I could not rid my mind of the sudden appearance of the rattling projections. Such devices, I supposed, might be common in places such as these. I had heard, too, of such things as blades and pits. Naturally then I was terrified that I must hurry ahead. Yet I reminded myself that I was not a free person, but only a domestic animal and thus, presumably, as long as I was docile, and obedient, and perfect in my service, and fully pleasing, I might hope to be spared. I do not here, incidentally, discuss the nature of slave traps, as they constitute a different object of discourse. Some of these are rather benign devices, with no object more in mind than to discommode a free woman until the hunters arrive and collect her. Others, with coiled wire, with springs and steel teeth, generally designed for the capture of escaped male slaves can be quite cruel. Smaller, lighter versions of such traps exist for escaped female slaves. Within some of these devices, surrounded by the wire and blades, one cannot move without cutting oneself to pieces. I had once, in training, been carefully entered into one, and then left there, standing, for more than an hour. It helped to impress upon me, as did a thousand other considerations, physical and social, the hopelessness of escape for a female slave.

We crossed another such bridge.

“Hold,” said the pit master.

Instantly I stopped, gasping, looking wildly about me. But he merely unlocked the bridge from its pegs behind us, drew it on our side of the opening, and locked it there, so that it could not be slid back, without being unlocked, from our side.

A few yards ahead I saw what appeared to be the opening to a large, cavernlike room. It was, it seemed, illuminated by lamps. We paused at its entrance. Yes, the light within it was from lamps, two of them, set on wall brackets. The lovely brunette slave extinguished her torch, thrusting it into a vat of sand near the entrance. The room seemed primitive. The walls were of simple stone, like those of the passages. Within it, to one side, were some cupboards. Near its center was a roughly hewn table, with rude benches. There was a pitcher, and a trencher, and some clay vessels on the table. To one side there lay some boxes, and sacks. On the wall, near the boxes, there hung some ropes, some chains, and shackles. There were some switches there, too, and a whip. I could see, too, some rings here and there, on the walls, and on the floor. Two dangled from the ceiling. At one wall, chained in place, at our arrival they had been reclining or sitting, they were now kneeling in obeisance, were five women. There were some blankets by them. This it pleased me to see. To the left, in the oblique extension of the same wall, I could see several small, barred gates. These, it seemed, were kennels, carved into the rock. Behind the bars, two in chains, I could see three women. There was a brunette and two blondes. All were kneeling at the bars, head down, in an attitude of obeisance. In these three cells, or kennels, the three occupied cells, or kennels, I was certain that I detected blankets. Again I was pleased. Further to the left, at the side wall there, rather back, and out of the way, some piled on others, were several small, stout slave cages. These were empty. They were, I conjectured, being stored here.

“Kneel,” said the pit master.

I knelt and, my head down, saw my face not inches from a stout ring in the floor.

“You may lift your heads,” said the pit master to the women who were, I gathered, his charges.

I then became aware that they might be kneeling upright, surveying me, appraising me, judging me, while I knelt before the ring, my head still fastened down.

“This is a new girl,” said the pit master, in that slurring voice, almost like a natural force, water or lava, issuing from some aperture.

“May we speak, Master?” asked one of the women at the wall. She, like the others, was fastened to it by two chains, independently, one on her neck, one on her left ankle.

“Yes,” said he.

“What is her name?” asked one.

“What is your name?” inquired the pit master.

“I do not know!” I said.

“Is it on your collar?” asked he.

He had not, it seemed, read the collar. He had, however, certainly carefully ascertained the piercing of my ears, which had apparently been of considerable interest to him, and he had, as I had lain helplessly bound before him on the walkway, with his large, rude boorish hands, or paws, if that is what they might better be termed, so heavy and hairy, and rather thoroughly, determined, traced and assessed my curves, “slave curves” as they are often called. But he had not, it seemed, read the collar. I supposed that the name was not all that important, or even if I had a name. After all, who cares what might be the name of a dog or a horse? But, too, perhaps he could not read!

“Yes,” I said. “I think so!”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I do not know!” I said.

“You were not told?”

“No,” I said.

“You saw it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You cannot read?”

“No,” I said.

“She is illiterate!” said one of the slaves.

“How insulting that she should be put with us!” said another.

“Beware,” said the pit master.

“Forgive me, Master,” she said, quickly.

“What was her caste?” asked one of the women.

“She never had one,” said the pit master. “She has always been casteless.”

“Ai!” said the women, softly in disbelief.

“So utterably low?” asked another women.

“Yes,” said the pit master.

“What was her Home Stone?” asked the woman.

“She comes from a world without Home Stones,” said the pit master.

I sensed that this information was met with disbelief. It was not my fault if I came from a world without Home Stones, whatever they might be!

“She is not from our world?” asked one of the women. It was one of those who were kenneled, the brunette. She was just within the bars, kneeling there. In her kennel, as in most, one, even a woman, cannot stand upright. I could see the shadows of the bars on her face and body. Her hands were on the bars of the kennel gate. I gathered that this was permitted.

“No,” said the pit master.

“Master jests with his girls,” said one of the women, reproachfully, one at the wall, in her chains.

“No,” he said.

“I knew such a slave once,” said one of the women at the wall. “She was sold in the same auction as I. She brought a high price.”

“They often do,” said another woman, bitterly.

“Some men like them,” said another. “They look for them in the markets.”

“In some cities they are popular,” said another.

“It is only a matter of supply and demand,” said another. “There are so few of them.”

“They are rare,” said another. “But their numbers increase.”

“More must be being brought in,” said another.

“Yes,” said another.

“Who would want a barbarian girl?” asked one of the women.

“There is obviously a market for them,” said one of the others.

“I understand that men are quite strict with them,” said one of the women.

“Yes,” said another.

I trembled.

“What is that beneath her hair?” inquired one.

The pit master gathered together my hair gently, and lifted it, and held it, bunched, behind my head. I could feel the stress on the hundreds of tiny hairs at the sides of my head, taut, drawn back, but he did not hurt me.

“Yes!” said one of the women. “See! See!”

“Her ears are pierced?” asked another.

“Yes,” said the pit master.

“Not only a barbarian, but a pierced-ear girl!” exclaimed another.

“Yes!” said another.

“Do not keep such a slut with us!” cried one of the slaves.

“No!” cried another.

“No!” protested yet another, one from the kennels.

“I think I shall summon the leather worker,” said the pit master.

“Master?” said one of the women, frightened.