Part 35 (1/2)

Then, still kneeling, she raised her hand, head back, insolently to her hair, to remove from it one of the ornate pins, its head carved from the horn of a kailiauk, that bound it.

Again a thong, this time that on her right wrist, prohibited, but only for an instant, the movement, but inches from her hair.

She frowned. There was laughter.

At last, sometimes immediately permitted, sometimes not, she had removed the pins from her hair. Her hair was beautiful, rich, long and black. As she knelt, it fell back to her ankles.

Then, with her hands, she lifted the hair again back over her head, and then, suddenly, her hands, by the thongs were pulled apart and her hair fell again loose and rich over her body.

Now, angrily, struggling, she fought to lift her hair, again but the thongs, holding apart her hands, did not permit her to do so. She fought them. The thongs would permit her only to wear her hair loosely.

Then, as though in terror and fury, as though she now first understood herself in the snares of a slave, she leaped to her feet, fighting, to the music, the thongs.

The dancing girls of Port Kar, I told myself, are the best on all Gor.

Dar and golden, s.h.i.+mmering, crying out, stamping, she danced, her thonged beauty incandescent in the light of the torches and frenzy of the slave bells.

She turned and twisted and leaped, and sometimes seemed almost free, but was always, by the dark thongs, held complete prisoner. Sometimes she would rush upon one man or another, but the others would not permit her to reach him, keeping her always beautiful female slave snared in her web of thongs. She writhed and cried out, trying to force the thongs from her body, but could not do so.

At last, bit by bit, as her fear and terror mounted, the men, fist by fist, took up the slack in the thongs that tethered her, until suddenly, they swiftly bound her hand and foot and lifted her over their heads, captured female slave, displaying her bound arched body to the tables.

There were cries of pleasure from the tables, and much striking of the right fist on the left shoulder.

She had been truely superb.

Then the men carried her before my table and held her bound before me. ”A slave,” said one.

”Yes,” cried the girl, ”slave!”

The music finished with a clash.

The applause and cries were wild and loud.

I was much pleased.

”Cut her loose,” I told the men.

The did so and, swiftly, like a cat, the girl ran to my chair, and knelt at my feet. She looked up, streaked with sweat, breathing heavily, her eyes s.h.i.+ning.

”Your performance was not without interest,” I said to her.

She put her cheek to my knee.

”Ka-la-na!” I called.

A cup was brought. And I took her by the hair and held back her head, pouring the wine down her throat, some of it running down her face and body under the slave collar and its bells.

She looked up at me, her mouth stained with wine. ”Did I please you?” she asked.

”Yes,” I said.

”Do not send me back to your men,” said begged. ”Keep Sandra for yourself.”

”We shall see,” I said.

”Sandra wants much to please Master,” she said.

Wily wench, I thought.

”You used Sandra only once,” pouted the girl. ”It is not fair.” She looked up at me. ”Sandra is better than Midice,” she said.

”Midice,” I said, ”is very good.”

”Sandra is better,” wheedled the girl. ”Try Sandra and see.”

”Perhaps,” I said. I gave her head a rough shake and permitted her to remain kneeling at the arm of my chair. I saw other slave girls, serving at the tables, cast looks of hatred and jealousy on her. Like a satisfied cat, she knelt beside my chair.

”The gold, Captain,” said one of my treasure guards.

I had arranged a surprise for my retainers on this night of feasting and victory.

He lifted, heavily, to the dais on which my chair and talbe sat a heavy leather sack filled with golden tarn disks of double weight, of Cos and Tyros, of Ar and Port Kar, even of distant Thentis and remote Turia, far to the south. He placed the sack beside my great chair. Few, saving those immediately near me, saw it there.

”Send for the slave girl from Tyros!” I called.

There was laughter from the tables.

I held out my paga goblet, but it was not filled. I looked about, angrily.

I called out to a pa.s.sing slave girl. ”Wher is the slave Telima?” I demanded.

”She was here but a moment ago,” said a slave girl.

”She went to the kitchens,” said another.

I had not given her permission to leave.

”I will serve you paga,” said Sandra.

”No,” I said, holding the paga goblet away from her. I addressed myself to one of the slave girls. ”Have Telima beaten,” I said, ”and sent to my side. I would be served.”

”Yes Master,” said the girl, speeding away.

Sandra looked down, angrily, pouting.

”Do not fret,” I said to her, ”or I shall have you beaten as well.”

”It is only, Master,” said she, ”that I wish to serve you.”

I laughed. She was indeed a wily wench.