The tactics which seemed to me obvious in such a situation the Voskjard had not yet employed.

I suspected then he might not be with his own fleet, that it might be under the command of a lesser man.

Carefully, with the sealing wax, I closed the oil-cloth envelope. I then folded it over, into a rectangular packet, and, with some binding fiber, cut from a coil of such fiber, looped at the bottom of the berth, tied it in this shape. I noticed that the girl was watching me. Accordingly, not speaking, I tore a broad strip from the scarlet sheet and, folding it five times, encircling her head with it, tied it tightly behind the back of her head, blindfolding her with it.

"Forgive me, Master," she whimpered.

I then broke loose a board from the wall, a shelf, some two feet in length, with spike holes in it, to accommodate projections such as that on the silver candle bowl on the table. With binding fiber I tied the packet to this board. Then, with more binding fiber, I improvised a towing loop for the board. This board, then, with its towing loop, and its cargo, the packet in the sealed, oil-cloth envelope, I placed near the window.

It was at this time that I heard the signal horns of the pirate fleet. The orders, I thought, had been too long delayed. I looked out the window. As I had thought, the pirate fleet was now drawing back. The self-frustrating futility of their attack, obstinate and unimaginative, had, at long last, apparently been brought home to its commander. The pirate ships now, sent forward judiciously, singly or doubly, supported as need be, no longer crowded together in useless attempts at boarding, could now bring their rams and shearing blades into play against the cornered, pathetically outnumbered barks of the defenders. But it was now quite late in the afternoon. Doubtless this attack would be postponed until morning, that the slaughter might lose nothing of its effect, some survivors perhaps being enabled, in small boats or in the water, to slip away under the cover of darkness.

I turned and slowly walked back to the side of the berth, on which the voluptuous slave was blindfolded and bound.

I looked down upon her. She knew I stood beside her. She trembled. Her sweet wrists and slim ankles moved in the leather bonds which, tied to the brass slave rings, confined them.

I removed the folded, scarlet strip of the sheet which had covered the upper part of her head, and cast it to one side.

She looked up at me, frightened. She shrank deeper, back in the berth. She had been the woman of Reginald, one of the captains of the Voskjard.

"Please, Master," she whispered, "do not hurt me."

She had been a woman of the enemy.

"Please, Master," she begged, "show me mercy."

How beautiful she was in her collar, close-fitting, and of gleaming, engraved steel, which she could not remove. How beautiful women are in collars. It is no wonder men enjoy putting them in them. How beautiful is the collar itself, and yet how insignificant is the beauty of the collar compared to the beauty and profundity of its meaning, that the woman is owned.

"You are well tied, Slave," I told her. "You are absolutely helpless."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are lovely," I told her.

"Thank you, Master," she said.

"A veritable delicacy," I mused, "which was to have been kept simmering on the stove, so to speak, awaiting the pleasure of her master."

"Yes, Master," she smiled.

"Why did Artemidorus, the first officer, when he inquired as to your readiness, not attempt to enter the cabin, and check you by hand?"

"None may touch me save Reginald, my master," She said, proudly, "unless I have displeased him."

"Oh," she cried. "Oh!"

"Have you forgotten, so soon," I asked, "pretty slave, to whom it is that you now belong?"

"To you," she said, "to you, Master! Oh!"

"It seems you are still simmering, little sweet, little delicacy," I said.

She looked at me, wildly. "Your touch!" she whispered. "What is it doing to me?" Then she lifted her body, piteously, the sweet, rounded centralities of her, to me. Then I took her by the hips, holding her, pressing my thumbs into the sides of her belly. She recoiled, frightened. "Show me mercy," she said.

"No," I said.

I pulled the portion of the wadded strip of scarlet sheet, wet and heavy, out of her mouth, a portion of the same, and still attached to it, that I had used earlier to blindfold her. I had thrust it in her mouth to muffle her cries. She was moaning softly, and kissing at me.

"I see that you are still simmering," I said.

"Simmering?" she laughed, ruefully, softly. "You brought me to a boil, and then, when you had well tasted of me, let me subside, and then again, when it pleased you, made me simmer, and then again brought me to a boil, and then again made me simmer, and then, once again, brought me to a boil."

I brushed back some blond hair from her face.

"You well know how to prepare a girl for your delectation, Master," she whispered. "Surely you are a gourmet of slave use, a master chef well trained in the art of preparing delicious slave viands for the satisfaction of your lustful hungers."

"Be quiet, little delicacy," I told her.

She then thrust her body again against me, and I saw her need. Again I thrust the portion of the scarlet sheet, wadded, into her mouth. She could not protest. There were tears in her eyes. Again she pressed herself, as she could, against me.

The candle on the table had burned out. It was dark outside. I returned from the window of the cabin.

"Please, Master, once again," she begged.

"You are an amorous, passionate wench," I said.

"I cannot help myself," she said. "I am a female slave."

I smiled to myself. Slavery brings out the female in a woman.

I gently joined her on the berth. My knife was thrust, point deep, in the wood above the berth, and to one side, to my right, where I might reach it, if need be. It had been necessary only once to hold it to her jugular. I wadded the portion of scarlet sheet together in my hands and then, holding it between the thumb and fingers of my right hand, pushed it back in her mouth, deeply, behind her teeth.

I untied her and put her on her stomach, in the darkness, on the berth. The portion of cloth I had used to gag her lay to the left side of her head. Her head, too, was turned to the left.

"Am I not as low and passionate as the collared sluts of Earth?" she asked.

I took her wrists behind her back. "There is hope for you," I granted her. I then tied her wrists behind her back.

"Bah," she said, "a Gorean girl is a thousand times more passionate than an Earth slut."

"Perhaps," I said. I smiled. Let them compete with one another, to see who could please men more. Both Earth girls and Gorean girls, I knew, were marvelous. Both were women.

I then pulled the girl to her feet and stood her beside the berth.

"You have tied my hands behind my back," she said. "You have stood me naked before you. What are you going to do with me?"

I regarded her.

I removed the knife from where I had wedged it in the wood above the berth, to one side and to the right. I held it to her belly.

"Please do not kill me," she begged.

I thrust the knife in my belt.

She shook with relief.

"It is late," I said. "Go to the window."

In the darkness of the cabin, barefoot, stepping softly through the glass and bits of frame scattered on the floor, she went, as commanded, to the window. She stood facing it. I fetched the wadding of scarlet silk which I had earlier used to gag her and put it in my belt. I also fetched the remains of the scarlet sheet from which, standing beside her, I tore what I needed, and then discarded the rest.

"Do you intend to take me with you?" she asked.