“It is she, is it not?” said the other man, eagerly, addressing himself, doubtless, to the newcomer in the room.

“Open your eyes,” said the man near me, just a little behind me, to my left. I gather he may have received some sign from the new comer.

I opened my eyes, and found myself kneeling some feet before a seated man. He was in a dark cloak. Its hood was thrown back, but I could not ascertain his features, as he was masked, as were the other two. Aynur was before me but to the left. She was kneeling, naked, her hands behind her, presumably braceleted. Her head was cruelly held back by the hair, but one of the two men whose captive I was, he whom I took to be second amongst them. He was crouching a little behind her and to her right. His left hand was in her hair, holding her head back, and his right hand grasping the hilt of a knife, its glace at her throat. I looked again, wildly, frightened, at the seated man.

I saw him nod.

“It is she!” said the man holding Aynur. He released Aynur and sheathed his knife. Aynur’s head came forward, and she sagged, shuddering.

“Do you dare to look boldly on your master, slave?” inquired the man behind me, to my left.

Quickly, frightened, I lowered my eyes. Why had he spoken of this man as my master? I did not think that he was Appanius of Ar.

Had I now a new master? But perhaps this was in the sense that Aynur now had a new master, our masters, that she had belonged, in effect, to those who had captured us. But I, what of me? Would I not, too, in that sense, belong to them? But it seemed not. It seemed, rather, that it was to he who had come most recently down the stairs that I belonged. My submission, my obedience, all that I was, it now seemed, was his. I had been stolen, it seemed, and he was my new master.

And so it was that I knelt before him, in that secret place, far below the streets of the city, bound hand and foot, the cloak about my shoulders, concealing my body.

I knelt very still.

I did not move as I feared to dislodge the cloak. I was afraid it would slip from my shoulders. I did not know what the sight of my body might do to him, a man of this world, what activities, what agencies, what behaviors, it might precipitate. These are not tamed men, these Goreans. They are brutes, beasts, men of power, men of passion and violence, of inordinate desire, men who relish and celebrate women in every fiber of their being, who take them in hand, and deliciously completely uncompromisingly, own them, and master them.

He regarded me, not speaking.

Aynur had lifted her head. Perhaps she, naked and braceleted, envied me the cloak. One of the men, he who was first amongst the two, as I understood it, was still behind me, a little to my left. The other was before me, still a bit behind and to the right of Aynur. But both were now standing.

Both Aynur and I were helpless. We might as well have been chained in a market, or have been in heavily barred, triple-locked capture cages.

“Would you care to see her?” asked the man near me. He bend down, and his large hands, reaching about me, were on either side of my neck, on the edges of the cloak, near my throat. With a simple movement he might have drawn the cloak down and away, slipping it back and to the sides. I tensed. But the seated man made tiny gesture, a negative gesture. The man behind me removed his hands from the cloak and straightened up.

“She is pretty,” said the other man, encouragingly.

I did not understand why the cloak had been put about me. I did not understand why, now, it had not been removed. Nor, I think, was this clear to those who had been my captors.

I bit my lip, a little. I knew what it was to be looked upon, to be assessed, to be examined, as a female and a slave. But now I was frightened, for I feared my value to this new comer, he who had been announced to me as my master, had little to do with whatever features or properties I might possess as a woman in bondage, with such things as beauty, intelligence, character, personality or talent. There was, I feared, a different interest in me, one which might be far more sinister or insidious, one far less immediately intelligible than those associated with the typical, obvious values of a slave.

“Very pretty!” urged the second man.

I had been taught to present myself well in chains, or ropes. I had been taught to turn well on the slave block.

But it seemed such things were of little interest to the new comer.

Desperately I looked at him, trying to read his eyes. You must understand that we literally belong to the masters, and that they may do with us as they please. I hoped that he would be kind.

“She begged for use,” said the man behind me. “She had to be cuffed.”

I feared I detected contempt in the eyes of the newcomer.

I put down my head.

“She is a hot little slut,” said the second man.