"He had broken free," said Bosk. "When we arrived, he was gone."

"The others?" I said.

"We found three bodies," said Bosk, Merchant of the Port Kar. "One, with an empty scabbard, was identified as that of Haakon of Skjern. Another, that of a small man, was not identified. The third was strange, that of a large, and, I fear, most unpleasant beast."

I put down my head, sobbing hysterically.

"They were cut to pieces," said Bosk. "The heads were mounted on stakes beside the canal. The sign of Treve was cut into each of the stakes."

I feel to my knees, sobbing and laughing.

"Those of Treve," mused Bosk, as though he might have known them as enemies, "are worthy foes."

"What of me?" I looked up.

"I am letting it be known in the camp of Terrence of Treve, a mercenary, that there is, in my house, a wench, whose name is Elinor."

"Rask of Treve no longer wants me. He sold me," I said.

Bosk shrugged. "I am informed by Samos, who keeps spies, that Rask of Treve came free to Port Kar, and alone, where he was captured." He looked at me. "What might it have been that he sought?"

"I do not know," I whispered.

"It is said," said Bosk of Port Kar, "that he sought a slave, whose name was Elinor."

"That cannot be," I said, "for when I was brought to Port Kar, Rask of Treve was already captive."

"It could easily be," said he called Bosk, "for it requires only that rumor in the camp of Rask of Treve to be spread that you are in this city. And surely it would be preferable, to the plans of some, my enemies, that you not be in this city when Rask of Treve arrives, lest they fail to capture him and he finds you, and carries you away." He looked at me. "Were you in a place where they could have you when they wished, and yet not seem to own you, not risk identifying themselves with you prematurely, lest others take note?" "For months," I said, "I served as a slave in a paga tavern."

"They may even have seen you sold," said Bosk. "It was the Curulean, was it not?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"A most public block," he said. Then he looked at me, a bit sadly. "I once saw a most beautiful woman sold from that block."

"What was her name? I asked.

"Vella," he said. "Her name was Vella."

I looked down.

"It is my speculation," said Bosk, "that only when Rask of Treve fell captive were you then picked up and brought to Port Kar, where you might be confronted with him."

"Rask of Treve," I said, "sold me. He does not want me."

Bosk shrugged. "Go to the kitchen," he said, "there is work for you there." I went to the kitchen, and put myself at the disposition of Publius. He wanted to leave the employ of Bosk of Port Kar, so stricken had he been that he had ignorantly purchased me, and that I had nearly brought about the downfall of the house, but Bosk would not hear of it, and bade him remain. "Where shall I find another kitchen master your equal?" he had asked. Publius remained in the house. He would not, however, allow me to prepare or serve food. He watched me closely. At night he would double chain me.

I sang at my work, for I knew that Rask of Treve lived. Further, those who had sought to employ me as a tool to their dark purposes had been destroyed. I knew that he did not want me for he had sold me, but I was content in the knowledge that he, whom I loved, lived. I did not believe that my master, Bosk, was correct in his conjectures that the warrior of Treve had come to Port Kar to find me, for he had sold me. His informants were mistaken, or confused. I tried, from time to time, to put Rask of Treve from my mind, but I could not do so. Sometimes, at night, the other girls would waken me, and scold me, for I had disturbed them, crying his name in my sleep. Rask of Treve did not want me. But I wanted him, with all of me and my weeping heart. But he lived. I could not be unhappy. I could be lonely, and hunger for his touch, his mouth, his words, his hand on mine, but I knew he lived, so I could not be truly sad. How could I be sad when somewhere he was proud and alive, and free, doubtless once again bold and violent, fighting, raiding, feasting with his cup companions and his beautiful slaves.

"Sell me, Master," I once begged Bosk, for I did not wish to remain in the house where I had so nearly committed so great a crime. I wished to go where I might not be known, where I would be only another collared girl, another wench in bondage, anonymous in her submission and degradation.

"You have work in the kitchen," had said Bosk of Port Kar.

I had returned to the kitchen.

It is time now for me to conclude this narrative.

I have written it at the command of my master, Bosk, of Port Kar, of the Merchants, it seems, but, I suspect, once of the warriors, I do not understand all of what I have written, in the sense of knowing its implications, or what knowledge others, better informed, may draw from it. But I have written down much, and, I think, honestly. My master has commanded that it be so written. As a Gorean slave girl I dare not disobey, and, in this case, I would not care, also to do so. Further, he had commanded me to speak in this my feelings, perhaps, in his kindness, thinking it would be well for me to do so. I have tried to comply.

I am happier now, than I have been, though I still beg, upon occasion, that I might be sold from this house. I have learned that Rask of Treve did indeed come to Port Kar to find me, and this has given me indescribable joy, though it is mingled now with great bitterness, and sadness, for I shall never be his.

On the piazza, before the Hall of the Council of Captains, Rask of Treve confronted Bosk of Port Kar, demanding that I be surrendered to him. Bosk, I am told, set my price at twenty pieces of gold, that he might, as a merchant, take his profit of me. But Rask of Treve does not buy women, for he is of Treve. My price could have been an arrow point or a copper tarn disk, but his answer would have been the same. He takes women. He does not buy them. But I fear I may not be taken from Bosk of Port Kar. He is said himself to be a master swordsman, much feared, and his house is strong, and there are men here, some hundreds, who pledge their lives and their blades to him. This house has withstood a siege of thousands, within the last two years, in the time of the warrings of the Ubars and the Council of Captains, and the great engagement between the fleet of Port Kar and that of Tyros and Cos, on the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, 10,12 °Contasta Ar, from the Founding of Ar. And surely Rask, a captain of Treve, cannot bring the tarn cavalries of Treve to distant Port Kar, for a mere slave girl, and too, such action would mean long and bloody war. I am, unfortunately, safe in this house. It is my home, and my prison. When Rask of Treve demanded that I be given to him, Bosk, my master, first sword in Port Kar, drew his own blade and, for answer, drew on the tiles of the piazza, a sign that of the city of Ko-ro-ba. Rask of Treve, cloak swirling, turned and strode away.

I am now, by order of Bosk, again permitted to serve in the great hall. But, at night, Publius, still, keeps me double chained. He is a good kitchen master, and loves his captain, Bosk of Port Kar. I do not object to his precautions. I am now finished with this narrative. Each night I must return to the kitchen, by the nineteenth hour, to be chained. Before that time it is my wont to wander the delta wall of the house of Bosk. I look out upon the marshes, which are in the light of the three moons of Gor, very beautiful.

I remember Rask of Treve.