She lifted her eyes to him, helplessly.

“Later,” said Marlenus. “I must finish this game.”

“Yes, Master!” she whispered.

She withdrew, kneeling, and watched. Her eyes were on the board, but I could see that she did not understand the game. It was only pieces to her. Yet she sensed the struggle.

Sometimes she looked away from the board. She was breathing deeply. Her fists would clench and unclench. There was a light sheen of sweat on her body. The slave silk clung to her the more closely. She put her head back. Her thighs moved. She was in the torment of her need, often visible in a female slave. “Tarnsman to Ubara Six,” said Marlenus. He moved his tarnsman to his Ubara Six, my Ubara Four.

“Capture of the Home Stone,” said Marlenus.

I had been crushed.

I shrugged. I stood up.

Verna’s eyes shone. I had been defeated, and devastatingly, by her master. She did not play the game, but this much she knew. She could read it in the tone of Marlenus, the swiftness with which he had moved, his insolent handling of the pieces, the vigor and arrogance of his carriage. I had been driven before his attack, stumbling and reeling before him. I could not defend myself. I had been helpless. He had crushed me.

This Verna knew. She could not take her eyes from him.

Marlenus set aside the board, and looked upon her. He had now set aside the things of men, and was ready for her, a woman.

I walked to one side of the tent.

“Remove the silk,” said Marlenus, “and come to my arms.”

Verna parted the slave silk, and dropped it to the side. He was sitting cross-legged, and she crept to him, trembling. He took her and held her across his knees, cradling her in his left arm. She looked up at him, vulnerable, helpless. His right hand was at her thigh, over her brand. There was the slight sound of slave bells, locked on her left ankle.

“You seem a woman,” said Marlenus.

“I am a woman,” said Verna.

“Are you free?” asked Marlenus.

“No,” she whispered. “I am a slave. I am your slave.”

With his hand Marlenus turned her head from side to side. Her hair was back. “These are lovely earrings,” he said.

I could see, from across the tent, the tiny shadows, where the small golden wires were thrust through the softness of her ear lobes.

They were indeed beautiful.

“Yes,” whispered Verna, a lowly pierced-ear girl in the arms of her master. “Do you like them?” asked Marlenus.

“Yes,” she whispered. “They excite me. They excite me as a woman.”

“That is one of their purposes,” said Marlenus.

She attempted to lift her lips, delicately, to his, but his hand prevented them from touching his.

“Do you like your lipstick?” asked Marlenus.

“Yes,” she whispered, “yes, Master!”

“It, too, excites you, does it not?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“How is that?” he asked.

“It, like the earrings,” she whispered, “males me feel more female, more slave.” “You are female, and slave,” said Marlenus.

“Yes, Master, she whispered. “I know. I have been taught.”

He then, with his right hand, this first kiss that he placed upon the lips of his slave girl, a kiss in which she was, by intent, permitted no part, save to feel the bruising of it in her body. When he thrust her back there was blood at her mouth, and fear in her eyes. She was now frightened of him, terribly frightened. But he put her to her back, swiftly, casually, and his hand was at her body. Then, though there was fear in her eyes, her body, as though of its own will, began to leap to his touch, that of her master. Her body, as though of its own will, obeyed the touch of Marlenus. Then she cried out, “Oh yes, Master, yes!” Her head was back. Her eyes were closed. She twisted. “I love you, Master!” she wept, “I love you!” “Tomorrow,” said Marlenus, “you will put a talender in your hair.” “Yes, Master,” she cried. “I will. I will!” I slipped from the tent. I looked back once. I saw, to one side, a bowl of scarlet, five-petaled flaminiums.

As I walked into the darkness I heard Verna’s helpless cries of joy. I heard, too, the sound of slave bells. They had been locked on her left ankle. They could not be removed, save by a key in the keeping of Marlenus.

“I love you, Master,” I heard her cry. “I love you. I cannot help myself. I love you, Master! I love you, my Master!” I envied Marlenus his girl, Verna. She was a beauty, and, in time, would be a prize slave. I thought of Sheera. Many times the thought of her had crossed my mind. I had told her I was going to sell her in Lydius. Perhaps I would not. I found myself lonely for Sheera. I called myself a fool. She was only a slave. But she was a slave not without promise. I recalled her in my shelter beside the Tesephone, in the darkness, and in the following day. She was not displeasing. Perhaps, with training, something could be made of her. I reminded myself that it was said that panther girls, once conquered, made excellent slaves. Lying in the darkness, wrapped in my blankets, I heard, in the distance, Verna’s cries of pleasure.

I threw away the blankets. I walked through the camp, until I came to the chain of Verna’s girls, they in their skins, each chained by the right ankle, the long chain fastened between the two stakes.

They were asleep, on the ground. Marlenus had told me that any of the women in the camp, save Verna, were free to me.

I looked along the chain, until I found one that pleased me.

She was sweet-bodied, wide-shouldered, dark-haired, like Sheera.

I knelt beside her and place my hand over her mouth. She squirmed helplessly. I held her. She eyes, over my hand, were wild.

“Be silent,” I told her.

Then I removed my hand from her mouth. She looked up at me.

I took her skins by the shoulders, and drew them from her body, leaving them about her right ankle, where it was fastened to the chain.

She lifted her arms to me, and her lips. I held her, gently, and them began to touch her. I felt her lips on mine. “Be silent,” I whispered to her. “Yes, Master,” she whispered. “Yes, Master.” It was nearly dawn when I left her side. At times I had to keep her mouth covered with my hand.

“What is your name?” I asked her.

“Rena,” she whispered.

“It is a lovely name,” I said, “and you, Rena, are a lovely slave.” “Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

I returned to my blankets, to get an Ahn’s sleep, if I could, before the camp became too much astir.

I looked up at the moons. I recalled Sheera. Yes, I did not think I would sell her in Lydius.

I recalled her, as I had seen her chained at the bar in Lydius. Even then I had wanted her. And I recalled her in the hold of the Tesephone, and later, in the camp, in my shelter beside the Tesephone, that hot night, and the sweet day that had followed.

No, when I returned, I would be in no hurry to sell her. She was a juicy slave, and one of high intelligence. She was not without interest. I rather liked the look of my collar on her throat.

I reminded myself that it was said that panther girls, once conquered, make excellent slaves.

I think it is a true saying.

I rolled over in my blankets, and fell asleep. In the morning I must make my way back to the Tesephone.