"I crossed swords with the courier of Ragnar Voskjard in the great hall," said Kliomenes. "He was not unskilled. Jason of Victoria on the other hand does not know the sword. "Accordingly, it could not have been I?" I asked. "Certainly not," said Kliomenes. "We have information," said Policrates, "that it was the true courier of Ragnar Voskjard who came to the holding, independently of the evidence that it was he who gave us the topaz, which stone presumably could have been only in the possession of the true courier."Information?" I asked.

"Which further," said Policrates, "has assured us that the true courier was captured, and i not being held by those in league with Tasdron and Glyco."

Suddenly I began to understand what must be the case. Whoever had betrayed us must be, or be in contact with, the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, he who had tried to obtain the topaz from me on the wharves of Victoria. Ane it must have been he, or one in league with him, who had communicated with Policrates. Of course, the true courier would not wish it known that he had lost the topaz, that a false courier had gained access to the holding.

The true courier, in this respect, was protecting himself. Doubtless he did not wish to be bound to the shering blade of one of Ragnar Voskjard's galleys. He could always maintain later that he had managed to escape from Tastron's confinement.

An idea suddenly sprang into my mind, one of a possible modality of escape for myself. "No, it was I," I said, but I falteres, or seemed to falter, as I said this.

Policrates smiled. "Do not be afraid, Master," said the red-haired girl at my side. "No, Master," said Bikkie, the dark-haired wrench, so lasciviously active on my left, "you are only chained helplessly before your enemies."

"Do you still maintain the pretense of having posed as the courier of Ragnar Voskjard?" inquired Policrates. "Yes," I said. "I mean, "It is not a pretense," It was I" I made my voice tremble as though I had been found out."Beware," said Policrates, "there are tortures in this holding to which you might be subjected other than the caresses of salve girls, the twisting of chains, of burning irons, of knives." The girls laughed.

"Make the fool writhe," said Policrates. I gritted my teeth. "Beverly!" called Policrates, sharply. I tried to control myself.Then I saw she who had once been Beverly Henderson hurry into the room, commanded by her master.She ran immediately to the tiles before the dias on which reposed the large, curule chair of Policrates. Swiftly she knelt there, head down, small and beautiful. She wore a tiny bit of yellow silk, a steel collar and her brans. "Yes, Master," said said.

"Rise and turn about, Slave, and regard a prisoner," said Policrates.

Gracefully, swiftly, the girl did so. She looked at me, startled. The girls, as she had enered, had desisted in their attentions to my body. They would resume their ministrations upon the indication of Policrates.

My fists clenched inthe chains. "Do you know him?" asked Policrates.

"Yes, my Master," said the pirate's slave. "He is Jason, from Victoria. Once he was of Earth, as I, your slave."Policrates lifted a finger and the girls about me again began to fondle and to kiss and caress at my body.

Beverly, as her masters had chosen to call her, regarded me, unmoved."How do you regard the men of Earth?" Policrates asked her. "I hold them in comtempt," she said. "To whom to you belong?" asked Policrates. "To Gorean men," she said, "who are my natural masters."

I tried to resist the caresses of the slave girls. "Could you ever yield to one such as he?" asked Policrates. "Never," she said.

I looked at Beverly, the slave, standing on the tiles, barefoot in the bit of silk, almost naked. The collar was very beautiful on her throat and her dark hair, loose and soft, as a slave's hair is commonly wornd, was soft and lovely about her shoulders. I almost gasped at the sight of her beauty, the lineaments of her face and the exquisite curves of her body. I recalled long ago how we had met in a restaruant on Earth, and she had desired to speak intimately to me of fears and dreams and matter which troubled her. I suspected that there might have been at least one matter of which she had not spoken to me, to which she had perhaps implicitly alluded, but of which she had refused to explicitly speak. I wondered what it might have been. Then I remembered how she had looked, with her hair drawn severely back and fastened in a bun, but wearing a svelte, feminine, off-the-shoulder, white, satin-sheath gown. Too, she had worn a bit of lipstick and eye shadow, and had worn a tiny bit of perfume. On her feet had been golden pumps, fastened with a lace of golden straps. She had carried a small, silver-beaded purse. The linen had been very white, and the silver soft and lustrous in the flickering candlelight. Had I been able to see her then as I was now, enabled by my Gorean experience, to see her now, I would have been able to see instantly through the trappings of her freedom to the slave beneath. I would have know for certain then, as I knew for certain now that she belonged in the collar. Then, as now, though I was not able to recognize it clearly then, Beverly Henderson was the sort of woman who belonged to me, the sort of woman who should be put naked upon the block and sold to the highest bidder.

What an exultant pleasure to own such a woman, and to have her at your bidding, your slave, among your treasures.

"This fellow claims to have impersonated the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, and to have deceived us all," said Policrates to the girl.The girl regarded me in astonishment, in disbelief. "That is absurd, Master," she said. "You were given to the courier of Ragnar Voskjard for the night were you not?" asked Policrates. "Yes, Master," said the girl. "Tht was your command. You had me sent to his chambers."Did he make you yield?" inquired Policrates.

"Yes, master," she said, head down. "He made be yield and many times, and he made me yield totaly, and abjectly and as his full slave."Did you find the evening instructive?" inquired Policrates. "Yes, Master," she said. "I learned that I was a woman and a slave." "And?" inquired Policrates. "And Master," she siad, keeping her head down, "that I loved being a woman and a slave."

"Wat this the man who used you?" asked Policrates,"this man chained here before you?" "Of course not Master," she said, lifting her head scandalized."Are you certain?" asked Policrates. "Yes Master," she said, "He is a man of Earth. No man of Earth could make me yield like that."Are you certain?" asked Policrates.

"Yes Master," she said. "The arms that held me, Master" she said proudly, "were Gorean."I thought so," smiled Policrates.

I now began to writhe, unable to help myself, beneath the caresses of the slaves.

"May I withdraw Master," she asked. "The sight of this weakling offends me."Remove your silk, slave," said Policrates.

Instantly she did so, frightened, commanded.

"To him slave," said Policrates."But he is only man of Earth, Master." she cried, protesting.

Policrates regarded her."Forgive me Master!" she cried and fled to kneel beside me with the other girls. Then I felt the lips too, of she who had once been Beverly Henderson upon my body.I clenched my fists. I gritted my teeth, but how could I resist them?

"Describe to me, if you were truly one who posed as the courier of Ragnar Voskjard, the nature and furnishing of the chambers in which he reposed the night in which we guested him within the holding." said Policrates."I cannot. I cannot!" I said. This was in accord with my plan.

Policrates and Kliomenes laughed. Surely now none would believe that it had been I who had brought the topaz to them. Let them, at least for the time, believe that they had received it from the true courier of Ragnar Voskjard.