Part 49 (1/2)

”Yes, sir,” she said.

I marveled.

”Incidentally,” said he, ”females-”

I was startled that he used the same expression to refer to us both. I supposed, of course, that we were both females, but, in a sense, within that genus, of two quite disparate species, one free, one slave. But, in another sense, of course, both of us were the same, both females, and were thus addressed, as only females, relative to his maleness.

”-you are to exchange little or no political or military information.”

”I know little of such things,” said the free woman.

And I knew myself, of course, almost totally ignorant of such matters, certainly on this world. Further, a limitation on our discourse had now been imposed, a limitation which would doubtless be respected. This was not a world on which such as we, she a prisoner, I a slave, would be likely to transgress such an injunction. Who would want to be thrown, for example, to those terrible creatures in the pool? The pit master then turned about, and began to withdraw down the corridor. I had leapt up, and hurried to follow him. That was the first day on which I had begun the care of the free woman. That very night I took her her food and water. ”Go to the back of the cell,” I told her.

She complied. She had not knelt, of course. I was not a man. Still, I was her keeper. I think she had not really known how she should behave with me. Nor, as a matter of fact, on the whole, did I. The pit master, however, had told me to have her kneel, and help her keep in mind that she was a prisoner. I had the key to the cell on a string. I put down the food and water, opened the cell, put the key back about my neck, and brought in the food.

”There are guards about,” I informed her, though I supposed she must be aware of this.

”Yes,” she said.

She did not seem particularly haughty or arrogant. A great transformation, it seemed, had come over her since the first time I had seen her, at the pool.

”Do not try to escape,” I said. The door was, after all, now open.

”I will not,” she said.

”You cannot escape,” I said. ”Escape is impossible for you.”

”I know,” she said.

”Kneel,” I said. She knelt.

I let her remain kneeling for a few moments, looking at me. I then came toward her and put the food down, on the floor, before her.

”Do not touch it yet,” I said.

She drew back her hands.

I was standing before her.

She looked up at me.

”Remove your veil,” I said.

She unwound the veil from her features, carefully, gently, where she had wrapped it about herself, and brushed back the hood of her robes of concealment.

She then looked up at me. She did not seem angry, or offended.

”You are the barbarian,” she said.

”The one whom you had punished,” I said.

”Yes,” she said.

”I was whipped,” I said.

”You have face-stripped me,” she said.

”Doubtless you did not then expect to be where you are now.”

”No,” she said.

”I am the one,” I said, ”who speaks so terribly.”

”You speak beautifully,” she said.

”I have an accent,” I said.

”Yes,” she said. ”You have an accent.”

”A slave accent!” I said.

”It is a lovely accent,” she said.

”But it is a slave accent!” I said.

”Yes,” she said. ”It is a slave accent.”

”You think my accent is acceptable?” I asked.

”It is a beautiful accent,” she said.

”I think you are trying to lie,” I said.

”No,” she said. ”I am trying to accustom myself to telling the truth.”

”Why?” I asked.

”It does not matter, does it?” she asked.

”No,” I said. ”I suppose not.”

She looked at the food.

”But it is a slave accent,” I said.

”Yes,” she said. ”It is a slave accent.”

I did not think she had eaten since last night. She must be ravening.

”You may eat,” I said.