"Like that she-sleen in the other room?" asked the woman.

"She has felt the whip, and known male domination," he said. "Have you?"

"No," she said.

"I took the liberty of caressing our lovely bound captive a bit before you arrived," he said. "She is quite hot."

"I hate that sort of woman," said the girl. "She is weak. She is a slave, and I am not"

I saw the man smile.

"Tonight, if she knows anything," said the girl, "I will get it out of her."

"I am sure you will," he said.

I then saw the girl, to my surprise, remove a tiny key from her tunic.

"Permit me," he said.

"Thank you, no," she said, acidly. Then she, lifting her arms, fitted the key into the lock at the back of her collar. This action lifted the line of her breasts, which was lovely, and lifted the tan slave tunic a bit higher on her thighs. She was nicely legged, as I had noted before. "You needn't look at me as I do this," she said.

"Forgive me," he said, and turned away. He smiled. He began to undo certain buckles, attached to leather straps, within his own tunic.

She removed the collar, and set it on a shelf in the closet, with the key. "A collar," she said. "How barbaric it is to put women in collars." She shuddered.

I saw to my surprise, that the man, he who had been called Kunguni, drew forth, from beneath his tunic, a sewn, padded mound of cloth, heavy, globelike, with dangling straps. He then straightened his back. He was not tall, but he stood now slim and straight His right leg, too, now did not seem to afflict him. He stood straight upon it With the thumb and first finger of his right hand he peeled a cunning, jagged streak of paste and ocher from his left cheek, removing what I had taken to be a scar. I recalled the words of Kipofu: "His back is crooked and It is not. His back is hunched and it is not. His face is scarred. and it is not. His leg is crippled and it is not." But I did not know who he might be. "Do not seek him," had said Kipofu. "Forget him. Flee."

"How long must I continue this farce of feigned service at the Golden Kailiauk?" she asked.

"Tonight," said the man, "was your last of feigned service there."

"Excellent," she said.

He smiled.

"If you would now excuse me," she said, coolly, "I would like to slip into something suitable for a woman."

He looked at her.

"More suitable than this tunic," she said.

"Slave tunic," he said.

"Yes, slave tunic," she said, irritably.

"Are all women on your former world like you?" he asked.

"Not enough," she said.

"How I pity the men of such a place," he said.

"True women will teach them how to act and be," she said.

"What piteous fools," he said.

"What did you mean, my 'former world'?" she asked. "It is still my world."

The trace of a smile moved at the corners of the mouth of the man who had been called Kunguni.

"If you will now excuse me," she said, "I would like to change."

"I shall await you with him in the other room," he said.

"Very well," she said.

"When you come," said he, "bring your whip."

"I will," she said.

The man then left the small anteroom, closing its door behind him, and the woman reached to the wooden rods in the closet, on which garments hung.

I could not see into the other room from where I stood, nor did it obviously have windows. I backed into the dark street and then, a few feet away, saw a low, sloping roof. Most of the buildings of Schendi have wooden ventilator shafts at the roof, which may be opened and closed. These are often kept open that the hot air in the room, rising, may escape. They can be closed by a rod from the floor, in the case of rain or during the swarming seasons for various insects.

In a few moments I had hoisted myself up to the low roof and then, again, climbing, I eased myself onto the roof of the building in which the man and woman had been conversing. There was a ventilator shaft, or slatted grille, over the main room, as I had anticipated. There is generally one room at least in which this arrangement occurs. Otherwise indoor living in Schendi could be difficult to bear. I could look down into the room, some fifteen feet below, through the slats in the grille. I could not, from my position, see the entire room. I could not see, most importantly,the figure whom, I gathered from the conversation and glances of the man and woman, sat at the far end of the room, behind a small table. I saw upon occasion the movement of his hands, long and black, with delicate fingers.

I could see, however, the man who had been called Kunguni and the woman who had worn the tan slave tunic. I could also see, kneeling on a dark blanket, naked, her ankles tied. her hands tied to her collar, her head down, still blindfolded, the blond-haired barbarian.:

"I am sorry I am late," said the girl who had worn the tan slave tunic. "Pembe kept me later than I pleased, to finish serving paga to a drunken oarsman."

"What sacrifices we must make in the prosecution of our arduous mission," mused the fellow who had been called Kunguni.

The girl looked at him, angrily. She now wore, interestingly, tight black slacks and a black, buttoned top. I could also see she wore Earth undergarments. On her feet were wooden clogs. Her clothing seemed strikingly at odds with her setting. She apparently had little sensitivity to the aesthetic incongruities involved or, perhaps, she wished merely to reassure herself by this device that she was truly of Earth and not Gor. I had thought the slave tunic and collar had made her fit in better with her surroundings. They seemed more apt, more tasteful, more appropriate. They had been, I recalled, «right» upon her. But are they not right upon any woman, in any world?

There were two other men in the room, and I gazed upon them with some astonishment. They were large fellows, strong and lean, dressed in skins and golden armlets, and feathers. They carried high, oval shields, and short, long-bladed stabbing spears. These men, I was sure, were not of Schendi. They came from somewhere, I was sure, in the interior.

The blond-haired barbarian, blindfolded, frightened, lifted her head. Her lower lip trembled.

The fellow who had been called Kunguni crouched before the girl and, quickly, jerked loose the knot which held her bound hands, which were still tied, tethered at her collar. He held her bound wrists in one hand.

"Please do not hurt me any more," she said, in English, "I have told you all I know."

With his right hand, holding the girl's tied wrists in his left, the man tossed a rope up, over a rafter. He tied it then to her bound wrists, about the cording which secured them. He then signaled to the two large fellows who stood nearby. They put aside their shields and short spears and, hauling on the rope, jerked the blond-haired barbarian to her feet.

"Please," she wept, "I've told you all I know!"

At a signal from the man near her the two large fellows drew the girl from her feet, until she hung suspended some six inches from the floor.

"Begin," said the voice of the unseen man, he behind the table. He spoke in Gorean.

The girl in the slacks and black, buttoned top swung loose the blades of the slave whip she carried. She touched the blades to the body of the suspended girl.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked.

"A slave whip. Mistress," said the girl, in English. Their conversation was conducted entirely in English. The two girls, I gathered, were the only ones in the room who spoke English. The girl in the black slacks did, however, of course, translate, here and there, what the blond-haired barbarian said. She herself, of course, inevitably communicated with the men in Gorean.

"Speak," said the girl in the black slacks.

"I have told you all I know," wept the blond-haired barbarian. "Please do not beat me again."