Some other men, and girls, from the camp, strolled over to the poles. Ute stood sternly before us.

Techne looked about, frightened. I was not pleased myself, but I appeared calm. "Techne," said Ute.

"Yes," said Techne, frightened.

"Did you steal berries from El-in-or?" demanded Ute.

"No, no!" she cried.

"El-in-or," said Ute, "did you, or did you not, steal berries from Techne?" "I did not," I said.

Ute turned to the guard.

"The first one," he said, "tells the truth. The second on is lying." "No!" I cried out. "No!"

Ute looked at me. "It is not hard to tell, El-in-or," she said. "Sometimes the guard sees you, sometimes he sees the shadow, or he hears what you are doing, or he sees the different amounts in the buckets. Sometimes he watches in the reflection of a shield hoop."

"No," I whimpered, "No."

"You frequently stole from me," said Ute, "but I asked the guard, who also knew, not to inform on you."

I put my head down, miserable.

"I will not steal berries again, Ute," I said.

"No," she said, "I do not think you will."

I looked up at her. "But this time," she said, "you stole from Techne, who is one of my girls, I cannot permit that."

"I didn't steal from her!" I wept.

Ute looked at the guard.

He shrugged. "She is lying," he said.

"I will not steal from her anymore," I cried.

"No," said Ute, "I do not think you will."

Ute then went to Techne. "Did you eat any of the berries?" she asked. "No," said Techne, frightened.

Then Ute stood before me.

"Did you, El-in-or, eat any of the berries?" she asked.

"No, Ute," I said. "No!"

Then Ute stood again before Techne. "Open your mouth and thrust out your tongue," she said.

I moaned.

Ute inspected Techne's mouth and tongue. "Good," she said.

Then Ute stood before me.

"Please, Ute!" I begged. "Please!"

"Open your mouth and thrust out your tongue," said Ute.

"Please, Ute!" I whimpered.

"Open your mouth and thrust out your tongue," said Ute.

I did so.

There was much laughter from the group.

"You may go, Techne," said Ute.

The young slave leaped to her feet and fled away.

I started to rise to my feet. "Not you, El-in-or," said Ute.

I knelt before her, trembling.

"Remove your garment," she said.

Terrified, I did so, and then again, as before, knelt before her, wearing only my collar.

"Now," said Ute, "ask a guard to brand and beat you."

"No!" I screamed. "No, no, no, no!"

"I will mark her," said a voice.

I turned to see Rask of Treve.

"Master!" I wept, throwing myself to his feet. "Hold her," he said to four of his men.

"Please!" I cried. "No, Master, no!"

Four men held me, naked, near the brazier. I could feel the heat blazing from the cannister. The sky was very blue, the clouds were white.

"Please, no! I wept.

I saw Rask, with a heavy glove, draw forth one of the irons from the fire. It terminated in a tiny letter, not more than a quarter of an inch high. The letter was white hot. "This is the penalty brand," he said. "It marks you as a liar." "Please, Master!" I wept.

"I no longer have patience with you," he said. "Be marked as what you are." I screamed uncontrollably as he pressed in the iron, holding it firmly into my leg. Then, after some two to four Ihn, he removed it. I could not stop screaming with pain. I smelled the odor of burned flesh, my own. I began to whimper. I could not breathe. I gasped for breath. Still the men held me.

"This penalty brand," said Rask of Treve, lifting another iron from the brazier, again with a tiny letter at its glowing termination, "marks you also as what you are, as a thief."

"Please, no, Master!" I wept.

I could not move a muscle of my left leg. It might as well have been locked in a vise. It must wait for the iron.

I screamed again, uncontrollably. I had been branded as a thief.

"This third iron," said Rask of Treve, "is, too, a penalty iron. I mark you with it not for myself, but for Ute."

Through raging tears I saw, white hot, the tiny letter.

"It marks you as a traitress," said Rask of Treve. He looked at me, with fury. "Be marked as a traitress," he said. Then he pressed the third iron into my flesh. As it entered my flesh, biting and searing, I saw Ute watching, her face betraying no emotion. I screamed, and wept, and screamed.

Still the men did not release me.

Rask of Treve lifted the last iron from the fire. It was much larger, the letter at its termination some one and a half inches high. It, too, was white hot. I knew the brand. I had seen it, on Ena's thigh. It was the mark of Treve. Rask of Treve had decided that my flesh should bear that mark.

"No, Master, please!" I begged him.

"Yes, Worthless Slave," said he, "you will wear in your flesh the mark of the city of Treve."

"Please," I begged.

"When men ask you," said he, "who it was that marked you as liar and thief, and traitress, point to this brand, and say, I was marked by one of Treve, who was displeased with me."

"Do not punish me with the iron!" I cried.

I could not move my thigh. It must wait, helpless, for the blazing kiss of the iron.

"No," I cried. "No!"

He approached me. I could feel the terrible heat of the iron, even inches from my body.

"Please, no!" I begged.

The iron was poised.

I saw his eyes and realized that I would receive no mercy. He was a tarnsman of Treve.

"With the mark of Treve," he said, "I brand you slave."

Then the iron, crackling and hissing, was pressed, deeply and firmly, into my flesh, for some five seconds.

I screamed and sobbed, and began to cough and vomit.

My wrists were tied before my body, by a long strip of binding fiber, which was then thrown over the top of the horizontal pole. The free end of the strap was secured to one side. The men stepped back.

I was sobbing.

"Bring the whip," said Rask of Treve.

I hung perhaps a foot from the ground. I felt my ankles lashed together, and then a strap tied them to the ring below, that set in the stone, which was buried in the ground. That way I would not swing much under the blows. Once, long ago, I had been beaten by Lana, with a handful of straps. I had never forgotten it. I was delicate. I could not stand pain. I was not a common girl. I had always feared, but never felt, the five-strap Gorean slave whip, wielded with the full, terrible strength of a man.

"Please, Master!" I cried. "Do not beat me! I cannot stand pain! You do not understand! I am not a common girl! It hurts me! I am too delicate to be beaten!"

I heard the men and girls about laughing. I hung by the wrists, miserable. My thigh felt as though it were burning. Tears, streamed from my eyes. I coughed, and could not breathe. I heard the voice of Rask of Treve. "To begin," he was saying, "you will receive one stroke for each letter of the word, "Lair," then one stroke for each letter of the word "Thief', and then a stroke for each letter of the word "Traitress'. You will count the strokes."

I sobbed.

"Count," commanded Rask of Treve.

"I am illiterate," I wept. "I do not know how many to count!"

"There are four characters in the first expression," said Inge.

I looked at her with horror. I had not seen her until now. I did not want her to see me being beaten. I saw, too, now, for the first time, that Rena, too, stood nearby. I did not want them to see me being beaten.

"You made a great fuss when you were branded," said Inge.

"That is certainly true," agreed Rena.

"Count," commanded Rask of Treve.

"One!" I cried out in misery.

Suddenly my back exploded. I screamed but there was no sound. There seemed no breath in my body. And then there was only pain, and I almost lost consciousness. I hung by the wrists. There had been the terrible sound of the leather, and then the pain.