Go!”

The men, some of them frightened, with the exception of Hassan who sat, puzzled, by the side of the bath, scurried to their tiny alcoves.

The two girls, in white garments, as I had come to understand, were dominant in the seraglio, rather in the nature of eunuchs, imposing order upon it and keeping its slaves in harmonious discipline. Their word, imperiously delivered, with the confidence of unquestioned command, doubtless backed by the whips and scimitars of male guards outside, served as law to the inmates of Tarna’s seraglio; when they spoke, men obeyed; when they spoke sharply, men feared; in the seraglio, backed by the power of Tarna’s guards, these two beautiful women were dominant over the men; they, particularly the taller, dark- haired one, obviously despised the silken males in her charge; openly she held them, to their misery, in contempt.

We heard the outer gate of the seraglio, at the far end of the corridor, being pounded on.

“Hurry!” cried the girl. “They are coming for you! Get out! Towel yourself!”

I reached out and, from the bath, seized her right ankle. The other girl, she who laid out the red-silk tunic, the yellow beads, gasped. I looked up at the tall girl. “You do not wear a collar,” I said.

“No,” she said. Then she said, “Release my ankle, bold sleen!”

“This does not seem the ankle of a male,” I said. I held her fair ankle in my grip.

“Release me!” she said.

About the ankle there was, welded, an iron ring. “What is this?” I asked her.

“It is thus that Tarna marks her female seraglio slaves!” said the girl.

“Release me!”

The pounding was louder. “Release me!” she cried. “I will have you whipped!”

“But then I may not be ready in time for the mistress,” I said.

“I will have you beaten to the bone tomorrow!” she hissed.

“Then, tonight,” I said, “I will have to explain to the Mistress why I cannot much please her.”

The girl turned white. “You seduced me,” I explained.

“No! No!” she cried.

“What were you called as a woman?” I asked.

“Lana!” she cried out in agony. She tried to pull away. “Release me!”

We heard the outer gate, by guards, being opened. “They will be here in a moment!” she cried. “Please!”

I released her ankle, and lifted myself, dripping, from the bath.

She thrust the towels at me, almost in a frenzy. We heard the arriving guards outside the inner door conversing with those who guarded it.

“Towel yourself!” she said.

I lifted my arms. “Towel me, Lana,” said I.

“Sleen!” she cried.

I looked about at the seraglio. It was lovely. There were high separated, decorated columns, many arches, much carving, rich hangings, much tile, floors marbled and mosaiced, too. It was lofty, spacious, beautiful. I regretted I did not have more time to spend here.

“Sleen!” wept the girl, beginning to rub me with the first of the towels. “Help me!” she cried to the other girl, who was frightened.

“No,” I said. “Only you, Lana.”

Weeping, furious, Lana applied the towel to my body. “Oh!” she cried. For I then had her in my arms. I reached behind her body. She put her head back. “No!” she cried. “Are you mad? I am your seraglio mistress! No!” The garment, hooks broken, fell to her ankles.

“You do not have the body, either, of a male,” I observed.

“Please,” she wept.

I kissed her on each breast, for they were beautiful.

“I am your seraglio mistress!” she wept.

I kissed her fully on the mouth, holding her helplessly. “No,” I said, “you are only a beautiful slave girl.”

I released her and she, clumsily, in haste, applied the towels to my body. When she had finished she was at my feet, drying them. I lifted her to her feet and put her back against one of the cool, narrow marble columns supporting the arched roof of the seraglio. I stood close to her, our lips but an inch parted.

With my fingertips, on either side, I caressed the sides of her throat. “This throat,” I said, “is aristocratic and beautiful. It would look well in a collar.” Her eyes met mine. “I wish it wore yours.” she said, “-Master.” I kissed her.

I heard the bolt sliding back on the inner door. The other girl threw me the red-silk tunic and I slipped it on, dropping the yellow necklace inside the tunic.

The door opened. Two guards stood there, in purple and yellow burnoose.

“Is the slave ready?” asked one of the guards, looking about. “What is going on here?” asked the other, surveying the exposed beauty of Lana, the seraglio mistress. She, frightened, hands before her mouth, pressed back against the column.

“She is preparing to bathe,” I told them. I went to her and took her by the left arm, over the elbow, and the right ankle, and upended the beauty, headfirst, into the pool.

I glanced to Hassan, and to the other girl. “I shall return shortly,” I told him.

“Very well,” he said, edging toward the other girl.

“The mistress,” said one of the guards, “does not finish with her males shortly.”

Lana’s head, sputtering, blinking, emerged from the bath.

“She will tonight,” I told him. Then I turned to Hassan. “Be ready,” I told him.

“We have a long kaiila ride this night.”

“Very well,” he said. The guards looked at me as though I might be mad. He was now standing almost directly behind the other girl, she who had handled the bath oils.

“Let us hurry,” said I to the guards. “We must not keep the mistress waiting.”

“He is eager,” laughed one of the guards.

“He is a fool,” said the other.

Lana, dripping, head down, crawled from the bath. I saw Hassan measuring the distance between the two girls.

I led the way, swiftly, through the inner door of the seraglio. “Is your mistress pretty?” I asked one of the guards, who was hurrying to follow.

“She is as ugly as a sand sleen,’’ he growled.

He bolted the door behind him, shutting and locking the seraglio from the outside. There were two guards, I noted, at the door. Down the corridor, some fifty yards of tile and hangings, there was the outer door. This was knocked upon, and, from the outside, opened. There were two guards there, too.

“Come now,” I said, “truly, is your mistress pretty?”

“She is as ugly as a sand sleen,’’ said the guard.

“I am Tarna,” said the woman. She reclined on the wide couch, resting on one elbow, regarding me.

I looked about the room. I went to the window, and looked down, into the courtyard.

“The drop,” she said, “is some seventy feet.”

I examined the walls, the door.

“The door,” said she, “by the guards outside, opens only to my signal.”

“Come,” said she, “stand at the foot of my couch.”

“We are alone?” I asked.

“Guards stand outside the door,” she said, puzzled.

“That is acceptable,” I said.

I regarded her. “You are a strange slave,” she said. She reclined, resting, on one elbow. She wore a soft gown, flowing, yellow, long, of Turian silk; it was sheer and, with its deep neckline, and about the hips, well betrayed her. Her hair was black, and long, and rich, and well displayed against the yellow cushion behind her.

I was pleased to see that she was not as ugly as a sand sleen. I was pleased to see, contrarywise, that she was stunningly beautiful. Her eyes were very dark.

“I own you,” she said.

“I have a long kaiila ride ahead of me tonight,” I told her.

“You are a strange slave,” she said.

“There is another kasbah nearby,” I said, “one which lies within two pasangs.

Whose kasbah is it?”

“It does not matter,” she said. “Do you like being a slave?” she asked.

There were red silken sheets on the great couch, on which she reclined. At its foot there was a slave ring.

“It is my understanding, following merchant law, and Tahari custom,” I said, “that I am not a slave, for though I am a prisoner, I have been neither branded nor collared, nor have I performed a gesture of submission.”