"I could have reached out and touched her," said Marcus.

I really doubted that he could have done that. To be sure, we were quite close to the stage.

In this part of the performance a light, roofed, white-curtained palanquin had been carried on the stage by the four turbaned, plumed fellows. It had been set down on the stage and the curtains drawn back, on both sides, so that one could see through to the back of the stage, which was darkly draped. Within the palanquin, reclining there, as though indolently, on one elbow there had been a slim girl, veiled and clad in shimmering white silk.

"Surely this is some high-born damsel," had called out the ponderous fellow. There had been laughter at this. Free women almost never appear on the Gorean stage. Indeed, in certain higher forms of drama, such as the great tragedies, rather than let women on the stage, either free or slave, female roles are played by men. The masks worn, the costuming, the dialogue, and such, make it clear, of course, which roles are to be understood as the female roles. Women, of course, almost always slaves, may appear in mimings, farces and such. The girl had then, aided by a hand from the ponderous fellow, risen from the palanquin and looked about herself, rather as though bored. She then regarded the audience, and at some length, disdainfully. There had been some hooting at this.

"Surely this cannot be my slave, Litsia?" wailed the fellow.

She tossed her head, in the hood and veil.

"If you are free, dear lady," said the fellow, "report me to guardsmen for my affrontery, that I may be flogged for daring to address you, but if you be my Litsia, remove your hood and veil."

As though with an almost imperial resignation she put back her hood and lowered her veil.

"She is pretty!" had exclaimed Marcus.

Others, too, expressed their inadvertent admiration of the woman.

"It is my Litsia!" cried the ponderous fellow, as though relieved.

The woman drew down her robes a bit, that her shoulders were bared. She held the robes together before her.

"She is not collared!" cried a fellow.

"Lash her!" cried another.

For an instant the girl blanched and trembled, clutching the robes together before her in her small fists, but then, in a moment, had recovered herself, and was back in character. It was easy to tell that she had, at some time or another, felt the lash, and knew what it was like.

"But surely we are to respect slaves in the new Ar?" inquired the ponderous fellow, anxiously, of the audience.

This question, of course, was greeted with guffaws, and a slapping of the left shoulders.

"But my Litsia must have some token of her bondage upon her," said the fellow. "Please, Litsia, show us."

Quickly the girl thrust the lower portion of her left leg, lovely and curved, from the robe. On her left ankle was a narrow, locked slave anklet. Then, quickly, she concealed her leg and ankle again within the robe. The slave collar, of one form or another, band or bar, or chain or lock, is almost universal on Gor for slaves. On the other hand, some masters use a bracelet or anklet. Too, the slaves of others may wear as little to denote their condition as a ring, the significance of which may be known to few. The bracelet, the anklet and ring are often worn by women whose slavery is secret, largely hidden from the world, though not, of course, from themselves and their masters. And even such women, when in private with their masters, will usually be collared, as is suitable for slaves. Indeed, they will often strip themselves and kneel, or drop to all fours, to be collared, as soon as they enter their master's domicile. There are many points in favor of the collar, besides those of history and tradition. The throat is not only an ideal aesthetic showplace for the symbol of bondage, displaying it beautifully and prominently, but one which, because of the location, at the throat, and the widths involved, is excellently secure. It also makes it easier to leash the female. Also, of course, by means of it and a rope or chain one may attach her to various rings and holding devices. Some fellows even bracelet or tie her hands to it. The collar, too, of course, helps to make clear to the slave, and others, her status as a domestic animal.

"Show us a little more, Litsia," begged the ponderous fellow.

Litsia then, rather quickly, but holding the pose for a moment, open the silken robes, and her knees slightly flexed, and her head turned demurely to the left, held them out to the sides.

"She is lovely!" said Marcus.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Surely she is a bred slave, with lines like that," he said.

"No," I said. "She was a free woman, from Asperiche."

Marcus looked at me, puzzled.

"Yes," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"In a sense, of course," I said, "she is a bred slave."

"True," he said.

It is a common Gorean belief that all females are bred slaves. It is only that some have their collars and some, as yet, do not.

The girl wore a modest slave tunic, which muchly covered her.

She now drew closed again the sides of the shimmering robe and, once more, tossed her head, and glanced disdainfully at the audience. Against there was hooting.

"Some folks," said the ponderous fellow, "think that I have spoiled her." The girl then put out her small hand and was assisted by the ponderous fellow to the palanquin again. When she took her place in it, it was lifted.

It was clearly off the floor. One could see the drapery at the back of the stage.

"I do trust you will be nice to me this evening?" said the ponderous fellow to the slim beauty on the palanquin.

She tossed her head and did not deign to respond to him.

He then drew shut the curtains of the palanquin. It was still off the floor. "Do you think I am too easy with her?" the ponderous fellow inquired of the audience.

"Yes! Yes!" shouted several of the men.

"Oh, oh!" cried the ponderous fellow looking upward miserably and shaking his fists, helplessly, angrily, in the air. "If only I were not a devoted adherent of the new and wonderful Ar!"

There was much laughter.

I gathered that much of the resentment toward the current governance of Ar tended to be expressed in such places, in shows, in farces, in bawdy travesties and such. Certain theaters had been closed down because of the articulateness and precision, and abusiveness, of such satire or criticism. Two had been burned. To be sure this fellow seemed technically within the bounds of acceptability, if only just so. Too, it was doubtless a great deal safer now than it had been a few weeks ago to indulge in such humor. Wisely I thought had the government withdrawn from its projected policies of devirilization, which, indeed, had never been advanced beyond the stage of proposals. It had discovered, simply, clearly, and immediately that most males of the city would not give up their manhood, even if they were praised for doing so. Indeed, even the Ubara herself, it seemed, had reaffirmed that slave girls should be obedient and try to please their masters. So narrowly, I suspected, had riots and revolutions been averted. Still, I supposed, there might be spies in the audience. I doubted if the ponderous fellow would be poplar with the authorities.

"If only some magician would aid me in my dilemma!" wept the ponderous fellow. "Beware!" cried a fellow in the audience, alarmed.

"Yes, beware!" laughed another fellow.

"If only some magician would waft away my Litsia, if only for a moment, and teach her just a little of what is it to be a slave girl!" he said.

Several men laughed. I had to hand it to the ponderous fellow. He carried off the thing well.

"But of course there are no magicians!" he said.

"Beware," cried one fellow, he who had been so alarmed, so drawn into the drama, before. "Beware, lest one might be listening!"