"Foolish Kajira," she said, "it is the tent of Rask of Treve."

I had known that it would be.

Outside the entrance of the tent, squatting down, leaning on their spears, there were two guards. They were watching me.

I stood outside the tent. Rask of Treve did not wish to see me now. "Be off with you," said one of the guards.

I heard the flash of a pair of bangles and saw a dark-haired girl, the two golden bangles on her left ankle, come to the opening of the tent. She wore brief, diaphanous scarlet silk. She looked at me, and then quickly tied shut the tent flaps.

The guard who had spoken to me rose to his feet.

I fled away, back to the tent of the women.

When I reached the women's tent, I flung myself down on its rugs and wept. Ena, who had been sewing a talmit, a headband sometimes worn by tarnsmen in flight, came to me. "What is wrong? she said.

"I do not want to be a slave girl!" I wept.

Ena held me. "It is hard to be a slave," she said.

I sat up and held her. "Men are cruel." I said.

"Yes," said Ena.

"I hate them! I hate them!" I wept.

She kissed me. She smiled.

"May I speak?" I asked. "Surely," she said. "In this tent you are always free to speak." I looked down. "It is said," I said, "a€”I have hearda€”that Rask of Treve is a hard master."

She smiled. "That is true," she said.

"It is said," I blurted out, "that no man on Gor can so diminish or humble a woman as Rask of Treve."

"I have not been diminished or humbled," said Ena. "On the other hand, if Rask of Treve wished to diminish or humble a woman, I expect he would do it quite well."

"Suppose," I said, " a girl had been insolent, or arrogant with him?" "Such a girl, doubtless," said Ena, "would then be well diminished and humbled." She laughed. "Rask of Treve would doubtless teach her her slavery well." This news did not reassure me.

I looked at her. "It is said he uses a woman but once," I wept, "and that he then, with contempt, brands her and discards her."

"I have been used by him many times," said Ena. "Rask of Treve," she added, smiling, "is not a madman."

"Were you branded with his name, after he used you? I pressed.

"No," she said. "I was branded with the mark of Treve." She smiled. "When Rask captured me I was free. It was natural that, after he had used me, had enslaved me in his arms, I should, the next day, in witness to this fact, be marked." "He enslaved you in his arms? I asked.

"Yes," she said, "in his arms I found myself a slave." She smiled. "I expect that in the arms of such a man as Rask of Treve any woman might find herself a slave."

"No I!" I cried.

She smiled.

"If a girl is already branded," I said, casually, but frightened, "she would not be again branded, would she?"

"Commonly not," said Ena. "Though sometimes, for some reason, the mark of Treve is pressed into her flesh." She looked at me. "Sometimes, too," she said, "a girl may be branded as a punishment, and to warn others against her." I looked at her, puzzled.

"Penalty brands," she said. "They are tiny, but clearly visible. There are various such brands. There is one for lying, and another for stealing." "I do not lie or steal," I said.

"That is good," said Ena.

"I have never seen the brand of Treve," I said.

"It is rare," said Ena, proudly.

"May I see your brand?" I asked. I was curious.

"Of course," said Ena, and she stood up and, extending her left leg, drew her long, lovely white garment to her hip, revealing her limb.

I gasped.

Incised deeply, precisely, in that slim, lovely, now bared thigh was a startling mark, beautiful, insolent, dramatically marking that beautiful thigh as that which it now could only be, that of a female slave.

"It is beautiful," I whispered.

Ena pulled away the clasp at the left shoulder of her garment, dropping it to her ankles.

She was incredibly beautiful.

"Can you read?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She regarded the brand. "It is the first letter, in cursive script," she said, "of the name of the city of Treve."

"It is a beautiful mark," I said.

"It enhances my beauty," she said.

"Yes," I said. "Yes!" I found myself hoping, though I did not admit the thought to myself, that my brand might be as attractive on my body.

Ena once again, gracefully, drew on her garment. "I like it," she said. She looked at me, and laughed. "So do men!" she laughed.

I smiled.

Then suddenly I was furious. What right had such brutes to brand us? To collar us? The Gorean right of the stronger, I told myself, to mark and claim the weaker as his own, should he choose to do so. I felt weak, and helpless. And then I was angry again, helplessly furious.

I, the prisoner of Rask of Treve, in his war camp, struggled to control myself. I wanted to know more of the men who had captured me, whose saddle I had helplessly graced, whose locked collar I would tomorrow wear.

"It is said that Rask of Treve," I said, "has a great appetite for women, and contempt, for them."

"He is fond of us," smiled Ena, "that is true."

"But he has contempt for us!" I cried, my fury, my helpless rage, my frustration, uncontrollably bursting forth.

"Rask of Treve is a man, and a warrior," she said. "It is common for them to view us as mere women, and see us in terms of their sport and pleasure." "That is contempt!" I cried.

Ena, kneeling, rocked back on her heels and laughed merrily. "Perhaps," she laughed.

"I will not accept that!" I cried.

"Pretty little Kajira," laughed Ena.

I felt furious, and frustrated. I did not wish to be a mere sexual object! But I felt at my throat. It was bare now. Tomorrow it would wear a collar. What could a girl be, who wore a collar, but such an object!

"I hate men!" I cried.

Ena looked at me. "I wonder," she said, "if Rask of Treve will find you pleasing?"

She removed the two pins which secured the garment I wore, stripping me. "Perhaps," she said.

"I do not want to please him!" I cried.

"He will make you want to please him," she said. "You will try, desperately, to please him. Whether or not you will be successful I do not know. Rask of Treve is a great warrior. He has had many women, and has many women. He is a connoisseur of us. He is, accordingly, difficult to please. You will perhaps not please him." "If I wanted to, I could," I cried.

"Perhaps," said Ena.

"But I shall resist him! I shall fight him!" I cried. "He will never tame me! He will never conquer me!"

Ena looked at me.

"I do not have the weaknesses of other women," I told her. I remembered the weakness of Verna, and of her girls, and of Inge, and Rena, and Ute! They were weak. I was not!

"What a defiant girl you are," she said.

I looked at her.

"But we must rest now," she said, getting up and extinguishing the brass lamp in the tent.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because tomorrow you will be collared," she said.

I knelt, naked, on a large fur.

"Am I not to be chained tonight?" I asked.

"No," said Ena. Then her voice reached me in the darkness. "You will not escape."

I lay down and pulled the fur about me. I clenched it in my fists and bit it with my teeth. Then I lay with my head against it, wetting it with my tears. I lifted my head. "You are a slave, Ena," I said. "Do you not hate men?" "No," said Ena.

I heard her with irritation.

"I find men very exciting," said Ena. "Often I wish to give myself to them." I heard her with horror. How shocking that she should speak so! Had she no pride? If such thoughts were entertained by her, surely she should have carefully concealed them, keeping them as her forbidden secret!

I, at least, hated men!

But tomorrow one of them would own mea€”fully. I would be his, by collar-right, by all the laws of Gor, to do with as he pleased.