Among the male attire of boots, sword belts, dozens of bracs, all in black zaalskin, and comtocs in some really fantastic, glittering materials, the few chauri looked out of place where they draped over some of the racks. Tedra recognized the female outfits like those she had seen the women wearing on the streets yesterday. They were exactly the same, in thin, gauzy cloth, appearing to be no more than square-cut scarves double-draped and tied together.

“These three have been prepared for you, mistress, but if these colors do not suit, I can prepare you another. There are pieces in any color you could wish for.”

“Pieces” should have given Tedra warning, but even when she moved over to where the girl stood by the three outfits, she was still brought up short. The things really were nothing but scarves-“pieces,” as the girl called them-a top with a skirt, tied together and designed to just hang about the body.

Actually, they were a little more complicated than that, as Tedra saw when she picked up the top of the white one. It was made of a total of twelve scarves that would fall to about mid-thigh. “Prepared” meant the scarves were already tied together in tiny knots where they were supposed to be tied, a knot of six for each shoulder. Individually, each scarf was totally transparent; draped one over the other, they became less so, but not by much, except over the breasts, where they would cross over for an extra layer.

The skirt, now, was another story. It too had twelve square scarves to it, with about three inches of a corner from each scarf sewn to a narrow elastic-like band, one draping over the next to form an even circle around this band that would fit around the waist, and made the scarves lie partially open. None of these scarves were tied together or sewn together in any other way. They hung down the legs, the bottom points falling just short of the ankles, leaving gaps halfway up the calves between each one, and ready to part and expose shin, knee, and some thigh with the least wind or brisk walk.

There was a tie belt in the same material to fit over the top, to add form to the body, and probably to help keep the scarves covering what they were supposed to cover. Tedra couldn’t have cared less as she tossed the one she had examined back on its rack. She had only two words for the girl awaiting her decision as to which one she would wear.

“Forget it.”

“Mistress?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those things, kiddo-what is your name, anyway?”

“Jalla, mistress. If these colors-”

“It’s not the colors, Jalla, though I’ve never been partial to pastels. It’s that peekaboo material, not to mention the farden things look like they’re designed for removing, not putting on. There must be something else I can wear.”

“But-”

“Something like what you’re wearing.” The white, sleeveless tunic and skirt were exactly like what the male Darash had worn, the only difference being he wore pants, and Jalla, a full, ankle-length skirt. “Now that looks cool and comfortable, and I wouldn’t feel like I’m playing watch-closely-and-you-might-see-something.”

“But this is not a chauri. ”

“So?”

“So the ladies of Kan-is-Tra wear only the chauri. You can wear only the chauri.”

And the servants did not, obviously. Nor did Tedra miss the fact that Jalla had included the whole country in that, not just the town.

“What happens if I refuse?”

Jalla actually grew alarmed at that question. “But you cannot. The shodan would not allow it.”

Tedra gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to wear that damned chauri, but she didn’t want to get into a blowup with Challen either, when things had been going so smoothly with him. She looked wistfully at his clothes all around her, but knew she didn’t dare borrow any, that the first warrior she came across would demand she hand them over, and she didn’t care to go through that again.

“Farden hell,” she fairly snarled, but pointed a finger. “That one.”

She’d picked the light green, since she had a feeling the blue and the white were somehow symbolic with the shodan, likely his colors, if the color scheme of the castle was any indication. And right now she was too displeased to want to please him by wearing his colors.

“Whose chauri are these, anyway?” she asked as Jalla began helping her dress, and she saw how easily the top could become hopelessly tangled if it wasn’t put on carefully.

“Yours, mistress.”

“But whose were they before?”

“Yours-”

“Never mind,” Tedra cut in, her patience gone with her irritation.

The clothes had been there before she was, so they couldn’t be hers. And she didn’t really care to know who had shared Challen’s closet before her. But he’d be hearing what she thought of wearing someone else’s chauri.

When she looked down at the finished package, she groaned. When she caught her image in the mirror, she groaned louder. It was much worse than she’d thought it would be. Now she knew why the women she had seen on the streets looked so soft, shy- helpless. There was no other way to look in one of these outfits.

Tedra wasn’t one to object to a little skin showing. It wasn’t that, for she had bodysuits that showed off more. But she’d never worn anything that was so dainty, so blatantly feminine, so farden delicate-looking. In it, she felt strange, exposed, vulnerable.

“The shodan will be pleased, mistress,” Jalla offered nervously. She hadn’t missed those groans. “You look beautiful.”

“I look like a Sex Clinic worker,” Tedra replied in disgust. “But as long as Martha can’t see me in it, I suppose I’ll survive the wearing of it.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Tedra got her revenge for being forced to wear the chauri, and was it ever sweet in being so unexpected.

Jalla had taken her on a tour of the castle after she had finished eating. It was really interesting, and she even forgot for a while the way she was dressed, especially when she began seeing other women dressed exactly the same, and none of them feeling the least self-conscious about it. Jalla introduced her to a good number of them, explaining who they were and why they were there. She learned a great deal that morning about the women of Sha-Ka’an, very little of which she liked, but then she wasn’t there to change their world, just trade with it, and hopefully enlist aid from it.

One of the rooms she wasn’t supposed to go near was where Challen was conducting business, but when had “wasn’t supposed to” ever stopped her. She slipped into the back of this room despite Jalla’s protests, the girl flatly refusing to go with her. It was long and cavernous, the walls and floor in that shiny, marblelike substance, in this case light blue veined with dark. There was row after row of those low couches all in white, with an aisle down the center of them, and at the far end of the room, sitting behind a desk and looking like no more than a Goverance Building official, sat Challen.

Expecting a throne, at the very least a raised dais piled high with pillows, Tedra was surprised by the normal-looking desk. But she supposed this was just one more of the little abnormalities of Sha-Ka’an that made it so different from what she knew of the history of her own people.

The room was crowded with men, just about every couch filled with two or three of the big guys. They were probably waiting their turn to speak with the shodan, who was presently speaking with a group of four men who stood before his desk.

Tedra couldn’t hear anything that was said from that distance, and she was about to slip back out of the room with no one the wiser that she’d intruded in this strictly male domain, when Challen made eye contact with her and stopped whatever he had been saying. She supposed she was in hot water now, watching him stand up, come around the desk, and start down the aisle toward her. He’d given no excuse for his leaving so abruptly, so heads started turning to see what drew him, and very quickly Tedra had every eye in the room on her.