"Heat an iron," said Ulafi to the metal worker, a brawny fellow in a leather apron.

"Tal," said the man to me.

"Tal," said I to him.

"We always keep an iron hot," said the metal worker. But he did turn to his assistant, a lad of some twelve years. "Heat the coals," said he to him. The lad took a bellows and, opening and closing it, forced air into the conical forge. The handles of some six irons, their heads and a portion of their shafts buried in the coals, could be seen.

I looked out the door of the shop. I could see the girl, about one hundred and fifty yards away, her wrists crossed and bound before her, tied by the wrists to a heavy ring at the side of the pier. She knelt. Then the first stroke of the whip hit her. She screamed. Then she could scream no more but was twisting, gasping, on her stomach, and side and back, under the blows of the whip. I think she had not understood before what it might mean, truly, to he whipped. Men passed her, going about their business. The disciplining of a slave girl on Gor is not that unusual a sight.

"I have five brands," said the metal worker, "the common Kajira brand, the Dina, the Palm, the mark of Treve, the mark of Port Kar."

"We have a common girl to brand," said Ulafi. "Let it be the common Kajira brand."

I could see that the girl had now been unbound from the ring. She could apparently not walk. One of the seamen had thrown her over his shoulder and was bringing her toward the shop. She was in shock. I think she had not realized what the whip could do to her.

Yet the beating had been merciful and brief. I doubt that she was struck more than ten or fifteen times.

I think the purpose of the whipping had been little more than to teach her what the whip could feel like. A girl who knows what the whip can feel like strives to be pleasing to the master.

I could see the lateen sails on Ulafi's ship loosened on their yards.

Men stood by the mooring ropes.

Two sailors, behind the second officer, carried a slave cage. It was supported on a pole, the ends of which rested on their shoulders.

The, girl was brought into the shop and stood in the branding rack, which was then locked on her, holding her upright. The metal worker placed her wrists behind her in the wrist clamps, adjustable, each on their vertical, flat metal bar. He screwed shut the clamps. She winced. He then shackled her feet on the rotating metal platform.

"Left thigh or right thigh? he asked.

"Left thigh," said Ulafi. Slave girls are commonly branded on the left thigh. Sometimes they are branded on the right thigh, or lower left abdomen.

The metal worker turned the apparatus, spinning the shaft, with its attached, circular metal platform. The girl's left thigh now faced us. It was an excellent thigh. It would take the mark well. The metal worker then, with a wheel, tightening it, locked the device in place, so that it could not turn.

I looked at the girl's eyes. She hardly knew what was being done to her.

The metal worker drew out an iron and looked at it. "Soon," he said, putting it back.

I looked at the girl. She had tried to run away. She had lied at the praetor's desk. Yet her feet had not been removed. Her nose and ears had not been cut from her. She had been shown incredible mercy. She had only been whipped. Her transgressions, of course, had been first offenses, and she was only an ignorant barbarian. I think now, however, she clearly understood that Gorean men are not permissive, and that her second offenses in such matters would not be likely to be regarded with such lenience.

"She is in shock, or half in shock," I said.

"Yes," said the metal worker. "She should be able to feel the mark."

He took the girl by her hair and, by it, cruelly, shook her head; then he slapped her, sharply, twice. She whimpered.

"May I?" I asked. I pointed to a bucket of water nearby. used in tempering.

"Surely," said the metal worker.

I threw the cold water over the girl who, shuddering and sputtering, pulled back in the branding rack.

She looked at me, frightened. But her eyes were now clear. She twisted, wincing. She could now feel the pain of the whipping which she had endured. She sobbed. But she was no longer numb, or in shock. She was now a fully conscious slave, ready for her branding.

"The iron is ready," said the metal worker. It was a beautiful iron, and white hot.

Ulafi threw the metal worker a copper tarsk. "My friend here," said Ulafi, indicating me, "will use the iron."

I looked at him. He smiled. "You are of the metal workers, are you not?" he asked.

"Perhaps," I smiled. He had told me earlier that I was not of the metal workers.

"We are ready to sail," said Ulafi's first officer, who had come to report.

"Good," said Ulafi.

I donned leather gloves and took the iron from the metal worker, who cheerfully surrendered it. He assumed I was, because of my garb, of his caste.

Ulafi watched me, to see what I would do.

I held the iron before the girl, that she might see it. She shrank back. "No, no," she whimpered. "Please don't touch me with it."

The girl is commonly shown the iron, that she may understand its might, its heat and meaning.

"Please, no!" she cried.

I looked upon her. I did not then think of her as an agent of Kurii. I saw her only as a beautiful woman, fit for the brand.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to struggle. She could move her wrists, her upper body and feet somewhat, but she could not move her thighs, at all. They were, because of the construction of the branding rack, held perfectly immobile. They would await the kiss of the iron.

"Please, no," she whimpered.

Then I branded her.

"An excellent mark," said Ulafi.

While she still sobbed and screamed the metal worker freed her wrists of the clamps. Ulafi put her immediately in slave bracelets, braceleting her hands behind her, that she not tear at the brand. The metal worker then freed her thighs of the rack, and she sank, sobbing, to her knees. He freed her ankles of the shackles which had held them at the circular, metal platform. Ulafi then, pushing her head down, fastened the sturdy, steel shipping collar on her throat, snapping it shut behind the back of her neck. It had five palms on it, and the sign of Schendi, the shackle and scimitar.

"Put her in the cage and load her," said Ulafi.

The girl was then taken, braceleted, and thrust into the tiny slave cage, which was then locked shut. She knelt, sobbing, in the cage. The two sailors then lifted the cage on its poles, and, kneeling, she was lifted within it. I looked at her. I saw in her eyes that she had begun to suspect what it might mean to be a slave girl.

She was carried to the ship.

I did not think she would now escape. I thought now she could be used easily to help locate Shaba, the geographer of Anango, the equatorial explorer. In my sea bag were the notes for him, made out to bankers of Schendi. In my sea bag, too, was the false ring, which the girl had carried.

"I am grateful to you for having apprehended the slave," said Ulafi to me.

"It was nothing," I said.

"You also marked her superbly," he said. "Doubtless, in time, she will grow quite proud of that brand."

I shrugged.

"Captain," said I.

"Yes," said he.

"I would still like to book passage with you to Schendi," I said.

He smiled. "You are welcome to do so," he said.

"Thank you," I said.

"It will cost you a silver tarsk," he said.

"Oh," I said.

He shrugged. "I am a merchant," he explained.

I gave him a silver tarsk, and he turned about and went down to the ship.

"I wish you well," I said to the metal worker.

"I wish you well," said he to me. I was pleased that I had branded women before.

I wondered how much Ulafi knew.