I moved leaves out of the way with my hand. Leaves brushed my back.

Then I could see the main gate of the palisade. A wagon, drawn by a tharlarion, was entering. It tipped to the left, its wheels sinking into the ruts, on the left almost to the hubs, in the soft ground, from the rains.

The driver cracked the whip and called out to the tharlarion. "Do not make so much noise," he was cautioned by the porter. "People are sleeping." The porter then went to the tharlarion and pushing at it and striking it, urged it forward. The great beast grunted and threw itself forward, against the harness. The wagon was drawn through the gate, water from the ruts dripping from its wheels. To my dismay I then saw the porter close the gates and thrust the great beam across, through its brackets, behind them. This he secured in place with a lock and key. He then accompanied the teamster to the stables. I hurried forward and ran to the gate. I felt under the palings of the gate. I began to dig there in the softness of the ground, and in the muddy water pooled -n the ruts. I tried to thrust my body down, under the gate. There was not enough room. I heard the creaking of another wagon, this one coming about the inn. I hid back in bushes to the side. In moments the porter had returned to the gate.

I was in misery. I could not slip under the gate, or dig out under it, if the porter was there. He was a man and would simply stop me, and capture me. I did not know when, or if, another wagon would arrive before daylight, one that might take the porter again from his post, giving me time to dig out under the gate. Risking much I slipped back to the enclosure where the tarn baskets were. Xs I feared, it was now once more locked. I hurried back about the inn. The porter was engaged in a discussion, and not a particularly amiable one, with the driver. The driver had apparently criticized the porter for not being at the gate, and the porter, in response, was being officiously careful about checking the driver's ostrakon of payment. "I am not sure that is the mark of Leucippus," said the porter. "It does not look much like his mark."

"Awaken him, then," said the driver "and certify that it is so." "I do not care to awaken him at this Ahn." "I am to be on the road by dawn." "You will have to wait." "I do not have time to wait!" In the end the porter opened the gate-and let the man proceed. By that time I was in the back of the wagon. An Ahn or so later, when it was nearly dawn, I eased myself silently from the back of the wagon and crouched down on the road. It continued on its way. I then left the road and ran across the fields.

"Are you awake?" asked a voice.

The hand on my shoulder shook me again, again gently.

My body stiffened. "Yes," I whispered.

I lay on the slope of a ditch, as it ascended to a road.

There was a trickle of water at my feet. The grass was very green here, because of the water.

When I had left the wagon, by means of which I bad accomplished my escape from the inn, I had fled across the fields. I had run and walked until perhaps noon, and bad then, fearful of discovery, hidden near a small pool in a brake of ferns until nightfall. I had washed in the pool and drunk from it. I had set out again in the moonlight. I had eaten almost nothing and I was terribly hungry. I had been a field for only an Ahn or so when the winds had risen and clouds had obscured the moons. Rain had begun to fall, as it apparently had the night before. I stumbled on through the darkness, my legs lashed to the thighs by the knives of the wind-whipped grass. I soon grew weak and exhausted. I sought a dwelling, or a road, which I might follow to a dwelling, that I might there, like an urt, skulk about and, as at the inn, piteously seek some sustenance from their refuse. Twice I fainted, probably from hunger. The second time I recovered consciousness the storm had worsened and the sky was bursting with lightning and thunder. As I crouched in the grass I saw, in a valley below me, in a flash of lightning, like a wet stone ribbon, a road. I crawled toward it. At its edge there was a deep ditch. Had I not been crawling, I might, in the darkness, between flashes of lightning, have come on the ditch unawares and fallen into it. As it was I lowered myself down its slope with the intention of then climbing the other side and attaining the surface of the road. In the bottom of the ditch there was, at that time, a flow of water some six inches deep, from the storm. I knelt in this, the cold fluid rushing about my legs, and, cupping my hands, drank from it. I then started to climb toward the road. I was suddenly frightened. The incline was steeper than I had anticipated. I slipped back, into the water. I tried again, inching myself upward. Grass pulled out of the slope, clutched in my hands. I slipped back. I was weak and miserable. I waded at the bottom of the ditch and, in two or three places, again tried to climb out of it. I was not successful. The storm, meanwhile, had subsided. I could now see the moons. In the moonlight I found an ascent which I, though with difficulty, could manage. Gasping, holding at the grass, inching my way upward, I drew my body from the grass to the road. I looked at the road, from my belly. I felt out with my hands. It seemed constructed of large, square stones. It was not an ordinary road, I thought. Like most Gorean roads, however, a single pair of ruts marked its center. Gorean vehicles, commonly slow moving, tend to keep to the center of a road, except in passing.

In the distance I heard the sound of bells, harness bells. It might be a wagon, or a set of wagons, which had pulled to the side of the road during the storm and now, with the passing of the storm, had resumed its journey. It must be near morning, I thought, that they are on the road. Gorean roads are seldom traveled at night. The bells were coming closer. I moaned and slid back from the road, again into the ditch. I slipped back a yard or so down the grassy slope, and then, clinging to grass, held my position. I could not see the surface of the road. I would wait here until the wagons had passed. They would not, I was sure, at night, in the moonlight and shadows, detect my presence. I clung there until the first wagon had passed. I could hear others approaching, too. I let myself slip down further in the ditch. I must not be discovered. I put my cheek against the wet grass. I was very tired.

It was a good hiding place, the ditch. In the darkness, in the moonlight and shadows, I would not be detected. I was safe.

I dreaded the climb again to the surface of the "road. The ditch was so steep. I did not understand the need for such a ditch at the side of the road. But I was safe now. There were other wagons, too, coming. There must be many wagons. I must wait. I would rest, just a little bit. It would not hurt to close my eyes, only for a moment. I was so hungry. I was so tired. I was so miserable. I would rest, just for a little bit. I would close my eyes, only for a moment.

"What are you doing here?" asked a voice.

"I am a free woman," I said.

I lay on the incline, the grass under my belly. It was warm now. The sun felt hot on my back. Muddy water was about my feet. A man was behind me. At least one other, I could hear him moving about, was above and in front of me, up on the surface of the road.

"I was attacked by bandits," I said. "They took my clothes."

"Hold still," said the voice behind me. a I heard the clink of a chain.

My body stiffened, my fingers clutched at the grass.

A chain was looped twice about my neck and padlocked shut.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Hold still," said the voice.

The chain was then taken under my body and down to my ankles. My ankles were crossed and the chain was looped thrice about them, holding them closely together. Another padlock then, its tongue passing through links of the chain, was snapped shut. My ankles were now chained tightly together. I could not even uncross them. It is common to run a neck chain to the ankles in front of a woman's body, rather than behind it. In this fashion any stress on the chain is borne by the back of her neck rather than her throat. It is also reguarded as a more aesthetic chaining arrangement than its opposite, the neck chain, for example, with its linearity, and its sturdy, inflexible links, affording a striking contrast with the softnesses, the beauties, of her lovely bosom. This arrangement is also favored for its psychological effect on the woman. As she feels the chain more often on her body in this arrangement, brushing her, for example, or lying upon her, she is less likely to forget that she is wearing it. It helps her to keep clearly in mind that she is chained. It reminds her, rainatically and frequently, of that fact.