"In a moment," I said.

"I do not like such crowds," said Marcus.

We were buffeted about a bit.

"There is a date on the permits," Marcus reminded me, "and they will be checking at the gate to see who has left the city and who has not."

"I think they will be coming out in a moment or two," I said, "there at that door."

"Who?" he asked.

"There," I said.

I saw the fellow who had been in the room emerge through the door. He was followed by the two magistrates, who had probably now made the entries in their records. They were followed by four guardsmen, in single file. "Make way, make way!" said the fellow from the room, and the crowds parted a little, to let them pass. The third of the three guardsmen carried a burden on his right shoulder. It was a naked woman whose upper body was thoroughly and tightly wrapped in several turns of a heavy net, tied closely about her. Her head was covered with a buckled hood. She squirmed a little, helplessly. She was being carried with her head to the rear, as a slave is carried.

"So that is what you were watching," said Marcus, "a caught slave."

"In a sense," I said.

About at the same time, coming toward us, down the street, following the other party by several yards, was a large, graceful fellow, blond and curly-haired, who was astonishingly handsome, almost unbelievably so. On his left wrist, locked, there was a silver slave bracelet. His tunic was of a silken purple. He had golden sandals.

"Who is that?" I asked a fellow in white and gold, the colors of the merchants, when the handsome fellow had passed. Such a one, I assumed, might be generally known. He was no ordinary fellow.

"He is the actor, Milo," said the man.

"He is a slave," I said.

"Owned by Appanius, the agriculturalist, impresario and slaver," said the fellow, "who rents him to the managements of various theaters.

"A handsome fellow," I said.

"The handsomest man in all Ar," said the merchant. "Free women swoon at his feet."

"And what of slaves?" asked Marcus, irritably, scowling at Phoebe.

"I swoon at your feet, Master," she smiled, putting down her head.

"You may kneel and clean them with your tongue," said Marcus, angrily.

"Yes, Master," she said, and fell to her knees, putting down her head.

"The appearance of Milo in a drama assures its success," said the merchant. "He is popular," I said.

"Particularly with the women," he said.

"I can understand that," I said.

"Some men do not even care for him," said the merchant, and I gathered he might be one of them.

"I can understand that," I said. I was not certain that I was enthusiastic about Milo either. Perhaps it was merely that I suspected that Milo might be even more handsome than I.

"I wish you well," said the merchant.

"Perhaps Milo serves, too, in capacities other than that of as actor," I said. "What did you have in mind?" asked the merchant.

"Nothing," I said.

"It is Milo," whispered one free woman to another. They were together, veiled. "Let us hurry after him, to catch a glimpse of him," said one of them.

"Do not be shameless!" chided the first.

"We are veiled," the second reminded her.

"Let us hurry," urged the first then, and the two pressed forward, through the crowd, after the purple-clad figure.

"Fellows as handsome as he," complained the merchant, "should be forced to go veiled in public."

"Perhaps," I granted him. Free women in most of the high cities of Gor, particularly those of higher caste, go veiled in public. Also they commonly wear the robes of concealment which cover them, in effect, from head to toe. Even gloves are often worn. There are many reasons for this, having to do with modesty, security, and such. Slave girls, on the other hand, are commonly scandalously clad, if clad at all. Typically their garments, if they are permitted them, are designed to leave little of their beauty to the imagination. Rather they are designed to call attention to it, and so reveal and display it, sometimes even brazenly, in all its marvelousness. Goreans are not ashamed of the luscious richness, the excitingness, the sensuousness, the femininity, the beauty of their slaves. Rather they prize it, treasure it and celebrate it. To be sure, it must be admitted that the slave girl is only an animal, and is under total male domination. To understand this more clearly, two further items might be noted. First, she must go about in public, denied face veiling. Men, as they please, may look freely upon her face, witnessing its delicacy, its beauty, its emotions, and such. She is not permitted to hide it from them. She must bare it, in all its revelatory intimacy, and with all the consequences of this, to their gaze. Second, her degradation is completed by the fact that she is given no choice but to be what she is, profoundly and in depth, a human female, and must thus, willing or not, sexually and emotionally, physically and psychologically, accept her fulfillments in the order of nature.

"I wish you well," I said to the merchant.

He turned away.

"Make way," I heard. "Make way!"

A house marshal was approaching, carrying a baton, with which he touched folks and made a passage among them. He was preceding the palanquin of a free woman, apparently a rich one, borne by some eight male slaves. I stepped to one side to let the marshal, the palanquin and its bearers move past. The sides of the palanquin were veiled.

"Odd that a palanquin of such a nature should be in the Metallan district," I said.

"Perhaps we should consider saving our lives now," said Marcus.

"Phoebe is not finished with your feet," I said.

Phoebe, looked up, happily.

"Up," said Marcus irritably, snapping his fingers. Immediately she sprang to her feet. She stood beside him, her head down, docile. She, I noted, attracted her share of attention. I was not too pleased with this, as I did not wish to be conspicuous in Ar. On the other hand, it is seldom wise to interfere in the relationship between a master and a slave.

I looked back down the street. I could no longer see any sign of the fellow who had been in the room, the magistrate, or the guardsmen, with their shapely prisoner. She had been on a guardsman's shoulder, being carried, her head to the rear, as a slave. Later I did not think she would be often accorded the luxury of such transportation. Soon, perhaps in a day or two, she would be learning how to heel a man and to walk gracefully on his leash.

"Oh!" said Phoebe.

Someone in the crowd, in passing, had undoubtedly touched her. Marcus looked about, angrily. I did not know, really, what he expected.

I looked back down the street. I could see the head of Milo, with its blond curls, over the heads of the crowd, about fifty yards away. He was standing near a wall. The free woman's palanquin had stopped briefly by him, and then, after a time, continued on its way.

"Oh!" said Phoebe.

Marcus turned about again, swiftly, angrily. There was only the crowd.

"If you do not care for such things," I said, "perhaps you should give her a garment."

"Let her go naked," he said. "She is only a slave."

"Perhaps some article of clothing would not be amiss," I said.

"She has her collar," he said.

"You many never have noticed," I said, "but she is an exquisitely beautiful female."

"She is the lowest and most despicable of female slaves," he said.

"Of course," I said.

"Too," said he, "do not forget that I hate her."

"It would be difficult to do that," I said, " as you have told me so many times. Phoebe lowered her head, smiling.

"Too," said he, "she is my enemy."

"If ever she was your enemy," I said, "she is not your enemy now. She is now a slave. Look at her. She is simply an animal you own. Do you think she does not know that? She now exists for you, to please and serve you."