"Preposterous!" said Targo, shaking his head vehemently.

I gathered that he was not bluffing, for how could he have known that I did not know the true value of the stones? How could he know that I had not purchased them and had them set in the scabbard myself?

"You drive a hard bargain," I said. "Four —»

"May I see the scabbard, Warrior?" he asked.

"Surely," I said, and removed it from the belt and handed it to him. The sword itself I retained, knotting the scabbard straps and thrusting the blade into them.

Targo gazed at the stones appreciatively. "Not bad," said he, "but not enough —»

I pretended to impatience. "Then show me your other girls," I said. I could see that this did not please Targo, for apparently he wished to rid his chain of the blond girl. Perhaps she was a troublemaker, or was dangerous to retain for some other reason.

"Show him the others," said the grizzled man. "This one will not even say "Buy Me, Master"."

Targo threw a violent look at the grizzled man, who smiling to himself knelt to supervise the irons in the brazier.

Angrily Targo led the way to the grassy clearing among the trees. He clapped his hands sharply twice, and there was a scurrying and tumbling of bodies and the sound of the long chain slipping through the ankle rings. The girls now knelt, each in the position of the Pleasure Slave, in their camisks on the grass, in a line between the two trees to which their chain was fastened. As I passed each she boldly raised her eyes to mine and said, "Buy Me, Master".

Many of them were beauties, and I thought that the chain, though small, was a rich one, and that almost any man might find thereon a woman to his taste. They were vital, splendid creatures, many of them undoubtedly exquisitely trained to delight the senses of a master. And many of the cities of Gor were represented on that chain, sometimes spoken of as the Slaver" s Necklace — there was a blond girl from lofty Thentis, a dark-skinned girl with black hair that fell to her ankles from the desert city of Tor, girls from the miserable streets of Port Kar in the delta of the Vosk, girls even from the high cylinders of Great Ar itself. I wondered how many of them were bred slaves, and how many had once been free. And as I paused before each beauty in that chain and met her eyes and heard her words, "Buy Me, Master," I asked myself why I should not buy her, why I should not free her instead of the other girl. Were these marvelous creatures, each of whom already wore the graceful brand of the slave girl, any the less worthy than she?

"No," I said to Targo. "I will not buy any of these."

To my surprise a sigh of disappointment, even of keen frustration, coursed down the chain. Two of the girls, she from Tor and one of the girls from Ar wept, their heads buried in their hands. I wished I had not looked at them. Upon reflection it seemed to me clear that the chain must, in the end, be a lonely place for a girl, filled with life, knowing that he brand has destined her for love, that each of them must long for a man to care enough for them to buy them, that each must long to follow a man home to his compartments, wearing his collar and chains, where they will learn his strength and his heart and will be taught the delights of submission. Better the arms of a master than the cold steel of the ankle ring. When they had said to me, "Buy Me, Master," it had not been simply a ritual phrase. They had wanted to be sold to me — or I supposed, to any man who would take them from the hated chain of Targo.

Targo seemed relieved. Clutching me by the elbow, he guided me back to the tree where the blond girl knelt chained.

As I looked at her I asked myself why she, and why not another, or why any? What would it matter if her thigh, too, should wear that graceful brand? I supposed it was mostly the institution of slavery I objected to, and that that institution was not altered if I should, as an act of foolish sentiment, free one girl. She could not go with me into the Sardar, of course, and when I abandoned her, she, alone and unprotected, would soon fall prey to a beast or find herself on yet another slaver" s chain. Yes, I told myself, it was foolish.

"I have decided not to buy her," I said.

Then, strangely, the girl" s head lifted and she looked into my eyes. She tried to smile. The words were soft, but clearly and unmistakably spoken, "Buy me, Master".

"Ai!" cried the grizzled man, and even Targo the Slaver looked baffled. It had been the first time the girl had uttered the ritual phrase. I looked upon her, and saw that she was indeed beautiful, but mostly I saw that her eyes pleaded with mine. As I saw that, my rational resolve to abandon her dissipated, and I yielded, as I sometimes had in the past, to an act of sentiment.

"Take the scabbard," I said to Targo. "I will buy her."

"And the helmet!" said Targo.

"Agreed," I said.

He seized the scabbard and the delight with which he clutched it told me that I had been, in his mind, sorely bested in the bargaining. Almost as an afterthought, he plucked the helmet from my grasp. Both he and I knew it was almost worthless. I smiled ruefully to myself. I was not much good in such matters, I supposed. But perhaps if I had better known the value of the stones?

The girl" s eyes looked into mine, perhaps trying to read in my eyes what would be her fate, for her fate was now in my hands, for I was her master. Strange and cruel are the ways of Gor, I thought, where six small green stones, weighing perhaps scarcely two ounces, and a damaged helmet, could purchase a human being.

Targo and the grizzled man had gone to the domed tent to fetch the keys to the girl" s chains. "What is you name?" I asked the girl. "A slave has no name," she said. "You may give me one if you wish."

On Gor a slave, not being legally a person, does not have a name in his own right, just as, on earth, our domestic animals, not being persons before the law, do not have names. That name which he has had from birth, by which he has called himself and knows himself, that name which is so much a part of his own conception of himself, of his own true and most intimate identity, is suddenly gone.

"I gather you are not a bred slave," I said.

She smiled and shook her head. "No," she said.

"I am content," I said, "to call you by the name you bore when you were free."

"You are kind," she said.

"What was your name when you were free?" I asked.

"Lara," she said.

"Lara?" I asked.

"Yes, Warrior," she said. "Do you not recognise me? I was Tatrix of Tharna."

Chapter Twenty-Two: YELLOW CORDS

When the girl had been unchained I lifted her in my arms and carried her into one of the domed tents that had been indicated to me.

There we would wait until her collar had been engraved.

The floor of the tent was covered with thick, colourful rugs, and the inside was decorated with numerous silken hangings. The light was furnished by a brass tharlarion oil lamp which swung on three chains. Cushions were scattered about on the rugs. On one side of the tent there stood, with its straps, a Pleasure Rack.

I set the girl gently down.

She looked at the rack.

"First," she said, "you will use me, will you not?"

"No," I said.

Then she knelt at my feet and put her head to the rug, throwing her hair over her head, exposing her neck.

"Strike," she said.

I lifted her to her feet.

"Didn" t you buy me to destroy me?" she asked, bewildered.

"No," I said. "Is that why you said to me, "Buy Me, Master"?"

"I think so," she said. "I think I wanted you to kill me." Then she looked at me. "But I am not sure."

"Why did you want to die?" I asked.

"I who was Tatrix of Tharna," she said, her eyes downcast, "did not wish to live as a slave."