"No," I said, suddenly, angrily. "I am not even free!"

"A slave!" he said.

"Yes!" I said. "A slave!"

"Gloat, Slave," said he, "for you, with your wiles, and your insidious beauty, have brought a soldier, and a free man, low."

"Punish me," I said. "You own me."

"Do not fear," he said. "You will be punished, for CorCyrus, and for your insolence."

"Even now," he said, "still, when you are helpless, in my ropes, I find you exquisitely desirable, exquisitely beautiful."

"Thank you, Master," I whispered.

"You ruin me," he said. "You tear me apart!" I put down my head, frightened. "You make me a slave!" he cried. "It is I who am the slave," I said. "I hate' you!" he cried.

"I do not think so," I said.

"As Sheila, who was the true Tatrix of Corcyrus, was to Ligurious, so, too, are you to me!" he said.

"No!" I said. "There is a great difference!"

"What?" he demanded.

"I love you I" I said.

"Sly, clever slave!" he sneered.

"I do love you!" I cried.

"Cunning, insidious slut," he said. "You fear for your own hide! You know that you are now, at least, within my power. You fear that it will be done to you as you deserve, that you A ~ill be thrown to sleen!"

"No!" I wept.

"Sweat and squirm now, luscious slut," he said. "Cry out your love for me. Perhaps I will be moved to be merciful, and keep you as the lowest and most worthless slave on Gor!"

"I do love you!" I wept.

"Lying slave!" he cried. He leapt across the room, and, with the flat of his hand, savagely, struck me from my knees. My right shoulder struck the tiles. I tasted blood in my mouth. I lay there, bound, frightened. It had been only a slap, but I felt as though my head might have been almost taken from me. I was awe-stricken. I had not realized how strong he' was. What if he had truly struck me? I knew I must obey him with perfection.

"On your back," he said, "knees raised, heels on the floor." I then lay before him, in a standard, supine capture position.

"You look well at my feet, Slut," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

"Have you reconsidered the telling of truth?" he asked.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Lying slut!" he hissed. He then, with the side of his foot, kicked me. I recoiled, crying out. I would doubtless, for several days, bear a fine bruise there, evidence of his displeasure.

I turned to my side. I put down my head. I kissed the foot that had kicked me. Then I returned to my former position.

He turned away from me and went to the other chair in the room, a curule chair, with ornate, curved arms. I, my head turned to the side, watched him. He sat down in the chair, his hands on the arms, and regarded me.

"Should you not be on your knees, Slut?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said. I struggled to my knees and knelt, facing him. He regarded me. He seemed weary.

"And thus it is," he said, "that slaves conquer warriors."

"It is I who am conquered, Master," I told him, "not you."

"You make me weak," he said, wearily.

"Unbind me," I suggested, smiling, "and I will make you strong." "She-sleen," he smiled.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He looked to one side of the room, moodily, lost in thought. "How strange has been the course of events," he said. "I took you for a Tatrix, and my enemy. Then, as it pleased you, in the fullness of feminine cruelty, when I could not have you, when you thought me a mere guard, you amused yourself with me, taunting me with your beauty, torturing me with desire. Now, months later, you have come into my power, as my naked slave."

He turned his head slowly towards me. Then he regarded me, slowly, fully, every bit of me.

"Are you well roped?" be asked.

"I am roped perfectly, and am absolutely helpless," I said. "It was done to me by Drusus Rencius, of Ar, my master."

"It is a suitable answer," he said.

I was silent.

"Perhaps I will keep you," he said.

"Do, please;" I said. I loved him.

"If I keep you," he said, "you will be kept as a slave. Do you understand what that means, my dear?"

"Yes, Master," I said. I would be kept in the absolute perfections of Gorean slave discipline. I would have to be perfect for him, in all ways. I shuddered. "Do you believe it?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"That is well," he said, "for it is true." "Yes, Master," I whispered. "You seem to be afraid," he said. "I am," I said.

"But you were not before," he said. "No," I said.

"But you are now?"

"Yes," I said.

"Now I sense, as I did not before, that you are strong enough to control me, and to punish me, terribly, if I do wrong, or am not fully pleasing."

"Believe it," he said, quietly.

"I do!" I said.

"I wonder if you will make a good slave," he-said. "I will try my best, Master," I said.

Then he continued to look at me, appraising me. I straightened my body.

How marvelous it must be for a man, I thought, to have such absolute power over a woman, to have her so subjected to him, even to having her in the perfection of his bonds. And how marvelous it was for me, too, to know myself so much his, to know myself, willlessly, eagerly, at his pleasure. And what woman does not want a man a thousand times more than she, one to whom she must submit, one whom she must fear, one whom she must love?

I looked at him.

"It is different from Corcyrus, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He looked away, again, again seemingly lost in thought.

"May I speak?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Is it truly so tragic, to care for a slave, just a little?" I asked. "You have done enough," he said. "Do not seek further to make a fool of me." I was silent.

He put his head down, in his hands.

How painful, complex and subtle can be the relationships between human beings. I tried to understand how he must view me. He saw me, it seemed, as one who, if she were free, and immune from punishment, and held power, would torment and scorn him, exploiting him, despising him, amusing herself with him. As far as I knew I had done little to provoke these feelings, at least until he had refused my advances. I had given him reason, to be sure, in Corcyrus, to believe me contemptible and petty. I had made certain Earth values, to his irritation, clear to him, such as an amoral expediency and a mockery of honor. My smallness, my contemptibility, I had unwittingly flaunted before him, regarding such things, at that time as signs of my depth and cleverness. Too, he seemed to find me, in some way, and I did not fully understand it, maddeningly desirable. This had to do, it seemed, with some unusual and subtle relationship between us. These things, doubtless in part because of his pride and self-image', his reluctance to accept tenderness, his fear of feeling and sentiment, his lofty conceptions of the attitudes and behaviors proper to his caste, had driven him half mad with frustration. Yet, too, he had, with Menicius, risked his life in the camp of Miles to free me, and he had sought desperately to protect and defend me in the inquiry with Claudius and the high council. It was clear, I think, he cared for me deeply.' In all this, of course, he regarded me as little more than a curvaceous, scheming slave, one who did "not care for him, but one who, to protect herself, would do anything, even pretend falsely to love. He did not know I truly loved him.

I resolved upon a bold plan. I would attempt to get him to cure himself of the false Sheila, that the way might then be open for a poor, nameless slave who so much loved him.

"Free me," I said, angrily, pulling at the ropes. A He looked at me. "Free yourself," he said.

"I cannot!" I said.

"Why do you wish to be freed?" he asked. A "I do not love you!" l said. "Now, at last, you speak the truth," he said.