"Look!" said one of the girls. "There are so many burned buildings here!" We saw that what she had said was true, peeping out. It seemed, here, that an entire district, or streets, at least, of buildings, had been burned in this area. It did not seem that the fires had been of recent origin. They may have happened weeks, or months, ago. Indeed, in various places, sometimes between gutted, blackened shells of buildings, there were cleared areas. Here it seemed that burned structures must have been razed, and debris carted away. Here and there, too, supporting this idea, were great heaps of charred timber and rubble, presumably awaiting some disposition. In many places tents and temporary buildings, sometimes little more than shacks, had been erected. Too, here and there, permanent structures, with basements and foundations, and stone walls, seemed clearly to be in the process of construction.

"I am sure this is Brundisium," said the girl who had first spoken. "There was a great fire in Brundisium five months ago."

"Call out to someone," suggested another girl. "Ask."

"Not me," said the first girl. "You call out."

"Clarissa," said one of the Gorean girls. "You ask." She did not mind risking Clarissa. Clarissa had been very popular with the guards. We were all, or those of us who had been with her in the former house, somewhat jealous, I suppose, of her attractiveness to them. We probably all wished we could have been that desirable. She had even received candies. I thought, however, that perhaps if I had not been forced to wear the iron belt, I, too, might have been similarly popular. I, too, might have received a candy or two. I was sure that I, if I had set my mind to it, could have pleased a man, and myself, as well as she! To be sure, I reassured myself, quickly, assuaging a shred of the dignity of the frigid Earth female, still left in me at the time, I would have had no choice in the matter. I would have been whipped, or punished terribly, or perhaps even killed, if I had not. And, certainly, too, guards had been interested in me. More than once, they had investigated, and tested, and seemingly to their anger and disappointment, the obduracy and effectiveness of the metal device in which I had been fastened.

"Gloria," suggested the Gorean girl.

"No!" said Gloria.

"Doreen, then," said the Gorean girl, Ha.

"No, no," I said. I did not want the driver or guard to hear me call out to anyone. I was not interested in being whipped tonight.

"Earth she-urts," said the Gorean girl.

"You do it," said Gloria. I was pleased Gloria spoke up. She was a larger girl. She could stand up to the Gorean girl, who was also a larger girl. I was smaller, and afraid of her.

The Gorean girl, Ila, however, did not call out to anyone, either. She, too, was afraid. She, too, as we, belonged to those brutes, men. She, too, no more than we, cared to be placed beneath their imperious, disciplinary lash.

I delighted to look out through the crack between the wood and the canvas and silk. This was a beautiful world, and I reveled in it. I found almost everything I saw different and interesting, the men and women, the children, the clothes, their accouterments, the streets, the buildings, the tents, the stalls, the trees, the flowers, everything. It seemed to open, and beautiful, and free, though, to be sure, I within it was a slave. I was startled, and a little frightened, even, byt the strange, scaled, long-necked, placid, lizardlike quadrupled that drew the wagon. These might be human beings, here, but I was not on Earth.

"Oh, no," said one of the Gorean girls, angrily, in frustration. "We are coming to the gate! We are going to be leaving the city!"

Three or four of the other girls, too, Goreans, all moaned in protest.

"I want to be sold here!" said one of them.

"What difference does it make?" asked Gloria, peeping out.

"Earth fool!" said one of them, "you know nothing! You can wear your collar in a small town, in a camp, in a peasant village, if you want! I want to wear mine in a great city!"

"Let Gloria pull a plow, let her hoe weeds, let her carry water on a great farm," said one of the girls.

"She is too pretty," said another Gorean girl. "No peasant could afford her." I hoped that I, too, might be too pretty for a peasant to afford.

"One has a much easier life, almost always, in a city," said one of the Gorean girls.

"It depends on your master," said another.

"Yes," agreed another.

I supposed that was true. The most important thing was not whether you were in a city or not, but your master. He would surely be the most important single element in your life. You would belong to him, literally. However, I thought, it might be nice, other things being equal, to live in one of these lovely cities. Also doubtless the labors of a slave in such a city would be easier on the whole than those of one, say, on a farm.

"Pull the canvas down, quickly," said one of the girls. "We are coming to the gate!"

We pulled the canvas and silk down, as best we could, and then, very quietly, turned about and sat in the wagon. We heard papers being checked. Then we heard a man" s voice. "Stay as you are. Don" t kneel." The canvas at the front of the wagon was opened, and a man, from the floor space before the wagon box, looked in upon us. We sat quietly, not meeting his eyes, naked, the chains on our ankles about the central bar. "Ten kajirae," he said. This word was the plural of «kajira» which was one of the words, the most common one, for what we were. It means, "slave girl", "slave woman", «she-slave», that sort of thing. The brand on my left thigh was a cursive «kef», the first letter in the word «kajira». The best translation is doubtless "slave girl". Then he closed the canvas again. Then, in a bit, we had trundled through the gate. Apparently we had only cut through this city, which might be Brundisium, enroute to somewhere else. We had saved time, it seemed, taking this route, rather than driving about its walls, it was, I gathered, a large city.

"So, where are we going?" asked one of the Gorean girls, of another. "Samnium, doubtless Samnium," was the response.

I sat on the long, heavy, wooden platform, raised about a foot above the dirt, one of several in this exposition area, in this annex of the sales barn, naked, my feet tucked back, near my left thigh, my ankles crossed, my left hand on my left ankle, my weight muchly on the palm of my right hand, on the platform. A chain was on my neck, an individual chain. It was about five feet long. It ran from a ring set in the platform to my collar.

We were not in Samnium, but in the Market of Semris. This is a much smaller town, south, and somewhat to the east, of Samnium. It is best known, interestingly enough, ironically enough, as an important livestock market. In particular, it is famed for its sales of tarsks. Too, of course, there are markets here for slaves.

"This is not Samnium!" had cried Ila, when the canvas and silk had been pulled aside, and the central bar unlocked from its socket.

"No," said the fellow handling us. "It is the Market of Semris." "Those are tarsk cages!" had cried Ila, when we had been unshackled. We had been lifted down from the wagon and placed on our feet in a high-walled courtyard. The shackles usually stay with the wagon, particularly when the wagon does not belong to the dealer to whom delivery is being made. The cages to which she referred were to the left, a few feet away, against the wall of the courtyard. There was, too, very strong, the smell of animals in this place. "Yes," said the fellow. "But tonight tarsks are not being sold, not four-legged tarsks, at any rate."

"I will not be sold here!" cried Ila.